The Waffler (10 page)

S
o, my friend,”
said Mr. Milkovich as the bus pulled out of the bus circle, “not such a good day?”

Great, thought Monty. Apparently Mr. Milkovich was another one of those people who had X-ray vision when it came to seeing inside him.

“Not really,” he admitted, staring out the bus window as the bus glided along. Across the road, the hill sloped down to where the gray ocean looked up at the gray sky. In a little while, Mr. Milkovich began slowing for the first stop. The stop signs came out from the sides of the bus, like wings, and the red flashers flashed. Traffic slowed, then stopped. From the back of the bus trooped some fifth-grade guys.

“Bye, Waffles.”

“Bye, Waffles.”

“Bye, Waffles,” said the last one. “Bye, Mr. Milk.”

Glancing at Monty in the mirror, Mr. Milkovich pulled the door shut and made the stop signs fold back against the bus. Monty felt as if
he
had X-ray vision now. He could tell from the look on the bus driver's face what he was thinking:
That's one of your problems, right? The nickname?
But Mr. Milkovich was too smart to say it out loud. He knew that would just make more trouble for Monty. Unlike Sierra.

“I got same problem,” said Mr. Milkovich.

“Really?” asked Monty, suddenly realizing how dense he had been. Maybe Mr. Milkovich didn't like being called Mr. Milk for short!

“But it's only for sometimes,” said the driver with a shrug. “You know, sometimes it's problem, sometimes no problem.”

At the next stop Kieran, the littlest nut-free sister, came up the aisle and sang out, “Bye, Mr. Milk!”

“Bye-bye!” said Mr. Milkovich to the little girl. “See you tomorrow!” To Monty he explained, “You see, it's for sometimes no problem?”

Monty got it. Kieran wasn't trying to be mean. The fifth grader was. Just like Tristan. But how come Tristan was trying to be mean? Monty hadn't done anything to him!

Behind Kieran came her sisters, Kelsey and Katy, and Sierra, who was friends with Katy. The nut-free sisters got off the bus and Sierra sat down beside Monty. “Hey,” she said, heaving a big sigh. “What house am I at today?”

“Dad's,” answered Monty. “I'm at Mom's.” Then he blurted, “Why did you say that to Tristan?”

“I was just trying to help!” she said.

“That's like the
opposite
of help,” argued Monty. “He's never going to drop it now!”

“I just thought—it just makes me—” she began, then stopped and bit her lip, as if she was thinking. “I guess that was kind of stupid.”

“Totally,” agreed Monty. “That was totally stupid.”

Sierra didn't argue about being stupid, which made Monty a tiny bit less mad. “So what are you going to do?” she asked. “Are you going to get a new Buddy?”

“How can I?” asked Monty. “They all think I'm their Buddy!”

He and Sierra were still talking about Mrs. Tuttle and the Buddy problem when the bus slowed down for Monty's stop. Which was how he and Sierra got off at the same stop for the first time in—Monty didn't know in how long. September and October, Sierra hadn't ridden the bus because she'd gone straight to soccer practice after school. And ever since the Veterans Day parade in November, they'd been flip-flopping houses.

It felt strange, going home together, for the first time in a long time. And in another way, it felt the opposite of strange, because they'd been going home together for years. Side by side, they walked along the brick sidewalk until they got to their mom's. They walked past the sunflowers standing guard by the back door—by now squirrels had taken all the seeds—and went inside. Monty grabbed an apple and headed upstairs, with Sierra still following.

He took the rat from its cage. “Want to hold him?”

“Sure,” said Sierra.

She sat down on a beanbag chair and Monty put the rat in her hands.

“Want to feed him?”

Sierra nodded, and Monty showed her how he bit off little nibbles of apple and fed them to the rat. Then he pulled a big bag from his top drawer and dumped the contents on his bed. His sister gasped when she saw the stash.

“You still have Halloween candy?”

“Just some.” He'd eaten all his favorites but still had some not-favorites left.

“Sweet!” she said, looking longingly at the leftovers—gummy worms, sour balls, and butterscotches.

“Go ahead,” he said.

He took his rat from his sister and perched him on his shoulder, and Sierra took a piece of licorice and settled back on the beanbag.

“So,” she asked, nibbling away at the red rope of candy, “what's his name now?”

Monty put a gummy worm in his mouth. Then he put in a sour ball. Which was kind of gross. But kind of good, too. “Officer Samuel Scratcher McIntosh Whiskers the third,” he answered, his mouth full of sweet and sour together.

“Officer Samuel Scratcher McIntosh Whiskers the third?” repeated Sierra, laughing. “You just gave him every name, because you couldn't choose one? Good one!”

“Yeah, it is,” boasted Monty, agreeing.

Because Sierra hadn't said
good one
in a mean way. She had said it in a nice way, like Kieran calling Mr. Milkovich Mr. Milk was nice, not mean. This was how after school was supposed to be. The rat balancing on his shoulder, hanging out. Sierra hanging out, eating candy.

She finished her licorice and studied the last few pieces of candy on the bedspread.

“Here,” said Monty. He took one more piece for himself, scooped up the rest and dropped it into her hand. “You don't have to choose,” he said as he popped the last candy into his mouth.

Sour lime burst onto his tongue and an idea burst into his brain. The Kieran-Winnie-Finn idea. “I'm not going to.”

Sierra unwrapped the cellophane from a butterscotch. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “The candy, or a name for your rat?”

“Neither,” he explained. “I'm talking about my Buddies. I'm not going to choose one. I refuse.”

Sierra giggled. “You refuse to choose?”

“I refuse to choose,” he agreed.

“So you're not going to be anybody's Buddy?”

“No,” said Monty, shaking his head. “I'm going to be everybody's.”

• • •

Monty could hardly wait for recess on Tuesday, to tell them. But halfway through the next morning, Jasmine Raines gave a shout. “It's snowing!”

Mrs. Tuttle didn't even try and stop everybody from running to the windows to watch the first snow of the year. Huge flakes were fluttering down from the sky. In five minutes a sprinkling of snow lay on the playground, like powdered sugar on a pancake. In fifteen minutes the snow was so thick it looked as if a whole box of sugar had been dumped on the pancake. And half an hour later Mrs. Tracy's voice came over the intercom.

“Due to the snow, we will have indoor recess today. Please dress for outdoor weather tomorrow. That means mittens!”

Indoor recess? How was he supposed to tell Kieran, Winnie, and Finn about being his official Buddies at the Culminating Event tomorrow if they were all stuck inside during recess today? He was looking around the room, trying to plot his escape, when Mrs. Tuttle dashed any hope of that.

“Monty,” she said. “I hope you're going to make a good choice for indoor recess.”

“I am,” he said.

“What are you going to do?”

“Could I go to the library?” he tried.

“No,” said Mrs. Tuttle, shaking her head. “You know the choices.” She started listing the acceptable activities—blocks, puzzles, markers and paper, playing a board game with a friend, or reading quietly by yourself—and warned, “If you can't decide, Monty, I can decide for you.”

Monty didn't care what he did during recess—he just didn't want Mrs. Tuttle picking for him. Scanning the room, suddenly another idea burst into his head, just like yesterday. Sweet! The ideas were coming thick and fast as snow.

“Markers and paper!” he blurted. Because two kids were already at the markers and paper table: Jasmine and Lagu. And he needed to talk to them. Quickly Monty made his way over and sat down, and as quietly as he could, he explained his plan. He wanted Kieran, Winnie, and Finn to be his Buddies tomorrow. All three of them. He wanted them to stand with him while he told the parents about the books they had read, and he wanted them to sit with him and his parents during refreshments. And he needed Jasmine and Lagu to help get the message to them.

Jasmine was covering her paper with rows of pink hearts, yellow smiley-faces, and multicolored rainbows. “Why?” she asked.

“Because,” said Monty, “it's snowing. So I can't tell them at recess, right? So I need you to tell Kieran at lunch, and Lagu, you can tell Winnie when you guys get home, okay?”

Lagu nodded, agreeing, but Jasmine made a scared face. “How come you can't tell Kieran? You sit with her at lunch, too.”

“Because that's the only time I have to find Finn,” argued Monty. “Come on, Jasmine. You know it's not fair.”

Thinking, Jasmine added a row of daisy-shaped flowers. “Okay,” she finally said. “I'll tell her.”

Now Monty could hardly wait for lunch. When recess ended he filed down to the cafetorium with the hundred other kids who had second lunch. He put his lunch box on a tray and got a carton of milk and started wandering around, pretending to search for a seat. But really he was searching for Finn.

The problem was, he wasn't the only one wandering. Principal Edwards seemed to be doing one of her Every-Child-Known tours. She was walking up and down the rows of tables, greeting kids by name. Now her white head was swiveling toward him.

Monty froze. Maybe if he held perfectly still, she wouldn't see him.

She saw him.

“Montana!” she said, cheerfully. “How are you today?”

Monty tried to act normal. He hadn't done anything wrong, right? The principal was just saying hello. He managed to squeak out an answer. “Good.”

“Let's see, I remember,” said Principal Edwards. “You're at the nut-free table, aren't you?”

“Nut-free,” he echoed, trying to agree with everything she said.

The principal started walking with him toward the nut-free table. What was he going to do? Outside, big flakes of snow were still hurrying down. Hurry! Think! Lagu was going to tell Winnie, and Jasmine was going to tell Kieran. But what about Finn? If Monty couldn't tell him, who could?

Sierra.

Sierra knew about the plan. Sierra was the kind of kid who could walk around the cafetorium without getting in trouble. Sierra could tell Finn.

“First I have to see my sister,” he told Principal Edwards. “My twin sister,” he added, because one of the good things about being a twin was that most people wanted to know what having a twin was really like. Mentioning that he was a twin might just distract the principal from the fact that he wasn't taking his seat at the nut-free table.

It worked! Principal Edwards started asking the usual questions—who's older? Do you ever have the same dream?—and Monty kept answering. Sierra was older. No, they didn't have the same dreams. But meanwhile, soft as snow, he glided over to Sierra's table. He took a plastic bag of carrot sticks from his lunch box and handed them to his sister, as if maybe they'd gotten into his lunch box by mistake.

And silently he mouthed the words,
Tell Finn
.

W
ednesday morning the
kids on the bus were wild. Apparently the first snow had made some parents decide it was time for warmer clothes, and kids were tossing their mittens back and forth across the aisle.

“No throwing things!” shouted Mr. Milkovich.

The bus chugged down the last leg of the route, alongside the hill that tumbled down to the ocean. At the bottom of the hill the snow-dusted domes of the sewage-treatment plant looked like huge snowballs. The domes made Monty remember “Hidden Treasures from Your Toilet,” which was still funny no matter what Mrs. Tuttle said.

But what was Mrs. Tuttle going to say today? Yesterday Jasmine, Lagu, and Sierra had gotten the message to Kieran, Winnie, and Finn to come find him at the Culminating Event, because he was going to be their Big Buddy. Officially. Which wasn't really true. He just wanted it to be true. But what if he got the kindergartners in trouble? That wasn't cool.

“So, my friend,” said Mr. Milkovich as the bus pulled into the bus circle, “today you are quiet. You have troubles?”

Monty was sitting in his usual spot, right behind the driver. “Kind of,” he said, staying in his seat as the other kids plodded up the aisle and stepped off the bus. “I think I'm going to be in trouble pretty soon.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The kind where people are mad at me,” said Monty.

“So, it's no problem for you,” said Mr. Milkovich. “You will—how do you say?—throw yourself on court.”

“What?”

Mr. Milkovich took his big hands off the steering wheel and tapped them to his big head, as if he was waking up his brain. “Yes, here we go! You will
throw yourself on mercy of court
.”

“What?” repeated Monty. “How?”

“If you are in trouble, confess. Beg for mercy.”

“How do you know?”

“Can you believe me?” asked Mr. Milkovich. “Where I come from, I was judge. So, listen. It's good idea.”

Monty stood and hefted his backpack onto his shoulder. “Mr. Milkovich, my friend,” he said, “have a good day.”

Up in Mrs. Tuttle's room the schedule for the day was written in blue marker on the whiteboard.

At nine thirty, right on schedule, Mrs. Tuttle clapped her hands. “One two three, eyes on me! We will now line up to go downstairs. As we walk through the school, our noise level will be at
zero
. Our hands will be at our sides.”

Monty and his class marched down the hall. Marched down the stairs. Marched through the front lobby, where Mrs. Tracy—
you can't cross over my bridge!—
waved at them through her big window. Then marched down the first floor hall. And then, finally, they were there. The cafetorium.

Overhead, a big banner said
WELCOME! BIENVENUE! BIENVENIDOS!
On one side of the room a long table held trays of muffins and scones and cookies, and pitchers of orange and apple juice. On the other side stood art easels holding student work. Buddies were supposed to meet at their easels. When the families arrived they would walk around, asking questions, and the students would answer.

Monty went and found the easel with his report on Leo, based on his five facts. And tacked up next to his report was a picture Leo had drawn to illustrate
The Tale of Samuel Whiskers
. Leo had colored the rat white with brown spots, just like Officer Samuel Scratcher McIntosh Whiskers the third. Monty wished Leo were here. He wished he could tell Leo how much he liked the drawing.

“We meet again,” came a voice right behind him. “Good morning, Montana,” said the principal.

Monty felt the too-late alarm go off inside him. He felt his heart thumping. Usually Monty got the alarm clock feeling when his dad got mad that he was taking too long to make up his mind. This time he'd made up his mind—but to do something he didn't have permission for, which was a sure way to make a lot of people mad. At him. And it was too late to change his mind back.
Help!
Monty hadn't figured this part out!

Desperate, Monty looked around for help. A few feet away stood Jasmine at her easel, her head speckled with pink barrettes in the shape of little hearts. Monty caught her attention and made a face:
Help!

Through the yellow reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose, Principal Edwards studied the work on the easel. “Leo,” she said, reading aloud the name in the corner of the drawing. “That's your Buddy?”

It was weird to think about how much grown-ups knew. They acted like they knew everything. But they didn't. They couldn't. The principal knew that his name was Monty. But apparently she didn't know that Leo, Monty's official Kindergarten Buddy, wasn't coming to the Culminating Event.

“It
was
Leo,” said Monty. “But he moved away.”

“That's too bad,” said Principal Edwards, frowning. “Well, what now? Why don't you come along with me and look at the other student work.”

“Um,” said Monty, stalling. “I better stay here.”

The principal's eyes seemed to get smaller as she trained her gaze on him. “If you don't have a Buddy to meet, why would you need to stay here?”

“'Cause I have some extra Buddies.”

“Extra?”

Bit by bit, he explained. Some kids didn't get Reading Buddies, because they had special services, like speech therapy, and English as a second language, and—he didn't know all of the reasons. But he knew they wanted Buddies. So he'd been their Buddy during recess. Unofficially. But now that Leo was gone, he decided to be their Buddy. Officially.

Peering over the rims of her yellow glasses, Principal Edwards studied Monty. Probably she was thinking that her Every-Child-Known philosophy had been a mistake. There were some kids it was better not to know.

“Exactly who are these extra Buddies?” she asked.

“Sipping once!” said Kieran, running up and wrapping her arms around Monty's waist.

“Kieran,” said Monty.

Winnie came up and got in the hug, too. “Sipping twice!”

“Winnie.”

And Finn did a little dance while he said the last line, “Sipping chicken soup with rice!”

“And Finn.”

“Kieran, Winnie, and Finn,” repeated the principal, just as Tristan Thompson-Brown—the kid who teachers sent on errands, the kid who never got in trouble—came running over.

“Mr. Carlson needs Monty right away!”

Principal Edwards frowned. “Mr. Carlson needs Monty
now
?”

Tristan Thompson-Brown nodded his bright orange not-me head. And quickly, so Principal Edwards couldn't see, he flashed Monty a grin. Monty grinned back. Jasmine had asked Tristan for help! And Tristan had helped! Just then Mr. Carlson tapped his baton to his music stand, his signal for the band members to gather onstage.

“I better go,” said Monty, giving the principal a what-can-I-do? shrug.

“Yes, you'd better,” she said. But before Monty could take off she added, “We'll discuss this later.”

Monty sprinted up onto the stage and squeezed into his seat between Ella and Emma. He got his flute from its case, stashed the case under his chair, and put the pieces together.

Looking as if his musical note bow tie was tied too tight, Mr. Carlson tapped his baton again.

“Welcome!” he cried. “We hope you enjoy our musical selections!”

When the band finished playing, the members who weren't in Mrs. Tuttle's class headed back to their rooms, and the Mrs. Tuttle kids went to sit down with their families and Kindergarten Buddies. Monty wound his way through the cafetorium until he found his group, sitting at the nut-free table. Except group wasn't the right word. It was more of a mob scene.

There were all three of his Kindergarten Buddies. And there was Lagu with his Buddy. And Jasmine, who had to sit at the nut-free table, and her Buddy.

Then there were all the families, including Jasmine's mom, talking to Monty's mom, and Jasmine's dad, talking to Monty's dad. And there was his stepmom, talking excitedly to Mrs. Luka. It sounded like they knew each other from when the Lukas had first come to the United States. And there was his stepdad, holding Little A. And there was Sierra!

“How come you're here?” he asked.

“I got special permission,” said Sierra, grinning, “since my whole family was coming.”

“And I made a special snack for us that's nut-free,” announced Monty's mom. She opened up a basket and started passing around blueberry muffins.

“Wait,” said Monty, confused. “Why would you bring nut-free muffins?”

Monty's mom smiled a funny, crooked smile. “So we could sit at the nut-free table?”

“How did you know you wanted to sit here?” demanded Monty.

“I told her one of your Buddies was nut-free,” explained Sierra, with an isn't-it-obvious? expression on her face. “Duh!”

“So I made nut-free muffins,” said Monty's mom.

Monty stared at Sierra in horror. He knew she looked just like him: brown hair, blue eyes, freckles. And sometimes she knew
exactly
what he was thinking, which was cool. But sometimes she did exactly the
opposite
of what he would do.

“You
told
?” he said out loud.

“You didn't tell me it was a secret!” objected Sierra. “And I thought what you were doing was really great,” she said. “Being a Buddy for three kids!”

“You did?” asked Monty.

Sierra nodded, and Jasmine joined her. They were like the Town Crier team. “Totally,” said Sierra, and Jasmine agreed, “Totally.”

“Besides, why shouldn't we know?” asked his dad, sitting across the table with a black box in his lap. “Look at this! Look what you've done!” He swung his hand around the table to include all the people sitting there. Monty and his three Buddies. Jasmine and Lagu and their Buddies. Sierra and Aisha. And all the grown-ups who went with all the kids.

“Look around you!” said Monty's dad. “It's awesome!”

Monty looked around at everybody eating blueberry muffins together, having a good time, and for about one second, Monty did see that it was awesome. And for that one second, he felt awesome! His dad was proud of him. He wished he could stay in this second forever. He wished he didn't have to confess that not everybody was going to think it was awesome.

“Thanks,” he said. “I guess I was just worried because—um—I didn't really know if it was all going to work out.”

“What do you mean?” asked his mom.

“Well, I told Mrs. Tuttle how I had three extra Buddies, and she said I could choose
one
of them, since Leo was gone. But I couldn't choose. So I didn't. So I never really got permission to be everybody's Buddy. Not officially.”

Monty's dad touched both hands to his bald head, as if he was trying to keep it from flying away. “That's my Monty,” he said. “The boy who couldn't make up his mind.” But he was smiling when he said it, as if he wasn't mad.

“And mine!” said Monty's mom, smiling, too.

Beth waved a hand in the air. “I'm a fan.”

And Bob, holding Aisha, said, “Me, too.”

“He's my brother!” said Sierra. “My twin brother!”

Monty's dad wasn't mad. His mom wasn't mad. Monty felt like his single second of awesomeness was lasting more like a whole minute. And it felt good. Then he felt something else: eagle eyes. Trained on him. Across the cafetorium, the principal lifted her hand to point him out to the person she was speaking with.

Mrs. Tuttle.