What on earth are you doing?"
That was a strange question, Sam thought. Anybody could
see
he was lighting a pipe. But he took the pipe out of his mouth and explained to his teacher.
"I'm lighting my pipe. I'm showing how I smoke my pipe."
"Not in this nursery school, you're not. I'm ashamed of you, Sam. Does your father know that you took his pipe?"
Sam hadn't even thought about that. When he took the pipe, he'd been thinking about being interesting at Show-and-Tell. He hadn't thought of it as taking. As
stealing.
He wished he had been the one to do fake burps instead of Leah. He wished Mrs. Bennett's angry face would go away.
"It's not my daddy's pipe," Sam said. "It's
my
pipe. My daddy has a different pipe. We sit around and smoke our pipes together at home."
"Oh?" Mrs. Bennett said. He could tell that she didn't believe him.
"And my mom and my sister, they both smoke big cigars," Sam added. His voice was a little quavery. It was quavery because he was lying. But he couldn't seem to stop.
Mrs. Bennett took the pipe and the lighter from Sam. She knelt beside him and put her arm around his waist. Sam felt terrible. All the kids were staring.
"I'm
very
glad Sam decided to give us all a lesson about health and safety," Mrs. Bennett said. "You taught us all an important thing, Sam."
"I did?"
"You certainly did. We all need to be reminded about how dangerous fire can be, right?"
"Right," said Sam.
"And we should never,
ever
play with lighters or matches?"
"No," Sam said in a loud voice. "Don't anybody
ever
play with lighters or matches!"
"And what do we think about smoking?"
"YUCK!" Sam shouted. The kids in the circle all clapped their hands and yelled "YUCK!"
Sam looked around and grinned. He was being a bigger hit than Leah.
Mrs. Bennett kept the pipe and the lighter. She said she would send them back to Sam's father with the carpool driver.
Sam decided, as he was putting on his jacket for the playground, that when he got home he would have a serious talk with his mom and daddy and Anastasia, too, about safety and health. He would also teach them how to do fake burps.
11
Sam sat on Anastasia's bed and watched his sister brush her hair. Anastasia had long hair and every night she tried to brush it, she had told Sam, one hundred strokes.
"Eighty-two, eighty-three, eighty-four," Anastasia was saying softly as she brushed.
"A hundred and forty-nine," Sam said loudly.
Anastasia stopped brushing and glared at him. "Don't, Sam," she said. "You'll get me all mixed up."
He waited quietly until she got to one hundred and put the brush down.
"Now do me," he said.
"Your hair looks fine," Anastasia said. "You don't have oily hair like I do."
"I just have dumb curls," Sam muttered.
"You have
great
curls, Sam. I'd give anything to have curls like yours. In fact, you know what? I'll tell you a secret."
"What?" Sam asked. He loved secrets.
"Well," his sister confided, "when I was younger, I used to be jealous of you. Sometimes when people would come to visit Mom and Dad, they would all start talking about what pretty curls the baby had."
"What baby?" Sam asked.
"You, when you were little. When people started talking about how cute you were and what pretty curls you had, I would get so jealous and mad that I would leave the room. I would go sulk."
"Did you cry?"
"No, of course not," Anastasia said. Then she added, "Well, sometimes I did. Once or twice."
Sam sighed. "I was such a cute baby," he said with satisfaction. "Very, very, very cute."
He raised himself to his knees so that he could look across the room into Anastasia's mirror. He frowned at himself. "Now I hate my curls," he said. "I wish I had punk hair."
"
Punk hair?
"
"Yeah. My friend Adam has punk hair. His hair all sucks up like a porkypine."
"Porcupine," Anastasia corrected him automatically. "Is it dyed orange or green or anything?"
"No, it's just a plain brown porkypine. And he has a little tail at the back." Sam felt the back of his own
That was a strange question, Sam thought. Anybody could
see
he was lighting a pipe. But he took the pipe out of his mouth and explained to his teacher.
"I'm lighting my pipe. I'm showing how I smoke my pipe."
"Not in this nursery school, you're not. I'm ashamed of you, Sam. Does your father know that you took his pipe?"
Sam hadn't even thought about that. When he took the pipe, he'd been thinking about being interesting at Show-and-Tell. He hadn't thought of it as taking. As
stealing.
He wished he had been the one to do fake burps instead of Leah. He wished Mrs. Bennett's angry face would go away.
"It's not my daddy's pipe," Sam said. "It's
my
pipe. My daddy has a different pipe. We sit around and smoke our pipes together at home."
"Oh?" Mrs. Bennett said. He could tell that she didn't believe him.
"And my mom and my sister, they both smoke big cigars," Sam added. His voice was a little quavery. It was quavery because he was lying. But he couldn't seem to stop.
Mrs. Bennett took the pipe and the lighter from Sam. She knelt beside him and put her arm around his waist. Sam felt terrible. All the kids were staring.
"I'm
very
glad Sam decided to give us all a lesson about health and safety," Mrs. Bennett said. "You taught us all an important thing, Sam."
"I did?"
"You certainly did. We all need to be reminded about how dangerous fire can be, right?"
"Right," said Sam.
"And we should never,
ever
play with lighters or matches?"
"No," Sam said in a loud voice. "Don't anybody
ever
play with lighters or matches!"
"And what do we think about smoking?"
"YUCK!" Sam shouted. The kids in the circle all clapped their hands and yelled "YUCK!"
Sam looked around and grinned. He was being a bigger hit than Leah.
Mrs. Bennett kept the pipe and the lighter. She said she would send them back to Sam's father with the carpool driver.
Sam decided, as he was putting on his jacket for the playground, that when he got home he would have a serious talk with his mom and daddy and Anastasia, too, about safety and health. He would also teach them how to do fake burps.
11
Sam sat on Anastasia's bed and watched his sister brush her hair. Anastasia had long hair and every night she tried to brush it, she had told Sam, one hundred strokes.
"Eighty-two, eighty-three, eighty-four," Anastasia was saying softly as she brushed.
"A hundred and forty-nine," Sam said loudly.
Anastasia stopped brushing and glared at him. "Don't, Sam," she said. "You'll get me all mixed up."
He waited quietly until she got to one hundred and put the brush down.
"Now do me," he said.
"Your hair looks fine," Anastasia said. "You don't have oily hair like I do."
"I just have dumb curls," Sam muttered.
"You have
great
curls, Sam. I'd give anything to have curls like yours. In fact, you know what? I'll tell you a secret."
"What?" Sam asked. He loved secrets.
"Well," his sister confided, "when I was younger, I used to be jealous of you. Sometimes when people would come to visit Mom and Dad, they would all start talking about what pretty curls the baby had."
"What baby?" Sam asked.
"You, when you were little. When people started talking about how cute you were and what pretty curls you had, I would get so jealous and mad that I would leave the room. I would go sulk."
"Did you cry?"
"No, of course not," Anastasia said. Then she added, "Well, sometimes I did. Once or twice."
Sam sighed. "I was such a cute baby," he said with satisfaction. "Very, very, very cute."
He raised himself to his knees so that he could look across the room into Anastasia's mirror. He frowned at himself. "Now I hate my curls," he said. "I wish I had punk hair."
"
Punk hair?
"
"Yeah. My friend Adam has punk hair. His hair all sucks up like a porkypine."
"Porcupine," Anastasia corrected him automatically. "Is it dyed orange or green or anything?"
"No, it's just a plain brown porkypine. And he has a little tail at the back." Sam felt the back of his own
Similar Books
