Read Online The Wednesday Wars by Gary D. Schmidt - Free Book Online Page B

fares the king and's followers?
    The "and 's" is not easy to say, but it came off pretty well, with about as much spit as "beetles."
    Mr. Goldman clapped his hands again, and another shimmering of flour fell.
Confined together

In the same fashion as you gave in charge,

Just as you left them.
    Mr. Goldman climbed down from the stool and held out his still floury hand. His smile pushed his cheeks into round lumps.
    And that was how I got to be part of the Long Island Shakespeare Company's Holiday Extravaganza, which was opening next month.
    And how I got twenty-two cream puffs for two dollars and eighty cents less than I should have—plus two more free, since they come cheaper by the dozen.
    And it was a good thing.
    When Monday came and I walked into the classroom carrying a long box of cream puffs, it was pretty clear that Danny Hupfer and Meryl Lee and Doug Swieteck and Mai Thi would have been at me with daggers, looking for a pound of flesh, if I had failed them. I set the box on the shelf by the window and opened it up. Twenty-four cream puffs—brown, light, perfect cream puffs—waiting to be eaten after lunch.
    Mrs. Baker didn't say anything. But all through
English for You and Me,
the buttery vanilla smell of the cream puffs wafted around the room with the circulating air, and even Mrs. Baker couldn't help but look at them. I saw her nostrils grow wide. Danny Hupfer kept turning around and grinning at me. Meryl Lee pretended like she didn't care much, but she's a terrible liar.
    If lunchtime hadn't come when it did, we might have all gone wild. Even Mrs. Baker. But finally, finally,
finally
the school clock clicked to noon, and we crammed our sandwiches down our throats, and then Danny Hupfer stood up and approached the brown, light, perfect cream puffs sort of reverently.
    "Not just yet, Mr. Hupfer," said Mrs. Baker.
    Danny Hupfer looked at her like he'd just missed an easy goal.
    Meryl Lee looked at me like it was my fault.
    "If you are going to eat cream puffs," said Mrs. Baker, "you are going to do it on your own time. Go out for lunch recess and come back a few minutes early. Then you may gorge yourselves as you please."
    "I bet she's going to take three for herself," whispered Doug Swieteck.
    "No, Mr. Swieteck, she is not going to take three for herself," said Mrs. Baker. "She is going to Saint Adelbert's quickly to light a candle, and she will be back in time for your gorging. Now, out, all of you."
    We went out.
    It was, of course, a cold November day on Long Island, and everything was, of course, gray—the sky, the air, the grass, the drizzle misting down. Gray everywhere. We stood around in huddled groups, a little bit damp, and still hungry because we'd eaten so fast and there were twenty-four cream puffs waiting for everyone back in the classroom. Twenty-four brown, light, perfect cream puffs.
    "They better be good," said Meryl Lee.
    "They'll be good," I said.
    "They better be really good," said Danny Hupfer.
    "They'll be really good," I said.
    When there were only seven minutes left in recess, Danny Hupfer declared that we had served our time, and even if Mrs. Baker hadn't come back yet, we deserved our cream puffs. So like an unstoppable mob, like a tidal wave, like an avalanche, we rushed into Camillo Junior High, up two flights of stairs, and to the doorway of our classroom.
    And stopped.
    On the shelf, the long box of cream puffs lay ripped apart, and in the middle of the buttery, brown, light, perfect cream puffs stood Sycorax and Caliban, up on their hind legs, their paws holding shreds of crust to their mouths. Their faces were covered with yellow vanilla filling and powdered sugar. Their naked tails were thick with it. Their scabby skin was slathered with it.
    Then Mrs. Baker came behind us and peered in. The rats opened their snouts and clacked their yellow teeth at her.
    And Mrs. Baker screamed, "Strange stuff, the dropsy drown you! The red plague rid you, thrice double-ass!"
    That