Help! Somebody Get Me Out of Fourth Grade (3 page)

“Ashley!” I whispered back. “You scared me.”

“I'm just trying to help you. Ms. Adolf could be back any minute.”

I reached out again, and no sooner had I touched the roll book when I heard footsteps in the hall just outside our classroom. The door swung open, but I was able to get my hand away just in time. All three of us stood like statues, trying not to look like we were about to do something wrong.

It was Dr. Berger, the learning specialist at our school.

“Hi, Dr. B.,” I said, trying to make my voice sound normal. I know her pretty well, because I work with her twice a week in her office.

“Is everything okay, Hank?” Dr. Berger asked. “You sound funny.”

I wished I could tell her what was really going on—that I was afraid I was going to have to repeat the fourth grade. But when I opened my mouth, all that came out was, “Everything's fine. Terrific.”

She didn't look totally convinced, but she's so nice that she wouldn't accuse you of anything unless she knows for sure. Not like Ms. Adolf, who accuses you even when you're just
thinking
about doing something wrong.

“I was coming by to remind you that we changed our meeting times this week because of parent-teacher conferences,” she said to me.

“Thanks so much, Dr. B.” I said. “I'm a big fan of reminders.”

She looked around the room, suddenly aware that there was no teacher in there with us.

“Are you kids on your way out to recess?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” I answered. “I'm a big fan of recess, too.”

“Me too,” Frankie said. “We can't get enough of recess. Isn't that right, guys?”

Ashley and I nodded like crazy.

Dr. Berger looked at us for what seemed like too long. In the silence, we heard the clock tick.

“Oh my,” she said, looking at the clock. “I'm late for a meeting in Principal Love's office. I don't want to leave you here alone, but Ms. Adolf should be here any second. I just saw her on her way up from the playground.”

“Great,” I said. “We're big fans of Ms. Adolf too.”

Dr. Berger gave me a funny look, nodded, and left. I knew I had to act fast.

“Ashley, go out in the hall and stand watch,” I said.

“If you see Ms. Adolf coming, your job is to get her into a conversation so she doesn't come in here,” Frankie said.

“About what?” Ashley said.

“About anything. The weather. Her gray clothes. Ask her if her underwear is gray too.”

“I'm not asking her that!”

“Ash, will you just get out there now,” I said. “You'll come up with something. Go!”

Ashley went out into the hall and closed the door.

“There you go, big guy,” Frankie said, pointing to the roll book on the desk. “It's all yours. Hit it.”

I was just about to grab it when the hall door flew open. It scared me so much that I dove under the desk—except I forgot that there's no opening on that side. I flew right into the big panel of wood that stops us from seeing Ms. Adolf's knees when she's sitting at her desk.

“Hank, what are you doing down there?” It was Ashley at the door.

“Ashweena, rule number one about standing guard,” Frankie whispered. “Keep your post.”

“But I had an idea,” Ashley said. “When I see Ms. Adolf coming down the hall, I'll knock three times.”

“Knock four times. Knock yourself out. Just go back out there,” Frankie said. I love that about Frankie. He can really take charge. And I really had a headache.

Ashley went back out into the hall, and I stood at the desk, staring at the roll book. My hands were shaking a little as I lifted the cover and flipped to the first page. It was just attendance records. Where were the grades? That's what I needed to get to.

“Could you hurry it up, Zip?” Frankie said.

“I'm a slow reader,” I answered. “You know that.”

I turned to the next page, and there they were. All thirty-one names in our class were listed, mine being the last. I kept my word and tried not to look at anyone else's grades. I just let my eyes roll down to the bottom of the page, where I knew my name would be.

And there, next to my name, were all my grades for the year. There were so many Ds in a row, it was hard to keep my eyes focused on following them all the way across the page. Wow, I must be the king of D-ville.

“What's it say, Zip?” Frankie asked. “Are they keeping you back?”

“I'm looking,” I said.

“Looking is good, finding is better,” Frankie said. “Here, let me help.”

“No, I should be the only one doing this,” I said, clutching the roll book right to my chest. “I don't want you to get caught.”

Suddenly, we heard a crash in the hallway. It was followed by three clomps on the door.

“Is that a signal from Ashley?” I asked Frankie. It didn't sound like any knock I'd ever heard before.

Before Frankie could answer, there were three more clomps. That had to be a signal. I threw the roll book down on the desk and dashed for the door.

“Zip!” Frankie called out. “The book's open!”

It was! I turned and slid across the linoleum floor like a speed ice-skater. As I slid by the desk, I reached out and flipped the book closed, pulled myself around the corner of the desk, and headed back to the door—all in one move.

Frankie and I flew out into the hall. There was Ashley, lying on the ground in front of the door, blocking the entrance. She was holding her knee and rolling around like she was in pain. Ms. Adolf was hunched over next to her.

“Do you think you can stand up now, Ms. Wong?” she asked.

“I don't know,” Ashley said. “I have a trick knee, and I can never tell when it's going to give out.”

“I've never seen it go out before,” said Ms. Adolf.

“That's what I'm telling you about my knee,” Ashley said. “It's a tricky one.”

Ashley looked over at us. I nodded at her without actually nodding my head for real. When you've been best friends with someone your whole life, you can nod without actually nodding, and they know you're nodding.

Ashley understood my signal. “I think I can try standing now,” she said, letting go of her knee.

“Let me help you up, dear,” Ms. Adolf said.

She reached out and took hold of Ashley's wrist. She pulled her up and leaned her against her chest, sort of tucked in under her armpit. I'm positive I saw Ashley's nose twitch as it faced the armpittal area. And to think Ashley was doing this all for me. I ask you, where are you going to find a friend like that?

“Thank you, Ms. Adolf,” Ashley said. “See, my knee is much better now.”

Ms. Adolf turned her attention to us.

“What are you two boys doing inside the classroom during recess?” she said.

“That's a good question, Ms. Adolf,” Frankie said.

“Which is why you're a good teacher, because you ask good questions,” I added.

“I'm still waiting for the answer,” Ms. Adolf said. I noticed her foot start to tap like it does when she's waiting for me to answer how much twelve times seven is.

I looked over at Frankie for some help, but I saw something I had never seen before. Frankie was speechless. Wordless. Answerless. It was up to me to come up with the answer.

“Ms. Adolf,” I began, not knowing where my brain was going. “We were in the classroom during recess . . . because . . . we believe . . . that you can never be too early for earth science.”

“That's a very unusual attitude for you, Henry,” Ms. Adolf said. She was definitely suspicious, and I knew I had to do some fast talking.

“I know it is,” I said. “The old Hank wasn't that much of an earth science fan. But the new Hank can't get enough of igneous rocks. As a matter of fact, I started a collection yesterday afternoon.”

I said a silent thank-you to the people who make those National Geographic specials for television. I had just seen one on volcanoes and how the lava from them produces igneous rocks.

Ms. Adolf raised an eyebrow at me. “I must say, I'm surprised by your enthusiasm but pleased.”

Phew! That was close. I looked over at Frankie and Ashley. Maybe I'm getting all Ds in school, but every once in a while, I have to give my brain an A-plus.

Ordinarily, I might have taken time to enjoy the moment. But I had other things on my mind. Like what I had seen inside the roll book.

IT SAID:
Redo
.

That's all. Redo.

Now you know me. I'm no expert in vocabulary, but I do know a thing or two. One thing I know is what the letters
re
mean when they're in front of a word. Like take the word
rewrite
, which is always what I have to do on my compositions. It means do it again, and this time, use the dictionary.

Redo. As in not good enough. No way, Jose. Do over.

When I saw the word Redo next to my name, I knew it could only mean one thing: I was going to have to repeat the fourth grade. It was the worst moment of my life.

I thought about all my friends going on to the fifth grade, and me—stuck in the same class with my smarty-pants sister.

I thought about how Nick McKelty was going to hold this over my head forever and tell everybody he's ever met that I wasn't smart enough to get out of the fourth grade.

I thought about the look on my dad's face when they tell him that his only son, if you don't count Cheerio, is being left behind.

Wow. Redo. Isn't it amazing how four little letters can make you feel so bad?

I BARELY NOTICED anything around me on the walk home. It was like all the great sights and smells of my neighborhood didn't exist. I didn't smell the sausages cooking on Amir's cart on Columbus Avenue or hear the guy playing saxophone at the subway entrance or notice the taxis weaving in and out of the bumper to bumper traffic. As I walked home with Frankie and Ashley, all I talked about was what I saw in Ms. Adolf's roll book.

We arrived home, went directly to Ashley's apartment, and plopped ourselves down at her kitchen table. Frankie, Ashley, and I live in the same apartment building on 78th Street, and we always go to one of our apartments for a snack when we don't have an after-school activity. The only activity I had planned for that day was to worry.

“Have a fried wonton,” Ashley said.

“Ash, are you crazy?” I answered. “You expect me to eat at a time like this?”

“Take one,” Frankie said. “Everyone needs something crunchy when they're in a crisis.”

“Oh, yeah? Says who?”

“It's basic, my man,” Frankie said. “Why do you think baseball players eat sunflower seeds when they're waiting on the bench? Crunchy for crisis.”

“Yeah,” Ashley agreed. “My mom goes through half a bag of potato chips when she misses a
Jeopardy!
question.”

“We're not talking about a game here, guys,” I said, reaching for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead.

Ashley's grandma, who has lived with them ever since she came from China last year, had made us her special snack platter—peanut butter and jelly on Wonder bread with a side of fried wontons and hot mustard. If you've never had Chinese hot mustard, then let me just warn you that it's something you've got to be really careful with. If you eat a little too much of that stuff, the fumes go shooting up your nose, and before you know it, water comes flying out of your eyeballs—and I don't mean a few tears but more like blasts from giant-sized super squirt guns.