Roscoe Riley Rules #1
Never Glue Your Friends to Chairs
Katherine Applegate
Illustrated by Brain Biggs
For Julia and Jake,
with love
Contents
1. Welcome to Time-Out
2. Something You Should Know Before We Get Started
3. Something Else You Should Know Before We Get Started
4. This Morning at My House
5. Don’t-You-Dare Glue
6. The Secret Handshake
7. Mess Rehearsal
8. How to Speak Teacher
9. Roscoe to the Rescue
10. Bee-having
11. Uh-Oh
12. Holes in Our Heads
13. Good-Bye from Time-Out
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
Welcome to Time-Out
Hey! Over here!
It’s me. Roscoe.
Welcome to the Official Roscoe Riley Time-out Corner.
Want to hang out with me?
I have to warn you, though. We’re going to be here for a while.
See, I kinda got in some trouble today.
Again.
Kids have to follow so many rules!
Sometimes my brain forgets to remember them all.
It’s not like I try to find ways to get in trouble. It’s just that trouble has a way of finding me.
Truth is, I’m just a normal, everyday kid like you.
My favorite food is blue M&M’s. My favorite sport is bed jumping. My favorite color is rainbow.
And my most not-favorite thing is lima beans.
See? Like I said. Just a normal, everyday kid.
A normal, everyday kid who sometimes gets into trouble.
Like today. I was just trying to help out my teacher.
How was I supposed to know you shouldn’t glue people to chairs?
With Super-Mega-Gonzo Glue?
You’ve done that, haven’t you?
Oh.
Never?
Oh.
Well, maybe you should hear the whole story….
2
Something You Should Know Before We Get Started
Here’s the thing about Super-Mega-Gonzo Glue.
When the label says permanent, they mean permanent.
As in FOREVER AND EVER.
3
Something Else You Should Know Before We Get Started
You gotta trust me on this.
Super-Mega-Gonzo Glue is for gluing THINGS.
Not PEOPLE.
It is a way bad idea to glue THINGS to PEOPLE.
That’s just a for-instance.
4
This Morning at My House
You’re probably wondering how I know so much about Super-Mega-Gonzo Glue.
Well, it all started this morning. I was helping my mom pack my lunch.
“Banana?” I asked her. “With no icky brown spots on it?”
Mom looked in my lunch box.
“Check,” she said.
“Little fishy crackers?”
“Check.”
“Gigantic chocolate cupcake with tons of gooey frosting and those little sprinkle things?”
Mom smiled her I’m-getting-tired-of-this smile.
“Sorry,” she said. “We’re fresh out of gigantic chocolate cupcakes.”
I sighed. “It was worth a try.”
Mom grabbed a comb off the kitchen counter. “Hair time, buddy. You want to look extra handsome for the open house.”
In the afternoon, all the parents were coming to visit our classroom.
That’s called an open house.
Even though it’s at school.
We were going to sing a song about bees. And have desserts and juice and milk.
I was especially excited about the dessert part.
My mom was bringing her banana-avocado-raisin cream pie.
I was not so excited about that.
My mom is a great mom.
But she is not a great cook.
“You have to be extra nice to Ms. Diz,” I said.
Ms. Diz is my first-grade teacher. She is brand-new.
She loves teaching my class. Even though we get a little crazy sometimes.
Ms. Diz says we are very high-spirited.
“Of course we’ll be nice,” Mom said.
“’Cause this is her first time showing us off. And also ’cause the principal will be there.”
“I promise Dad and I will behave,” Mom said.
“And be sure to clap after we do our bee song,” I added.
“I promise,” Mom said.
“And no laughing,” I added.
“Why would we laugh, sweetheart?”
“Because yesterday when we practiced it was kind of a mess,” I said. “The head bobbles kept coming off.”
Mom frowned and asked, “What’s a head bobble?”
“You know. The ten knees on a bee head?”
I put my hands on my head and wiggled my pointer fingers to show her.
“Oh.” Mom smiled. “You mean the antennae.”
“I’m lucky. ’Cause I’m in the rhythm section. We pound with sticks to keep the beat. And we get bobbles too.”
“That’s a very important job.” Mom kissed the top of my head. “Don’t worry. I’m sure everything will go perfectly today.”
Mom zipped up my lunch box. “Okay, kiddo. You’re good to go.”
Just then I remembered something.
“Wait!” I cried. “There is one more really important thing! I was supposed to bring art supplies yesterday. For the art cupboard. ’Member? You said we would bring them ’cause it’s easier than being a room mother?”
“Oops. I almost forgot,” said Mom. She grinned. “Roscoe to the rescue!”
My family likes to say that when I help out.
My dad came in and poured a cup of coffee.
He was wearing a business suit, a brown sock, and a bare foot.
“Morning,” he said. “Roscoe, is your brother up yet?”
“Yep,” I said. “But I had to use my Roscoe Riley Sneak Attack to wake him. Would you like to try it sometime?”
“I’m listening,” Dad said.
He made one eyebrow go up.
It’s a trick a lot of dads can do.
“Well, first you knock real polite on Max’s door. Then he growls and tells you to come back next year.”
“And then?” asked Dad.
“Then you jump on his bed like it’s a trampoline. And you scream, ‘RISE AND SHINE, YOU BUM!’ And if he still doesn’t wake up, you squirt him with your juice box on his nose and toes.”
“I see,” said Dad. “Crude, but effective.”
It is always nice when your dad is proud of you.
“Mom,” I said. “What about the art stuff?”
Mom was using the toaster for a mirror. “I have bags under my eyes,” she said.
I tugged on her sleeve.
Sometimes that helps moms focus.
“Mom,” I said. “We need goo sticks and scissors and paper.”
“Glue sticks,” Mom said. “The art supplies are in the junk drawer. Would you get them, Roscoe? I need to see if Max is ready for school.”
The junk drawer is one of my favorite off-limits places.
It’s like a pirate treasure chest.
Only with no rubies.
I opened the drawer.
I looked inside.
Wow, I thought. This drawer is full of cool stuff!
And that’s when all my trouble started.
5
Don’t-You-Dare Glue
/>
The junk drawer always has wonderful things in it.
Keys. Puzzle pieces. Paper clips. The head from one of Hazel’s dolls.
I was playing brain surgeon the day that happened.
The patient died.
I pulled out the bag of art supplies.
I added three purple rubber bands to the bag.
And a Slinky that wouldn’t slink anymore.
And the doll head.
You never know when you might need an extra head.
And then I saw something else in the drawer.
A bottle of Super-Mega-Gonzo Glue.
The grown-up glue Mom calls don’t-you-dare glue.
Super-Mega-Gonzo Glue is extra strong.
Dad used it when I broke my great-grandma’s very old teacup.
And when I broke Mom’s very precious flower vase.
And when I broke Grandpa’s very ugly glass potato souvenir from Idaho.
Adults really should keep breakable stuff away from us kids.
Mom glanced into the family room. “Max! Did you find your other shoe? The bus will be here in five minutes.”
My big brother came into the kitchen.
He was armed with a juice box.
“My shoe is on the roof,” Max said. Then he squirted me with his straw.
At least it was apple juice. That’s my favorite.
“Max!” Mom cried.
“He started this war,” Max said.
“My hair’s all wet,” I complained.
“Maybe you should cut off your head,” Max said.
Which was not all that helpful, really.
“Shut up,” I said to Max.
“Roscoe!” Dad said.
“Shut up, PLEASE,” I said.
“Wait just a minute, Max,” Mom said. “Did you say your shoe is on the roof?”
“There’s a good explanation,” Max said.
“I’m sure there is,” said Dad. His eyebrow went up again.
That eyebrow gets a lot of exercise.
“Me and Roscoe were playing astronaut,” Max said.
“Max’s shoe was the space shuttle,” I added.
“I need a ladder,” Mom said.
“I need more coffee,” Dad said.
“I need a new brother,” I said.
“You need a new brain,” said Max.
“Guys,” said Dad. “Peace.”
“Roscoe, Max and your dad and I have work to do on the roof,” Mom said. “Keep an eye on Hazel for me, sweetie.”
Hazel is my little sister. She was busy watching cartoons in the family room.
Mom says educational cartoons are okay.
Especially until she’s had her first cup of coffee.
“I’ll hold the ladder,” Dad said to Mom, “if you climb.”
Dad is afraid of heights. But don’t tell anybody. It’s a family secret.
Also, please don’t tell him he is losing his hair.
Dads can be very sensitive, you know.
“Dad,” I said. “Before you go outside, I think you should know you only have one sock on.”
Dad looked down at his foot. “Has anyone seen my other sock?”
“Try the roof,” Mom said.
“Try Goofy’s stomach,” I said. “I think he ate it.”
Goofy is our big white dog.
He is very open-minded about his diet.
Dad groaned. Then he went outside with his one bare foot. Followed by Max and Mom.
I checked on Hazel. She was talking to a blue dog on the TV screen.
Goofy was eating her cereal.
I went back to the junk drawer.
I picked up the don’t-you-dare glue.
I imagined Mom saying, “Roscoe, don’t you dare touch the don’t-you-dare glue!”
I put the glue down.
I imagined my teacher saying, “Roscoe, what a wonderful helper you are! Thank you so much for the grown-up glue!”
Hazel came into the kitchen. She was wearing a paper crown.
Hazel’s favorite games are Princess Dress-up, Mud Pie Picnic, and Let’s Dress Up Roscoe Like a Princess and Make Him Eat Mud Pies.
“…h, i, j, k, Ellen Emmo peed,” Hazel sang.
She paused. “Who is Ellen Emmo?” she asked.
“They’ll explain all that in kindergarten,” I said.
I picked up the glue again.
Hazel’s eyes got big. “That’s the don’t-you-dare glue!”
“It’s for my teacher,” I said. “Things are always breaking at school. Like yesterday, when I broke the pencil sharpener.”
Sometimes I get a little carried away when I’m sharpening.
I put the glue in the bag of art supplies. Then I grabbed my Hero Guy backpack.
Hero Guy doesn’t have his own TV show or anything.
Mom got him on sale at the mall.
“Hey, Roscoe,” Max called. “Hurry up! The bus is coming! And you gotta come see something!”
I took Hazel’s hand. I looked at the junk drawer one last time.
Maybe I should put the glue back, I thought.
After all, when you call something don’t-you-dare glue, there’s probably a good reason.
I could hear the bus driver honking.
Oh well, I thought.
It was just a harmless little bitty bottle of glue.
When Hazel and I got outside, I saw a big silver ladder leaning against the house.
Dad was holding it.
“Check it out!” Max exclaimed. “Mom’s on the roof again!”
“Excellent,” I said.
That is always a good way to start your day.
I yelled good-bye as I ran for the bus stop.
“See you at the open house!” Dad called.
Just then there was a big gust of wind.
The ladder fell with a crash.
Probably Mom would have yelled goodbye, too.
But she was too busy hanging from the roof.
6
The Secret Handshake
When I got to my classroom, my friends Gus and Emma ran over to say hello.
The first thing we did was our Secret Handshake.
Here is how it goes. In case you would like to try it.
1. Scream each other’s names.
2. Wait for the teacher to say, “Inside voices, PLEASE!”
3. Do a high five.
3. Do a low five.
4. Stick out your tongue.
5. Get all serious and say, “How do you do, Mr. Riley?”
Of course, you would not say Riley, probably.
It would be pretty amazing if we had the same last name.
Emma pointed to my elbows. “Cool sparkle Band-Aids, Roscoe.”
I mostly always have a Band-Aid on me somewhere.
Or a cast. Or a sling.
Mom says to think of it all as a fashion statement.
When I was four, I even had an eye patch.
The eye patch was black. Totally pirate.
“How’d you get the Band-Aids?” Gus asked.
“Racing my Hot Wheels car down the stairs,” I said. “The Hot Wheels won.”
“Household accidents are the most common cause of injuries in children,” said Emma.
Emma teaches me lots of interesting facts.
She was born in China. Her parents adopted her when she was a baby.
I wish I was born in China. Instead of just Kalamazoo.
Gus teaches me lots of useful things too.
Just last week he showed me how to make armpit farts.
“What’s in the bag, Roscoe?” Emma asked.
“Art stuff for Ms. Diz,” I said.
I opened the bag. Gus and Emma peeked inside.
“Cool head,” Gus said.
“Her name was Drusilla,” I said. “Before I brain-surgeried her.”
“Super-Mega-Gonzo Glue!” Gus said. “Whoa. My mom won’t let me near that stuff!”
“Me either,” said Emma.
“Me e
ither,” I said. “But I figured Ms.
Diz could use it. For when we break stuff. Let’s go show her what I brought.”
Ms. Diz was busy stapling butterfly pictures to the bulletin board.
Ms. Diz isn’t really her name.
But her real name is hard to say. It uses maybe half of the alphabet.
So she cut off the end for my class.
Maybe when I’m a grown-up, I’ll be called Mr. Ri for short.
Or not.
I handed Ms. Diz the bag of art supplies. “This is for you,” I said. “It’s for the art cupboard. There’s special glue in there. And I even included a free head.”
Ms. Diz frowned. “What kind of head, Roscoe?”
“Just a doll head.” I smiled so she wouldn’t worry.
Since Ms. Diz is new, she gets mixed up sometimes.
I try to help her out whenever I can.
After all, I was a kindergartner last year. So I already know everything there is to know about school.
For example, when Ms. Diz forgot the janitor’s name, I remembered it was Mr. McGeely.
She had to call him when Gus threw up his ravioli after lunch.
Sometimes Ms. Diz looks pretty pooped by the end of the day.
I hope she doesn’t decide to go into another line of work. My kindergarten teacher did that.
It wasn’t my fault.
Probably.
Although I think maybe she got a little frustrated when I painted the class hamsters. Green. Because it was Saint Patrick’s Day.
Hamsters like to look perky for the holidays.
Ms. Diz checked her watch. “Class!” she said in a loud voice.
Then she put a finger on her lips. That means SHHH.
“I know you’re all excited about the open house today,” said Ms. Diz. “We’re going to have a dress rehearsal first thing this morning.”
Dress rehearsal is when you practice with costumes and stuff.
It doesn’t mean you have to wear a dress.
“Let’s just hope things go a little better than they did yesterday,” Ms. Diz said with a laugh. “I’m sure today we’ll all be on our best behavior.”