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Authors: Robert Kimmel Smith
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half of me wanting to run downstairs to the hall closet where Mom kept a few new toothbrushes and half of me not wanting to waste the time because I was already behind schedule. I put toothpaste on my finger and brushed my teeth with it. It was disgusting.
I ran back to my room in a hurry. I hate being late for anything, but I hate being late for school most of all. When I opened my underwear drawer it was empty.
There was another note. This one said:“Underwear in hall closet.” I ran outside into the hall. There was all my underwear, up on a shelf. I grabbed shorts and a T-shirt and ran back to my room and put them on. That's when I looked into my sock drawer. And that's when I saw it was empty too.
Now I was mad. In a panic, yes, but mad as well. The note in my sock drawer said: “Socks in cabinet under bathroom sink.”
I groaned and said a couple of words I shouldn't use. Grandpa was turning my getting dressed into a treasure hunt. I ran to the bathroom again and looked under the sink in the cabinet. There were my rolled-up socks scattered among the Ivory soap, rolls of toilet paper, and a bottle of Mr. Clean. I grabbed a pair of socks and ran back to my room to put them on.
By now I figured that Grandpa's dirty tricks weren't over yet. I was right. All of my flannel shirts hanging on hangers in my closet were still hanging there, but they had been turned inside out. I grabbed one and fixed it and put it on. Naturally, I buttoned it wrong and had to re-button it. My jeans hanging on a hook by a belt loop were inside out too. I fixed them and put them on, then saw that my belt was missing. The heck with it, I thought. I was too late to worry about a little thing like a belt.
That's when I discovered that there were no laces in my sneakers.
I stood there, staring down, my mouth hanging open like the sneakers were hanging open. I heard my mom calling up from the bottom of the stairs. “Peter! You're late, sweetie!”
Inside one sneaker was a note. “Laces on kitchen countertop.”
I stuck my feet into the sneakers and tried to run downstairs. I couldn't. Without laces thesneakers kept slipping around, so I had to walk like a crazy man to keep them on my feet. I came downstairs slowly. In the second floor hallway Grandpa had his head stuck out of the door of my room. He was laughing.“Hey, Pete,” he called to me, “how's it going this morning?”
“It's not funny,” I said.
“War is hell” is what Grandpa said back. He laughed again, which only made me madder.
I finally made it to the kitchen. I flipflopped across the floor in my loose sneakers and practically fell into my chair at the table.
“Peter,” my mom said, “why did you leave your sneaker laces on the kitchen counter?”
I took a big gulp of the orange juice that was in front of my bowl of cereal.
“Did you want me to wash your shoelaces?” Mom asked. She looked really puzzled.
“No,” I said.“It was a joke.” I started to eat my Cheerios real fast.
Jenny was already finished with breakfast.“You're really late, Peter,” she said.
“I know it, dummy!” I shouted at her.
She looked at me like I was crazy, which maybe I was a little.
“I'd better put your laces back in while youfinish your breakfast,” Mom said. I slipped my sneakers off, which wasn't hard to do, and Mom sat down beside me and relaced them for me.
I'd had enough breakfast by this time. I was mad and upset and not hungry anyway. I took the sneaker Mom had relaced and put it on and tied it. She was still working on the other one.“Could you try to hurry?” I said to her.
The front door slammed shut, which was Jenny leaving the house. At least
she
wasn't going to be late to school.
“I don't understand why you left your laces down here,” Mom said. She handed me the other sneaker and I put it on. Then I lit out, running for the stairs, and zoomed up to my room like a bullet.
I was ready to find out that Grandpa had hidden my knapsack. But there it
I ran back to my room in a hurry. I hate being late for anything, but I hate being late for school most of all. When I opened my underwear drawer it was empty.
There was another note. This one said:“Underwear in hall closet.” I ran outside into the hall. There was all my underwear, up on a shelf. I grabbed shorts and a T-shirt and ran back to my room and put them on. That's when I looked into my sock drawer. And that's when I saw it was empty too.
Now I was mad. In a panic, yes, but mad as well. The note in my sock drawer said: “Socks in cabinet under bathroom sink.”
I groaned and said a couple of words I shouldn't use. Grandpa was turning my getting dressed into a treasure hunt. I ran to the bathroom again and looked under the sink in the cabinet. There were my rolled-up socks scattered among the Ivory soap, rolls of toilet paper, and a bottle of Mr. Clean. I grabbed a pair of socks and ran back to my room to put them on.
By now I figured that Grandpa's dirty tricks weren't over yet. I was right. All of my flannel shirts hanging on hangers in my closet were still hanging there, but they had been turned inside out. I grabbed one and fixed it and put it on. Naturally, I buttoned it wrong and had to re-button it. My jeans hanging on a hook by a belt loop were inside out too. I fixed them and put them on, then saw that my belt was missing. The heck with it, I thought. I was too late to worry about a little thing like a belt.
That's when I discovered that there were no laces in my sneakers.
I stood there, staring down, my mouth hanging open like the sneakers were hanging open. I heard my mom calling up from the bottom of the stairs. “Peter! You're late, sweetie!”
Inside one sneaker was a note. “Laces on kitchen countertop.”
I stuck my feet into the sneakers and tried to run downstairs. I couldn't. Without laces thesneakers kept slipping around, so I had to walk like a crazy man to keep them on my feet. I came downstairs slowly. In the second floor hallway Grandpa had his head stuck out of the door of my room. He was laughing.“Hey, Pete,” he called to me, “how's it going this morning?”
“It's not funny,” I said.
“War is hell” is what Grandpa said back. He laughed again, which only made me madder.
I finally made it to the kitchen. I flipflopped across the floor in my loose sneakers and practically fell into my chair at the table.
“Peter,” my mom said, “why did you leave your sneaker laces on the kitchen counter?”
I took a big gulp of the orange juice that was in front of my bowl of cereal.
“Did you want me to wash your shoelaces?” Mom asked. She looked really puzzled.
“No,” I said.“It was a joke.” I started to eat my Cheerios real fast.
Jenny was already finished with breakfast.“You're really late, Peter,” she said.
“I know it, dummy!” I shouted at her.
She looked at me like I was crazy, which maybe I was a little.
“I'd better put your laces back in while youfinish your breakfast,” Mom said. I slipped my sneakers off, which wasn't hard to do, and Mom sat down beside me and relaced them for me.
I'd had enough breakfast by this time. I was mad and upset and not hungry anyway. I took the sneaker Mom had relaced and put it on and tied it. She was still working on the other one.“Could you try to hurry?” I said to her.
The front door slammed shut, which was Jenny leaving the house. At least
she
wasn't going to be late to school.
“I don't understand why you left your laces down here,” Mom said. She handed me the other sneaker and I put it on. Then I lit out, running for the stairs, and zoomed up to my room like a bullet.
I was ready to find out that Grandpa had hidden my knapsack. But there it
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