The Terrible Two's Last Laugh, page 2
What should I wear on the first day of school?
That is how it is with big questions. Instead of answers, they lead to more questions, which lead to more questions, questions on questions on questions, and soon nothing is certain, and the only thing that can make you feel better is tightening the knot of a striped silk tie.
“I think I just like suits,” Niles told Miles, in their square on the sidewalk in front of their school.
“Yeah,” said Miles. “You look good in suits!”
They crossed the lawn, past hedges and trees, past flag and flagpole, past gaggles of kids, up to the front steps leading into the building they knew so well.
“Well, here we go,” said Miles. “One last time.”
“Yeah,” said Niles. “Yeah.”
For this was not just a Monday, not just a school day, and not just the first day of a new year of school. Miles and Niles (and everyone else in their class) were graduating this year. Today was the first day of their last year at Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy.
Chapter
5
In the hallway, students streamed by Miles and Niles. Since it was a new school year, lots of kids had new stuff. New folders with pictures of athletes or puppies. New pencils in new cardboard boxes: unsharpened, with perfect unsmudged pink erasers poking out of their tops. Lots of new lunchboxes: new plastic ones with characters from new movies that had just come out over the summer, new old ones made of tin with characters from movies that came out years ago. Brightly colored lunchboxes with squishy sides that were supposed to keep your drink cold but just absorbed the smell of your banana. New notebooks, new sneakers. Lucky kids had new textbooks. They had to write NEW on the inside covers, on a chart labeled CONDITION. The years would go on, and the chart would get filled out, from NEW to GOOD to FAIR to POOR. And then: DISCARD. There were new backpacks, looking like they’d been ironed by professional dry cleaners. Someday, a day when there was homework in every subject, their zippers would break. Their leather bottoms would get covered in drawings, made with blue ballpoint pen during boring classes. Their insides would get grease spots from melted chocolate chips of half-eaten granola bars forgotten in pouches. But today those backpacks were new. There were even new kids, to replace the old kids who’d left last year and now went to new schools.
“Who are all these kids?” Holly Rash asked. She’d fallen into step alongside Miles and Niles without saying hello. “They’re so small. Were we ever that small?”
Miles and Niles did not reply to her question. It was a rhetorical question, and they all knew the answer. Yes. They had all been that small. They had all felt that new. Miles had more than once, since he’d had to switch schools.
Holly smiled at people she knew. “Hi, Ellen! Hey, Scotty!” She carried her books under her arm. A pencil was stuck behind her left ear.
“Where’s your backpack?” asked Niles.
“What backpack?” said Holly. “I swore them off.”
“You swore off backpacks?” Miles asked. “What’s wrong with backpacks?”
“I think they look silly. ‘Only bring what you can carry under your arm.’ That’s my motto this year.”
“Wow,” said Miles. “OK.” He rolled his eyes and tightened the straps of his backpack. He was not convinced.
They rounded the corner with the drinking fountains.
A kid saw them, mid-drink. He yanked up his head, wiped off his mouth, and ran to catch up.
“Hey, GUYS!” said the kid. “Stop ZOOMING! WAIT up!”
This kid was named Stuart. He was dragging a suitcase on wheels behind him.
“Do you guys like my NEW BAG?” Stuart asked. “It’s HUGE!”
“Again,” Miles said, “what’s wrong with backpacks?”
“What do you mean AGAIN?” Stuart said.
“We were talking before you came up,” Niles said.
“I’m not doing backpacks anymore,” said Holly.
“Wow,” said Stuart, “it’s SO WEIRD coming in right in the MIDDLE of something. I’m like, ‘WHAT are you TALKING ABOUT?’”
Stuart laughed at his own joke, which wasn’t really a joke. The other three kids nodded and waited for him to stop laughing, which he did, eventually.
“Now,” said Stuart, “WHAT was I TALKING ABOUT?”
“Backpacks,” said Niles.
“Oh YEAH,” said Stuart. “BACKPACKS are too SMALL. I can carry EVERY BOOK in this bag, plus all my BINDERS and FOLDERS!”
“Why would you do that?” Holly asked. They were all making their way toward Room 22.
“Yeah,” said Miles. “We have lockers.”
“BECAUSE,” Stuart said. He paused for dramatic effect. “THIS year I am using my LOCKER to store SNACKS!”
“Snacks?” said Niles.
“SNACKS!” said Stuart. “My WHOLE LOCKER is FILLED with SNACKS! I’m calling it the SNACK ZONE.”
“OK,” said Holly.
“Huh,” said Miles.
“Neat,” said Niles.
The four of them reached their classroom and picked out seats next to each other.
“So if you get HUNGRY during the day, or just want some SNACKS, COME to the SNACK ZONE! It’s like a FRIDGE in the MIDDLE of SCHOOL, except it’s not COLD!”
“So a cupboard,” Holly said.
“That’s FUNNY!” said Stuart.
“It is?” Holly asked.
Apparently it was, because Stuart was laughing again.
Miles looked at Stuart laughing, at Holly raising her eyebrows, at Niles smiling. He smelled the smells of Room 22—pencil shavings, soil from the plants Ms. Shandy grew in colorful pots along the row of windows, wet chalkboard. (Ms. Shandy hated whiteboards, and she didn’t just erase her chalkboard—she wiped it down with a damp cloth every morning.) “Wow,” Miles said softly. He surprised himself: He’d missed school.
The morning bell rang.
Ms. Shandy smiled at the class. “Good morn—”
Josh Barkin slid through the door.
“Just in time, Ms. Shandy!” he said.
Ms. Shandy sighed.
Josh pointed at Miles. “That nimbus is in my seat.”
“If you wanted that seat, Josh, you should have gotten here on time.”
“I was on time, Ms. Shandy. I already said that. You know, you should really listen to your students. It’s the sign of a great teacher. In fact, a lot of great teachers say it’s the students who teach them.”
“Uh-huh,” said Ms. Shandy.
“Plus, student-teacher interaction is a category on your staff evaluation, and I’d hate to report any negative interactions to my dad, who fills out your staff evaluation.”
“Josh,” said Ms. Shandy, “it’s a new year. Let’s try not to repeat our past mistakes. Take a seat.”
Josh smiled at his teacher. “Whatever you say, Ms. Shandy.”
On his way to the back row, he hit Niles in the face with his backpack.
“Oh, sorry!” As he swung around to apologize to Niles, Josh hit Miles in the face with his backpack.
“Sorry again!” Josh said. “I’m so clumsy today!”
“Josh,” said Ms. Shandy.
“Just saying hi to my buds!” Josh said loudly.
“You little nimbuses,” he added quietly.
Miles smiled.
Yes, it was good to be back.
Chapter
6
Ms. Shandy smiled at the class again.
“Now that we have endured that little Barkin interruption, we can get started. Good morn—”
The intercom screeched.
“PLEASE EXCUSE THIS INTERRUPTION. THIS IS YOUR PRINCIPAL, PRINCIPAL BARKIN, WITH AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT. THIS MESSAGE IS FOR MILES MURPHY AND NILES SPARKS: PLEASE REPORT TO THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE, WHICH IS MY OFFICE, IMMEDIATELY.”
“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH MAMAMAMAMAMAMA,” said Stuart, which is what Stuart said when somebody got in trouble.
“You heard the man, guys.” Ms. Shandy gestured to the door. “Now, good morn—”
“AND THIS MESSAGE IS TO THE REST OF YOU STUDENTS, THE ONES WHO AREN’T MILES AND NILES: LET’S MAKE THIS OUR BEST YEAR! THANK YOU. END OF ANNOUNCEMENT.”
This time Ms. Shandy waited five seconds before smiling.
“Good morn—”
“HOW DO YOU TURN THIS THING OFF?”
Chapter
7
Miles and Niles found themselves in a place many pranksters find themselves: the principal’s office.
Specifically, Miles and Niles found themselves in this principal’s office:
This principal’s name was Principal Barkin. One wall of his office was covered with portraits of other principals, whose names were also Principal Barkin.
Principal Barkin came from a long line of principals. You could say being a principal was the Barkin family business, but if you did, a Barkin would correct you and say it was the family calling.
Miles and Niles took their regular seats: two small chairs on one side of Principal Barkin’s big oak desk. On the other side, the principal side, the power side, sat Principal Barkin. He reclined in a plush leather chair, reading the newspaper.
“Well, boys, have you heard?” he said.
His chair squeaked as he leaned forward.
“The squeaking?” Miles asked.
Barkin’s face flushed a faint purple. “No, Miles, not the squeaking. We have all heard the squeaking, which Gus was supposed to fix over the summer. Excuse me one moment.”
He opened a notebook embossed with THE PRODUCTIVE PRINCIPAL in gold letters and added “TALK TO GUS ABOUT SQUEAKING” to a long list labeled PROJECTS.
“Now.” Principal Barkin slid his newspaper across the table. “Have you heard the news?
“Some guys have all the luck,” said Principal Barkin. “First he gets a blue cow, which if I’m being honest is really more grayish, and now this! This!”
He tapped his index finger on the photo that accompanied the article.
“That cow also looks grayish,” said Miles.
“Well, yes, of course it does, Miles. It’s a newspaper. They can’t afford to print in color. But if you’d read the article before speaking, you’d know that this cow is bright green! With purple spots!”
Below Principal Barkin’s desk, where he could not see, the Terrible Two exchanged a secret handshake.
“Bob’s going to make a killing off this,” said Principal Barkin. “Do you know how many people will want to drink milk from a green cow with purple spots?”
Miles grimaced. “How many?”
“A lot!” said Principal Barkin. “Probably a lot of people, I bet!” He leaned back in his chair, which squeaked. “I wonder if the milk is green.”
“Or purple,” said Niles.
“Interesting point, Niles!” said Principal Barkin.
“Or just white still,” said Miles.
Principal Barkin frowned.
“Show some imagination, Miles.”
The principal looked at the article and shook his head.
“I mean, how does a cow become green overnight? With purple spots!”
“Maybe someone painted it,” Miles said.
“Who would paint a cow?”
“How should I know?” said Miles.
“How should I know? Is that your new catchphrase, Miles?”
“No,” said Miles.
“Ah!” said Principal Barkin. “So is it available as a catch-phrase?”
“Principal Barkin,” said Niles, “is this why you called us to your office? To talk about cows? Because we love talking about cows—”
“Who doesn’t!” said Principal Barkin.
“—but we have class right now.”
“Yeah,” said Miles, “and we know how you feel about students missing instructional time.”
“I hate students missing instructional time!” said Principal Barkin.
“Right,” said Miles. “We know.”
“However,” said Principal Barkin, “this is important.”
He leaned back in his chair again, and it squeaked again.
Principal Barkin smiled.
“Notice anything different about me?”
Miles and Niles took a good look at their principal.
Principal Barry Barkin was a man who changed very little. He was devoted to routines. He woke up at the same time every day (precisely one minute before his alarm went off). He ate the same breakfast (oatmeal on toast). Every three weeks, he went to the barbershop, where he asked for the same haircut (“Clean it up around the sides, Paul.”) and made the same joke (“Don’t touch the top.”). He wore the same suit. He wore the same shoes. When those shoes wore out, he bought the same pair. “A POWERFUL PRINCIPAL PLOTS A PATH AND NEVER STRAYS FROM IT.” That was principle six in The Seven Principles of Principal Power, a book that Barkin brought with him wherever he went.
But now he was asking what was different about him.
Miles stared.
Niles squinted.
Principal Barkin was delighted by the attention.
Here is Principal Barkin on the first day of school two years ago, when Miles Murphy first arrived in Yawnee Valley:
And this is him exactly two years later, sitting across from Miles and Niles in the same office, in the same squeaky chair.
Take a good look. Notice anything different?
Niles’s eyes widened and he smiled brightly.
“Your tie!”
“Correct, Niles!” said Principal Barkin.
If you guessed that Principal Barkin’s tie was a different color, you’re absolutely right!
If you didn’t guess, well, you know, it’s probably because we can’t afford to print these books in color.
But anyway, here’s the deal: Every year, on the first day of school, Principal Barkin wore the same tie. It was his favorite tie, and it was bright red, which, according to The Seven Principles of Principal Power, was the Official Color of Powerful Principals. This powerful tie had a small yellow mustard stain, but you couldn’t see that unless you looked from very close up. At a distance, it was pure power red, glowing like the eye of an angry beast, or the hole of a rumbling volcano.
The first day of school was when Principal Barkin always gave his annual power speech, an address that “kicked the year off right” by “establishing his absolute authority over the school.” Over the years, Principal Barkin’s speeches had covered many topics. There was “Don’t Just Hear. Listen. (To Me, Your Principal, Principal Barkin.)” The next year was “The Other Three Rs: Respect, Responsibility, and Really Good Attitude.” And of course there was the time Principal Barkin used his speech to introduce Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy’s Positive Student Behavior Program, called M.U.N.C.H. (Make good choices, Use quiet voices, Never question your principal, Choices!, Hands and feet to yourself.)
Principal Barkin’s red tie was an important part of a successful power speech, since, like his words, it conveyed pure power. (Students couldn’t see the mustard stain from where they sat in the auditorium. Principal Barkin knew this because one time, over the summer, when nobody was around, he’d put the tie on a CPR dummy propped up onstage behind a podium, then tested the views from various seats. No matter where he sat, that dummy looked powerful!)
So yes, on the first day of school, Principal Barkin always wore a red tie.
But today, this morning, the morning of the first day of school, Principal Barkin’s tie was purple. Purple!
Principal Barkin smiled.
“Now Niles, you will probably also have noticed, and Miles, you are less likely to have noticed since you don’t really seem to pay attention to these things, that it is 8:45 in the morning, and we three are sitting here in my office, when normally we, and all your classmates, would be—”
“In the auditorium, listening to a power speech,” said Miles.
“Wow,” said Principal Barkin. “Miles. You did notice.”
Miles celebrated with a little pump of his fist.
“You see, boys,” said Principal Barkin, “something has changed in me. Not just the color of my necktie, which is something that has changed on me, technically, but the nature of my soul, which, like a necktie, is altered. Over the last two years, something has been happening to me, has been happening in me, which my wife, Mrs. Barkin, says happens to a lot of men my age, but I think she is wrong. Because the things that have happened to me are unusual. My car was parked on the top of the stairs, which, Miles, in light of recent revelations, I am now starting to believe once again you did, and I still don’t know how you did it.”
“I didn’t,” said Miles.
“Also, remember when I was placed on an involuntary, indefinite leave of absence? I was out of a job, thanks largely to you two, but then I was back into a job, the same job, also thanks largely to you two. And then there was the time I fell into a large hole in the woods, which was the start of a summertime adventure! What I am trying to say is, we have been through a lot, we three. We are linked, me, and you, and you, and in many ways one could say that your club, the Terrible Twos—”
“The Terrible Two,” said Niles.
“—the Terrible Two, has transformed—like a pupa, or one of those toys, what are they called, the ones they make all the movies of, a Transformer—transformed, like a Transformer, into a new, slightly larger club, one with the same initials, T.T.: The Terrible Three!”
“Hmmm,” said Niles.
“And one could also say, and in fact I am saying it, that I also feel transformed! Whereas once I was a Powerful Principal, this year, I have decided to become a new kind of principal, again, one with the same initials, P.P.—”
“Hmmm,” said Miles.
“A Pranking Principal!”
Principal Barkin was grinning wildly.
“And boys, that is why I have called you to my office. To talk, just us three pranksters, and to tell you that this morning I played a prank!”
Miles and Niles were more than a little stunned.
