Wednesday night I had a dream.
I was in a cage, a little wire cage in a room. I was on my hands and knees. There were two bowls inside my cage. One of them was filled with Cheerios and the other one had root beer. Every once in awhile I would bend down and eat a mouthful of cereal, and then lick up some root beer. All around me there were little cages with other kids in them. Mark was in one, and Ben Grumson, and there was Marsha, and Karl—even Willie. All of us were munching cereal and lapping up soda.
Then this tall lady came into the room. She bent down and looked in every cage. She looked in Marsha’s cage, and when she did, she frowned and said, “No!” Then she looked in at Ben, and she frowned and said, “No!” She looked into every cage and she kept saying, “No! No! No!”
Then she bent down and looked into my cage, and she smiled and said, “Yes!” And she opened my cage and put an orange dog collar around my neck. And she held out a Fig Newton and said, “Good boy!” And when I sat up, she put the Fig Newton in my mouth. I started to chew the Fig Newton. Then the tall lady bent down and patted me on the head. And she said, “Now you’re my little pet!” And when I looked into the lady’s face, it was Mrs. Karp!
I sat up in my bed and I grabbed at my neck and I started yelling, “No! No! Take this collar off me! I’m not your pet! No! Nooo!”
And that’s when my dad came into my room and turned on the light.
“Easy, Jake, it’s all right.” Dad sat on my bed, and he held on to my arm. “It’s all right, Jake. You were just having a dream, that’s all. You’re Jake, and I’m your dad, and we’re right here in our own house, and you’re awake now, and everything’s all right.” I was shaking and I was all sweaty. And Dad kept holding on to my arm. I was so glad he was there.
When I was totally awake, Dad said, “Bad dream, huh?”
I nodded. “Yeah. A nightmare.” And I shivered. Then I said, “Dad, were you ever a teacher’s pet?”
He said, “Hmm. Let me think . . . yes, I think I was, once. Back when I was in sixth grade.”
My eyes opened wide. “Really? Did you want to be?”
Dad smiled. “Did I want to be? Yes, I suppose I did. My English teacher was a lady named Mrs. Palmer, and she was very smart. And I guess I thought she was pretty, too. My friend Tim and I stayed after class sometimes to help erase the chalkboards and straighten up her room, little things like that. So, I guess we were both teacher’s pets.”
I frowned. “And did she treat you and your friend special? Or let you get away with stuff?”
Dad thought a second, and then nodded. “Yes, I think she did, at least a little bit. I remember one time when I didn’t do my homework and Mrs. Palmer caught me. She frowned at me and scolded me in class and said I had to come in after school. But when I went after school, she just smiled and said, ‘Now, you won’t do that again, will you, Jimmy?’ And I said, ‘No,’ and then she let me leave. And I always did my homework after that too.”
“But what about the other kids?” I asked. “Didn’t they hate you for being the teacher’s pet?”
Dad scratched his head, which made his hair look even more messed up. He said, “I don’t really remember. All I remember is how Mrs. Palmer used to smile at me sometimes.”
I said, “But what if you had a lot of teachers, and they were all being super nice to you, and you didn’t even like the way they smiled, and then all the kids thought you were trying to be all goody-goody. What about that?”
“Well . . .” And then Dad gave this really big yawn. “If I was trying to get the teachers to treat me special, then I guess the kids would be right. Because that would be like I was trying to get away with something. But if a teacher decides to be nicer to you than she is to some other kid, then that’s not your fault. That’s the teacher’s fault. Because a teacher’s not supposed to be nicer to one kid than she is to another, right?”
I nodded and Dad said, “Now listen. You lean back on your pillow, and shut your eyes and go back to sleep, all right?” And he pulled my covers up under my chin, and kissed me on the cheek, and then got up and shut off the light. “Good night, Jake.”
“G’night, Dad.”
“Sleep tight.”
Then I was alone again. And I kept thinking. Because Dad was right. A teacher’s not supposed to be nicer to one kid than she is to another. Or a principal, either. And I wasn’t trying to be a teacher’s pet. I was just being myself. So it wasn’t my fault. And even when I had tried to be bad, that hadn’t worked, either, because—because I’m not bad, and everyone knows it.
And then I got a big idea. It was big, and it was simple. But would it work? Maybe it was too simple.
There was only one way to find out. And only one place, too, and that was school. On Thursday. So first I had to go back to sleep. And that’s what I did.
And I didn’t have any more dreams about orange dog collars.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Not So Special
Trying out a new plan can be scary. But if you don’t try it out, you can’t find out if it’s going to work.
So Thursday morning right after attendance and the Pledge of Allegiance and the announcements, I put my hand up and waited for Mrs. Snavin to call on me.
She said, “Yes, Jake?”
And I took a deep breath and I said, “Mrs. Snavin? You know how you were having trouble with the computers? Well, I think that if we wanted to use them for math today, then you should really ask Shelley. She knows a lot more about computers than I do. And Ben, too. He’s good with programs. They could really help. Then maybe we could use the computers for math, even before you finish your computer class. Because they’re a lot more fun to use than worksheets.”
Mrs. Snavin said, “Maybe after reading there’ll be some time to work on them. Does that sound good to everyone?”
And a lot of the kids in the class nodded and said, “Yes.”
Then Mrs. Snavin said, “That was a good idea, Jake. Thank you.” And she smiled at me.
And I didn’t care if she smiled at me, because it was a good idea. And I didn’t care if the whole class saw her smile at me, because there’s nothing wrong with being glad about a good idea, right? And sharing a good idea didn’t make me a teacher’s pet, right? It just made me myself.
And that was my big idea. From the night before. To just be myself and not think about being a teacher’s pet. Because if I know I’m not a teacher’s pet, then I’m not. Right?
But it’s tricky, because if you get treated special, everyone will still think you’re a teacher’s pet. That’s what kids hate, when a kid gets treated special. Because it’s not fair. And it’s really not. Because a teacher is supposed to treat all the kids the same.
After reading, Mrs. Snavin had to send some lunch money to the office, and I asked her if I could take it. Not because I was a teacher’s pet. I wanted to go to the office for another reason.
When I got to the office, I gave the money to the school secretary, and then I said, “Is Mrs. Karp busy?”
Mrs. Drinkwater looked at me from behind the counter and said, “Yes, Jake. Just sit down over there for a minute.”
So I sat down and gulped, because even when you’re not in trouble, waiting to see the principal is no fun.
A couple of minutes later, Mrs. Karp came out, and when she saw me, she got this big smile on her face. She said, “Come into my office, Jake.” And when I did, she sat down. And I was glad she did. Mrs. Karp is so tall that she’s extra scary until she sits down. Then she asked, “Now, what can I do for you?”
I gulped again, and I said, “I’m having a problem. Ever since Monday, things have been happening to me. Things that make all the other kids think I’m a big teacher’s pet.”
Then I stopped to look at her face. I wanted to make sure she didn’t look mad or anything. And she didn’t, so I kept talking. “Because, I’m not a teacher’s pet. I’m just a regular kid. But if everyone thinks I am, then that’s bad, right?”
Mrs. Karp nodded her head
slowly, and said, “Yes . . . I can see how that would be a problem. And teachers should not be giving special privileges to children. Are some teachers treating you special?”
And I said, “Well, kind of. Sometimes. I think.”
And Mrs. Karp leaned forward in her chair and said, “Really? When? And who?”
And I gulped extra hard and I said, “Like on Tuesday. With . . . with you.”
“What? What are you talking about?” Mrs. Karp looked kind of angry, but I couldn’t stop in the middle.
So I told her. About me starting that fight on the playground, about pushing that fifth grader. And about how the other kids got in trouble and I didn’t. Because she said she knew that it wasn’t my fault. When it really was.
Mrs. Karp leaned back again and put her fingertips together. “Ah. Yes. I can see how that would be a problem—even though I didn’t see you push anyone. And before that, the assembly . . . and then the lunchroom business. My goodness! This has been quite a week for you, hasn’t it, Jake?”
And I nodded and said, “Yeah. Really.”
Mrs. Karp stood up and walked around her desk. “Well, you’d better get back to class, Jake. I’ll do some thinking about this. Maybe we can talk some more at lunchtime.”
“At lunchtime?” I asked. “Should I come to the office then?”
Mrs. Karp was quiet a moment, and then she said, “No. I’ll come and find you, all right? And I’m glad you were brave enough to come and talk to me.”
And I could tell Mrs. Karp kind of wanted to pat me on the head. But she didn’t. And I was glad.
When I got back to the classroom, it was free period. Some kids were reading, some were drawing or building with LEGO blocks, and Shelley and Ben were working on the computers.
I went back and stood next to Ben, looking over his shoulder at the screen. When he saw me, I asked, “Fixed it yet?”
He didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Yeah. It was simple. But I’m pretending it’s real hard. That way, I might get to come in over lunchtime. Then I can play a game.” Ben took his hand off the keys and reached into his pocket. Looking around to be sure Mrs. Snavin wasn’t watching, he pulled out a CD-ROM and showed it to me. It was BATTLE TANX. “I always have a copy of this with me, just in case.” And he grinned.
It was Thursday, so we didn’t have art or gym. After free time, we watched a social studies video about these explorers named Lewis and Clark, and it was like this long adventure story, except it was all true. The morning was going great. And the best part was I could tell the kids in my class didn’t think I was the teacher’s pet anymore.
But the minute I went out into the hallway to go to lunch, some kids from Mrs. Frule’s class saw me and this boy said, “Hey, look! It’s Jakey Drakey. Gonna eat lunch with your girlfriend Miss Cott today?”
And then three or four fifth-grade kids started saying, “Jake Drake! Jake Drake! Jake Drake!” And one of the boys knocked my lunch out of my hands, and an apple rolled out of the bag.
I wanted to start punching people, but I didn’t. As I picked up my lunch and headed for the cafeteria, I thought, Maybe things are better in my own classroom, but what about all the other kids? And all the other teachers?
It felt like everyone else in the school was going to think I was a teacher’s pet for the rest of my life.
CHAPTER NINE
Crash Landing, but Safe
The lunchroom wasn’t any better. In the milk line, a fourth grader asked me how come I wasn’t cleaning tables yet. Then a fifth-grade kid said, “Hey, look! It’s the original Garbage Guy!”
And when I was walking over to where Willie was sitting, a girl in Mrs. Frule’s class said, “Hey, Jake—Miss Cott was talking about you in art class today. She says you are so sweet!” And then a whole bunch of girls started to giggle.
I sat down and tossed Willie his chocolate milk. I said, “Hi. So you think it’s safe to sit with me today?”
“Yeah. I think so. Looks like you’re still famous.”
I nodded and bit into my peanut butter sandwich. “Yeah. Guess I’m gonna have to learn to live with it.”
I leaned my head back to take a long drink of milk, but I stopped. Something was wrong with Willie, with his face. Willie looked like one of those kids in Jurassic Park when the Tyrannosaurus rex is trying to eat their car. I put my milk carton down and said, “What’s wrong?”
And Willie whispered, “Mrs. Karp. Coming this way. Fast.”
I turned around, and Willie wasn’t kidding. Mrs. Karp was headed across the cafeteria. Every kid was watching her. She had this awful look on her face, and she was walking fast. And in a straight line. Toward us.
She came right up to me, and I could feel my face turn white. My heart was pounding. Mrs. Karp glared down at me. She was so tall, and it was like her face was made of stone.
Without saying a word, she reached down and took hold of my arm right above the elbow. Then real loud, she said, “You are coming to the office with me. Right now!”
Willie looked like he wanted to crawl under the table.
Then Mrs. Karp turned around and started walking. She was still holding on to my arm, and it probably looked like she was dragging me across the cafeteria. And as we walked past with everyone staring at me, in this loud voice Mrs. Karp said, “We have some things to talk about, young man. About the ropes in gym class. And about your behavior in the art room. And about something that happened Tuesday out on the playground.” I looked up, and at one of the lunch tables, Danny Grumson was smiling at me and nodding his head. Then he put out his pointer finger and pulled it—zip—straight across his throat.
As Mrs. Karp pulled me across the big room, I felt myself start to blush. And I thought, That’s the last time I’ll ever trust a principal. I thought I was so smart to go and talk to her. Now she’s probably going to call my mom and dad, too.
Then we were out the door, down the steps, along the front hallway, and into her office.
I hate it when I feel like I’m going to cry. Especially at school. But that’s how I felt. I kept my eyes on the floor. I sat in the chair in front of Mrs. Karp’s desk, and when I heard her sit in her chair, I looked up at her.
Then I looked away real quick, and then looked back again. Because I couldn’t believe my eyes. Mrs. Karp was smiling. A big, warm, friendly smile.
I kept staring at her and she said, “How was that?”
I shook my head. “What? How was what?”
“My performance. How did you like my performance?” And Mrs. Karp kept on smiling. “I guess it was pretty good if it fooled you, too. Sorry, but I had to make it look real.”
I shook my head, still trying to understand. “Then you’re not . . . mad at me?”
She shook her head, still smiling. “No. Not at all. Remember this morning when I told you I’d think about your . . . problem? Well, I did. And what just happened, that was my solution.”
And that’s when I got it. It was all an act. I said, “But the ropes in gym class? I really did that.”
Mrs. Karp said, “I talked with Mr. Collins, and he understands everything—and you will be doing more push-ups and sit-ups. Tomorrow.”
“And art class?” I asked.
“Yes, Miss Cott will be making quite a big speech to you on Friday about how wrong it was to destroy school property. Which is true, of course. You shouldn’t have broken that paintbrush.”
Then Mrs. Karp looked at her watch. “Well, I think it’s safe for you to go back and have the rest of your lunch now. But remember, Jake, this has to be our secret, or it’s going to look like I’ve given you special treatment—and we wouldn’t want anyone to think that, now, would we?”
And at that moment, if Mrs. Karp had wanted to pat me on the head, I wouldn’t have minded it one bit.
• • •
So that was how the longest four days of my life finally ended. And I never told anyone about Mrs. Karp’s great performance, not even Willie.
The rest
of my lunch tasted great that Thursday. And I wish you could have seen the way everyone looked at me when I walked back into the cafeteria and sat down to eat.
Some kids looked at me like I was an escaped criminal. Some kids looked at me like I was a hero coming back from a war. Some kids looked at me like they were afraid to look at me. But nobody—not one kid, not one teacher, not one cafeteria lady—looked at me like I had ever been Jake Drake, Teacher’s Pet.
What’s next for Jake Drake?
Here’s a look at what happens
when Jake turns into
the Class Clown.
CHAPTER ONE
New Boss
I’m Jake, Jake Drake. I’m only ten years old, but I already have a full-time job. Because that’s sort of how I think about school. It’s my job.
I’m in fourth grade now, so I’ve had the same job for more than five years. And if you do something long enough, you get pretty good at it. That’s how come I’m starting to be an expert about school.
I’ve had a bunch of different bosses so far. Because that’s what a teacher is: the boss. And one thing I know for sure is that it’s no fun when your boss is a sourpuss.
So far things have been okay for me. A few of my teachers have gotten grumpy now and then, and a couple of them have really yelled once in a while. And this year my fourth-grade teacher is Mr. Thompson, who can get grouchy sometimes. Plus he has brown hair growing out of his ears. So he might be a werewolf.
Still, I’ve never had a real sourpuss for a teacher—at least not for a whole school year.
But not Willie. Willie’s my best friend, and last year his third-grade teacher was Mrs. Frule. She’s one of those bosses who walks around with this mad look on her face, sort of like a cat when it’s outside in the rain. If you go past her room, you feel like you should whisper and walk on tiptoe. Because if Mrs. Frule even looks at you, she can always find something to get mad about.
So third grade was tough for Willie because he’s the kind of kid who loves to smile. Putting Mrs. Frule and Willie into the same classroom was a bad idea.