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Authors: Richard Scrimger
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gentle toss at Michael, who doesn’t even try to catch it. He lets it roll to him, then in one motion picks the ball up and whips it as hard as he can – at Mr. Gebohm.
It hits him right in the cheek. His glasses go flying. His whole head snaps back. There’s a muffled
tweet
from his whistle – the last sound a canary would make on its way into the cat’s mouth – and the teacher falls over, hitting the gym floor.
“Gebohm go boom!” says Michael.
Jiri frowns, then he gets the joke. He opens his mouth wide, and laughs and laughs. Mr. Gebohm is sitting up now. The whistle dangles. “Gebohm go boom!” says Jiri.
I walk over to the teacher. “Can we rehearse our play in the gym after school today?” I ask. “Please, Mr. Gebohm.”
He stares blankly up at me. “No,” he says.
And so we have another rehearsal in class. Miss Gonsalves arrives in good time and good spirits. She laughs when I tell her about meeting the principal, and trying to convince Mr. Gebohm.
“Wait until they hear my news,” she says, opening her music.
“What news?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. I won’t know for sure until then.”
Snow is falling when I get out of the rehearsal. I can hear the scrape of shovels on the sidewalks – a sound muted by the falling snow. Bill is busy on our front walk. He isn’t the only one. His friend David is there too. A big kid, David. Bigger than Bill – than me, come to that. He looks like a bear in his winter coat, and hat with the earflaps dangling.
“About time,” says Bill. “Hurry and help us, Jane. She won’t let us in until the walk is cleared.”
“What do you mean, she? She, who?”
“Who do you think – Grandma.”
“Oh.”
“Your grandmother reminds me of my aunt,” says David. “Very strict.”
“Strict?” says Bill. “She’s crazy.” Then he says something I don’t understand. Sounds like “sugar.” “Is that right?” he asks David.
David smiles. “That’s right,” he says, bending to lift another shovelful of snow.
The back door of the house opens onto a mudroom. Hooks for coats, a tray for boots, a box for recycled papers. We hang up our coats.
The smell from the kitchen is powerful. A strong and sweet smell, like burning sugar. Bill and I share a glance. Grandma is probably the world’s worst cook. Did you ever hear of the Donner party? They were in the Sierras in California and they ended up eating each other. Maybe I’d rather go to one of Grandma’s dinners than the Donner party – but it would be a tough choice.
“Is the walk done?” yells Grandma from the kitchen. “And is your hairy friend here?”
“The walk’s done, Grandma,” I say.
“David isn’t hairy,” says Bill. “And he’s gone home.”
“Well, hang up your coats!” Grandma coughs loud and long, and spits in the sink.
Yuck.
I run upstairs to check on Dad. He’s asleep. Back down on the second floor, I notice Bernie’s bed has been rolled into Bill’s room. The door to Bernie’s room is closed. Grandma is moving in. Am I ever glad I’m a girl. No way they’re going to put Bernie in with me.
Bill’s sitting on his bed. “Ha-ha,” I say from the doorway. “Got yourself a roomie, hey?” Not serious teasing, you understand. Just enough to let him know that I’m doing better than he is.
Bill ignores the teasing. “Do you think David’s hairy?” he asks.
“He sure is,” I say. “And messy too.”
“Shut up.”
Back in the kitchen, the smell is stronger than ever. It’s coming from the oven. I don’t know what it is. Bernie is kneeling on a chair. He has the games box out on the kitchen table, and he’s trying to get Grandma to play something.
He holds up the dominoes. “Do you want to –”
“No,” says Grandma.
“Oh. Well, what about –”
“No.” Grandma opens the oven door. Heat shimmer blurs the atmosphere.
Bernie opens a pack of cards. “What abou –”
“No.”
“Well, what
do
you want to do?”
She closes the
It hits him right in the cheek. His glasses go flying. His whole head snaps back. There’s a muffled
tweet
from his whistle – the last sound a canary would make on its way into the cat’s mouth – and the teacher falls over, hitting the gym floor.
“Gebohm go boom!” says Michael.
Jiri frowns, then he gets the joke. He opens his mouth wide, and laughs and laughs. Mr. Gebohm is sitting up now. The whistle dangles. “Gebohm go boom!” says Jiri.
I walk over to the teacher. “Can we rehearse our play in the gym after school today?” I ask. “Please, Mr. Gebohm.”
He stares blankly up at me. “No,” he says.
And so we have another rehearsal in class. Miss Gonsalves arrives in good time and good spirits. She laughs when I tell her about meeting the principal, and trying to convince Mr. Gebohm.
“Wait until they hear my news,” she says, opening her music.
“What news?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. I won’t know for sure until then.”
Snow is falling when I get out of the rehearsal. I can hear the scrape of shovels on the sidewalks – a sound muted by the falling snow. Bill is busy on our front walk. He isn’t the only one. His friend David is there too. A big kid, David. Bigger than Bill – than me, come to that. He looks like a bear in his winter coat, and hat with the earflaps dangling.
“About time,” says Bill. “Hurry and help us, Jane. She won’t let us in until the walk is cleared.”
“What do you mean, she? She, who?”
“Who do you think – Grandma.”
“Oh.”
“Your grandmother reminds me of my aunt,” says David. “Very strict.”
“Strict?” says Bill. “She’s crazy.” Then he says something I don’t understand. Sounds like “sugar.” “Is that right?” he asks David.
David smiles. “That’s right,” he says, bending to lift another shovelful of snow.
The back door of the house opens onto a mudroom. Hooks for coats, a tray for boots, a box for recycled papers. We hang up our coats.
The smell from the kitchen is powerful. A strong and sweet smell, like burning sugar. Bill and I share a glance. Grandma is probably the world’s worst cook. Did you ever hear of the Donner party? They were in the Sierras in California and they ended up eating each other. Maybe I’d rather go to one of Grandma’s dinners than the Donner party – but it would be a tough choice.
“Is the walk done?” yells Grandma from the kitchen. “And is your hairy friend here?”
“The walk’s done, Grandma,” I say.
“David isn’t hairy,” says Bill. “And he’s gone home.”
“Well, hang up your coats!” Grandma coughs loud and long, and spits in the sink.
Yuck.
I run upstairs to check on Dad. He’s asleep. Back down on the second floor, I notice Bernie’s bed has been rolled into Bill’s room. The door to Bernie’s room is closed. Grandma is moving in. Am I ever glad I’m a girl. No way they’re going to put Bernie in with me.
Bill’s sitting on his bed. “Ha-ha,” I say from the doorway. “Got yourself a roomie, hey?” Not serious teasing, you understand. Just enough to let him know that I’m doing better than he is.
Bill ignores the teasing. “Do you think David’s hairy?” he asks.
“He sure is,” I say. “And messy too.”
“Shut up.”
Back in the kitchen, the smell is stronger than ever. It’s coming from the oven. I don’t know what it is. Bernie is kneeling on a chair. He has the games box out on the kitchen table, and he’s trying to get Grandma to play something.
He holds up the dominoes. “Do you want to –”
“No,” says Grandma.
“Oh. Well, what about –”
“No.” Grandma opens the oven door. Heat shimmer blurs the atmosphere.
Bernie opens a pack of cards. “What abou –”
“No.”
“Well, what
do
you want to do?”
She closes the
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