"Blue Jays," Mrs. Dilahunt said. "That's a coincidence. Just this morning there was a blue jay on the bird feeder. See over there, at the window?" Sam looked where she pointed, at a feeder filled with sunflower seeds, attached to the sill of the library window.
"When you were here earlier this week, what was it you were wearing? Rams, I think. And last week it was Cubs. You certainly have a lot of different hats, Sam."
"Thirty," Sam told her, with a sigh.
"Thirty!" Mrs. Dilahunt said, looking impressed. "I've known only one other person who owned thirty hats, and that was my great-aunt Madeline, who lived in Philadelphia.
"Of course," Mrs. Dilahunt said to Sam's mother, in an amused voice, "my great-aunt Madeline was a complete nut case. I mean complete"
Sam put his stack of books on Mrs. Dilahunt's desk. He was returning the ones that he and his mom had checked out earlier in the week. He had especially liked the one about a boa constrictor named Crictor. Mrs. Bennett had the same book at his school, and he thought she would probably read it next week, when Sam wore his very scary hat that said...
Well, Sam didn't want to think about that. His scary hats scared even him.
While his mother looked in the grown-up section for her books, Sam wandered over to a low child-size table and looked at the books on display. Mrs. Dilahunt had set all the Halloween books on the table, and Sam sat down in one of the small chairs and looked at pictures of pumpkins and skeletons.
"Don't forget, Sam! Tomorrow morning is 'Saturday Morning at the Movies'!" Mrs. Dilahunt called from her desk.
Sam hadn't forgotten. He loved "Saturday Morning at the Movies." It wasn't at the movies, actually; it was at the library. Sam had never figured out why she called it "At the Movies" when it was really "At the Library." But he loved it anyway. In the special room with no windows, there was a big-screen TV. He could sit on the carpeted floor. When all of the children were arranged in their places, and nobody was crying or fighting, and everybody was very quiet, Mrs. Dilahunt gave each child a small bag of popcorn. Then she showed a movie. Sam's favorite was Babe.
He was afraid, though, that he wouldn't be able to attend this week's movie. Tomorrow he and Steve were going to work on casseroles with Sleuth. Sam hoped Anastasia wouldn't be there. He loved his sister. But if his sister was around when Steve was there, then Steve and Anastasia started laughing about dumb stuff, and nobody paid any attention to Sam. His mom said it was because they were teenagers. She said that Sam would be the same way when he was a teenager, but Sam knew it wasn't true.
Sam leafed through a book about jack-o'-lanterns. He felt a little sad. He remembered a time not very long ago, when he was just an ordinary boy who wore Osh-Kosh overalls and played with his friends and went to see Babe at the library. Now, all of a sudden, he had a lot of jobs to do. He had to teach the other children about animals, some of them very scary ones; and he had to train his dog how to behave around the word lasagna. He had to wear a suit with not one single pocket and with a grape juice stain—which would not come out in the wash, no matter how hard his mother tried—on the elbow.
And he had to—
But Mrs. Dilahunt interrupted his sad thoughts. "Sam?" she said. Sam looked up.
"I think your mom's almost ready to leave. Have you chosen a book to check out?"
He looked at the jack-o'-lantern book. It didn't look very interesting, actually.
"I picked one out for you," Mrs. Dilahunt told him. "It's really special, as if the author was actually thinking 'Sam Krupnik' when he wrote it. Want to give it a try?"
Sam brightened. "Okay," he said.
But a few minutes later, sitting beside his mother in the car, Sam picked up the book, looked carefully at the cover, and made a little whimpering sound.
"What's wrong, Sam?" his mom asked. She was watching the road as they drove through the shopping area on their way home.
"Mrs. Dilahunt gave me a book, and she said it was special for me. She said the guy who wrote it—what's that called?" he asked his mother.
"The author."
"The Arthur?" Sam said. "He's an aardvark."
"The author," his mother corrected.
"I know," Sam said, "but I like to say Arthur.'"
"Why?" Mrs. Krupnik asked.
It was hard to explain. It was like liberry. The wrong word just sounded good. "Because he's an aardvark," Sam said.
"Oh," his mom said, though she still looked puzzled.
"Anyway, she said the Arthur probably thought 'Sam Krupnik' when he wrote it. And I thought maybe it would be a book about a boy having adventures, maybe a boy driving a train, or riding a horse, or fighting a giant, but..."
Mrs. Krupnik clicked the turn signal and turned the car onto their street. "But it isn't?" she asked sympathetically.
"No."
"What is it about, then?"
"Something dumb. And the Arthur can't even write it right."
"What on earth are you talking about, Sam? You haven't even opened the book yet." His mother pulled the car into their driveway and turned off the motor.
"It's about zoo hats!" Sam wailed. "I don't want a book about zoo hats! And look! The Arthur wrote it wrong on the cover!" Sam handed his mother the unopened book.
She looked at it carefully. "Oh, I see what you mean, Sam. It looks very much like zoo hats. But it isn't."
"Because the dumb old Arthur made the Z wrong!"
His mother pulled Sam over onto her lap. He just fit behind the steering wheel. She put her finger on the word that Sam had thought was Zoo.
"It's not a Z," Mrs. Krupnik said. "It's a 5. The number 5. On your next birthday, Sam, we'll find a big 5 to put on your cake."
"But what about the O's?" Sam asked, looking at the book title.
"The O's make it say a special number. Two oh oh would be two hundred, and three oh oh would be three hundred, and four oh oh would be—"
"Four hundred," Sam said. He was getting it.
"So this book is called..." His mom smiled at him. "Can you guess?"
Sam looked carefully. "The Five Hundred—" he said slowly.
"That's right. The title of this book is The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins. And that's why Mrs. Dilahunt chose it for you. She's been noticing all of your hats."
But Sam wasn't listening anymore. He hadn't even listened to the name of Bartholomew Cubbins. Sam had started to cry.
"Five hundred hats!" Sam wailed. He couldn't imagine anything worse.
17
Saturday morning was just what Sam had feared. Out in the yard, in their dog-training area next to Sam's sandbox, Steve and Anastasia started fooling around with Sleuth, and the serious work turned into a lot of silliness.
Sam tried using his teacher voice on them. It worked pretty well when he used it at school.
"Children!" he said sternly, looking at his sister and her boyfriend, "I think we're getting a little sidetracked here! Let's pay attention to our task!"
But Anastasia just shrieked with stupid laughter. She squirted the dog-training bottle at Steve and then ran around the yard while he chased her, trying to get even; Sleuth chased both of them, thinking that it was some sort of game. Sam watched them for a while and tried to figure out why it was that they seemed to be having so much fun when he wasn't having any fun at all.
Finally he gave up and went back into the house. He found his mom in the kitchen. The mixer was whirring, and his mom had some batter smears on her nose.
"You licked a bowl, didn't you?" Sam asked in a suspicious voice.
"Sure did," his mother admitted. "Oatmeal cookie batter. Want some? I saved you a little."
That was good news. Oatmeal cookie dough was Sam's favorite, and for a moment he was afraid that his mother had hogged it all, which would have ruined his morning entirely. She handed him a large wooden spoon still covered with gooey batter, and he began to lick.
"I didn't go to 'Saturday Morning at the Movies' because I had to help Steve train Sleuth," Sam sai
d, "but Steve and Anastasia are just fooling around."
"I know," his mother told him. She walked over to the kitchen window and looked out into the yard. Steve and Anastasia were throwing leaves at each other and laughing. Mrs. Krupnik smiled. "That's what being a teenager is like, Sam. When you have a crush on someone, you fool around and act silly. You'll do that someday."
Sam shook his head. He licked the last bit of dough from the sticky spoon. "No," he said sighing. "I'm always going to be sad." He made a very sad face, with his lower lip sticking out, so that his mother could see what he meant.
"My goodness!" she said, looking at his sad face. "Why?"
For a minute, Sam couldn't even remember why he was feeling so sorry for himself. Then he remembered, but he didn't know how to tell about it because it was too complicated. It was about wanting to be the best, the most important, the Chief of Wonderfulness.
Finally, because his mother was waiting, he tried to tell her about some of his sadnesses. "Because I always have to wear a zooman suit," he said at last, "and I don't have any pockets. And I have to wear hats every day. And my ears get folded."
He thought some more. Then he remembered a really big thing. "And I have some very scary animals to do, still."
"Like what?" his mother asked. "You already did lions and tigers. What could be scarier than lions and tigers?"
Sam looked at the floor. "There are five," he told her in a low voice. "But I'm not going to say them."
His mother picked him up. She sat down in a kitchen chair and arranged Sam on her lap. He could smell oatmeal cookies in the oven, and he could hear the clock chime in the hall. His cat wandered into the kitchen, looked around, arched her back, lay down on the dog's folded rug, and began to purr. Sam felt very cozy and comfortable.
"Would you whisper them to me?" his mom asked.
Sam remembered the five hats that he had been dreading. He had placed them in the very bottom of the plastic bag.
He whispered the first one into his mother's ear.
"Gulp," she said. Her eyes opened wide, and she shuddered.
Sam whispered the second.
"Wow," his mom whispered back. "Scary."
Sam whispered the third, and his mom said, "Ooooh."
He told her the fourth, and the fifth.
His mother sat silently for a moment, holding him close. The oven timer made a beeping sound.
"Let me get the cookies out, Sam," she said, "and then we'll decide what to do."
"Okay." Sam climbed down from her lap.
"Want to call Anastasia and Steve? Ask them if they'd like some milk and cookies."
But when Sam went to the kitchen door and called, "Milk and cookies!" it was Sleuth who reacted. He leaped to his feet, knocking over a trash can filled with recyclables, so that cans and bottles fell clattering onto the brick patio; then he thundered to the porch with his ears flapping and his tail wagging, in hopes of a handout.
"Dog trainers!" Sam called in his scolding teacher voice. "You have not been doing your best work!"
"Remember when your dad had his wisdom teeth taken out?" Mrs. Krupnik asked Sam. Sam nodded. It hadn't been very long ago. His dad went to the dentist one afternoon, and then he came home with his face all numb and his lips looking a little crooked. That evening, at dinner, his dad ate only soup, and some of it dribbled into his beard. Later, when the numbness went away, his mouth hurt a whole lot. His mom filled a Ziploc bag with crushed ice, and wrapped it in a towel. Then Sam's dad took a pill and lay on the couch with the ice bag on his jaw, watching "Wheel of Fortune," Anastasia's favorite show, and groaning. He thought "Wheel of Fortune" was a really dumb show, and he always groaned when someone bought a vowel. "Why on earth does she waste money buying an E when she's already got T and H and knows the other letter's an E?" Myron Krupnik would say. And Anastasia would say "Shhhhh."
But on this particular night, Sam's dad had groaned because his mouth hurt.
Sam remembered it, but he couldn't see what it had to do with scary animal hats.
His mom explained. "Everybody has four wisdom teeth," she said, "way in the back."
"Me too?" Sam asked.
"Well, not yet. You'll get them when you're older, though. Everybody does. All grown-ups have four wisdom teeth."
Sam still couldn't see what it had to do with hats, but he kept listening. His mom handed him a cookie from the rack where they were cooling. He hoped it was one with a lot of raisins.
"And sometimes they have to be taken out. I had my wisdom teeth taken out when I was in college, actually."
"Did you have to have a bag of ice?"
"Yes, I did. I stayed overnight in the college infirmary."
Sam chewed on his cookie. "I don't want wisdom teeth," he told his mother. "I'm not going to have any."
"Well, Sam," his mom said, "the reason I asked if you remembered Daddy's wisdom teeth was this. He had four of them, and the dentist said they all had to come out. So he could have had them done one at a time. Maybe one each week."
"Then it wouldn't have hurt so much," Sam said.
"Well, maybe not. But it would have meant that every week he would have to think about it and worry about it. And then he would have one done, and it would get better, and he would have to start thinking about the next one."
"And you would have to make him four ice bags," Sam said.
"Right. But he decided to get it all over with at once. Your dad is a brave guy, Sam."
"Yeah." Sam chewed on his cookie and thought about his dad. He still couldn't figure out what this had to do with scary animal hats.
"So, here's my thought, Sam," his mother said. "You could just forget about those scary animal hats. You could forget about being a zooman. We could take that zooman suit and cut it up into rags and you would never have to wear it again. And we could throw the hats away."
Sam shook his head slowly. "No," he said. "I promised the other kids scary animals."
"I know you did. And I know you're a brave guy, too, like your dad." His mom hugged him, and he snuggled in her lap.
"Yes," Sam said. "I am." He tried to think about times when he had been brave. Once he had had to have a penicillin shot, and he hadn't cried.
"So it seems to me that you could do those—how many were there?"
"Five," Sam said.
"Yes, five. You could do those five hats one at a time, one each day, and you could drag it out and worry about it for five days. Or you could be like your dad and his wisdom teeth."
Now he saw what she meant. "And get them all over with at once!" Sam said.
"Right."
"Tomorrow," Sam said.
"All five?" his mom asked.
"All five," Sam said.
18
"Class," Sam announced, as he stood in front of the circle of children, "today will be a very special day."
"Where's your hat?" Leah asked.
"Hey! I can see Sam's hair!" Adam shouted.
Sam looked down at the plastic trash bag on the floor beside him. "I will be doing a lot of hats," he explained, "but I decided to do them one at a time instead of wearing them in a tower, the way I did birds. Remember I promised you scary animal hats? Today's the day."
"Uh, Sam," Mrs. Bennett asked politely, "how many will you be doing this morning? I had planned on a finger-painting project." She looked at her watch.
"Five," Sam told her.
"Goodness," Mrs. Bennett said, "I'm not sure we'll have time for five today, Sam."
"I have to," Sam said. "It's like wisdom teeth."
"Wisdom teeth?"
"These are five very scary animals," Sam explained.
"Do it, Sam! Do the scary ones!" Adam and some of the other boys began to call. "You promised really scary ones!"
Mrs. Bennett sighed. "Go ahead, Sam," she said.
Sam took the first hat out of the bag. He looked at it carefully to see which one it was, and then he put it on his head. "Big Ben?" he said. "Could you do the music from Ja
ws?"
Big Ben began to hum the scary music loudly. Some of the children joined in. Sam could see Becky cover her ears.
"I am now wearing my Sharks hat," Sam announced. "A zookeeper has to take care of sharks."
"Oh, no!" Becky moaned. She uncovered her ears and covered her eyes.
"But I know how to train sharks to behave," Sam explained. "Who would like to be a pretend shark?"
All of the boys waved their arms in the air, volunteering, and Sam chose Eli and Adam. "Swim toward me when I tell you to," Sam instructed them. "Not till I'm ready."
Eli and Adam lay on the carpet, waiting. They made their faces into scary faces, with their teeth showing.
"I have a special weapon," Sam explained. He reached into the bag and took it out.
"Sam," Mrs. Bennett said, in a warning sort of voice.
"It's not a gun," Sam reassured her. He turned toward the class and toward the two sharks who were waiting. "Okay, sharks," he said, "swim."
All of the children, led by Big Ben, were now humming the Jaws music loudly: all except Becky, who was curled in Miss Ruth's lap and had her face in her hands. Eli and Adam wiggled across the floor toward Sam.
It was very, very scary. Sam aimed his dog-training bottle of water with a teensy bit of vinegar and waited. When the two sharks were close enough, he shot them both.
"Yuck!" Eli and Adam jumped up, their faces wet. The humming stopped. The shark attack was over.
"See?" Sam said. "It's easy to control sharks if you know what you're doing.
"Next," he said, changing his hat with a dramatic flourish, "I need a whole bunch of you to be a swarm of hornets!"