Third Grade Angels Read online

  To Lorna and Lou

  MAY 16, 1936

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1. Finally!

  2. The Prize

  3. Boink, Bunk

  4. Tub Talk

  5. The Hat

  6. It Was True

  7. “Don’t Buy Me”

  8. Perfect

  9. Spies

  10. Angel at Home

  11. The Race

  12. Back to Bad

  13. Chipmunky

  14. Oh No!

  15. The Winner

  16. Outside, Inside

  17. Surprise

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  I heard it first in kindergarten:

  First grade babies!

  Second grade cats!

  Third grade angels!

  Fourth grade rats!

  I didn’t like being a first-grade baby. (I wasn’t a baby.)

  I didn’t like being a second-grade cat. (I like dogs.)

  All this time I’ve been waiting to be an angel — and now I am! Today was the first day of third grade.

  We could see it from the hallway as we headed for our new classroom. It was right on the door, a big sign:

  WELCOME ANGELS

  Our new teacher, Mrs. Simms, was standing there saying it to each of us as we entered the classroom:

  “Welcome, angel Brett …”

  “Welcome, angel Heather …”

  “Welcome, angel Emma …”

  Amazing! How did she know our names already? She shook each student’s hand.

  When it was my turn, she shook my hand and said, “Welcome, angel George.”

  Only my teachers call me George. My real name is Suds.

  When we were all in our seats, Mrs. Simms gave us the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. I knew right away that we were the best class she ever had. I fired my best smile back at her.

  She held out her arms. “Good morning, angels!”

  “Good morning!” we shouted back. A boy beside me added “— teacher!” We all laughed.

  “Are you the boss angel?” the same boy asked. Half of us were shocked and half laughed.

  Mrs. Simms laughed. She thought about it. She nodded. “Yes, I guess you could say I’m the boss angel. But, Joseph” — she turned to the board and wrote her name in big letters — “you can call me Mrs. Simms.”

  Joseph nodded and looked across the aisle at me and said, “Cool.” I didn’t know him. I figured he must be new.

  “All right,” said Mrs. Simms, “let’s talk about angels for a minute. You’ve been a baby and you’ve been a cat, and you know what they are. But what about angels? What’s an angel?” Her eyes swept over the class. Hands went up.

  “A spirit,” said Raymond Venotti.

  “A dead person with wings,” said Holly Briscoe.

  “Big white wings!” Jeremy Muntz called out without raising his hand.

  Judy Billings was sitting in front of me. (It was no accident. I had rushed to get the seat behind her.) Her hand shot in the air. “Ouu … ouu …” she went.

  “Yes, Judy?” said Mrs. Simms.

  Judy stood even though the others didn’t. “Perfect in every way.” The way she said it, so sure, I got the impression she knew a couple of angels personally.

  Mrs. Simms pointed to her. “Good. All good answers.” She motioned the rest of the hands to go down. “Now, let’s talk about —”

  Christina Serrano practically screamed: “Mrs. Simms! Your earrings are angels!”

  She was right. Dangling from Mrs. Simms’s ears were little silver angels with wings.

  A couple of kids clapped. A couple said, “Cool!” Beside me the new Joseph kid said, “You da chick,” but not loud enough for the teacher to hear.

  Mrs. Simms bowed. “Thank you, thank you, friends. You are very observant. Last year’s class didn’t notice till the third day of school.” She clapped her hands. “All right, now, where were we —” She pointed to Judy Billings again. “Yes — perfection. I’ve heard that too. Whatever angels may be, everybody seems to agree that they’re perfect. All right —” She looked us over. “Show of hands — anybody here perfect?”

  We all turned around to see if any hands went up. One did.

  Mrs. Simms seemed surprised. “Well, well, Joseph. Congratulations to you.”

  Joseph grinned and slapped his own hand down. “Nah. Just kidding.”

  Mrs. Simms pretended to wipe her brow. “Whew … had me worried there for a second. I wouldn’t know what to do with a perfect third-grader.”

  “Send him to angel school!” someone piped up. Everybody laughed — Mrs. Simms hardest of all. It was only when she stared at me and gave me a thumbs-up that I suddenly realized something: The one who said it was me! I couldn’t believe it. I never did anything like that in my life. I never speak in class unless I raise my hand first. What got into me? I wondered if it had something to do with sitting next to Joseph.

  “I can see I’m going to love this class,” said Mrs. Simms. “Okay, angels are perfect. Real angels, that is. But we’re not really real angels, are we? We’re third-grade angels, people-type angels — right?”

  “Right!” came the calls.

  “So,” she went on, “the best we can do is” — she waited to build up the suspense — “the best we can do.”

  A couple “Huhs?” popped up.

  “In other words,” said Mrs. Simms, “in order to be good third-grade angels, all you have to do is do … your … best.” She looked us over. “Got it?”

  “Got it!” we said.

  “Okay,” said Mrs. Simms. “But I know you guys. You like a little reward for your trouble, right?”

  “Right!”

  “You want a little prize at the end of the road. To make it all worthwhile — right?”

  “Right!”

  “Well —” she said. She reached into her desk drawer. “Have I got a prize for you —”

  It was a circle of yellow cardboard.

  “Halo!” voices called.

  “Halo it is,” said Mrs. Simms. “Wonder if it fits.” She put it on her head. She smiled and blinked her eyes, like an angel, I guess. We laughed.

  “So,” she said, “who would like to win a halo?”

  Every hand went up — but one. Mrs. Simms looked surprised. “Not you, Joseph?”

  Joseph shrugged. He dragged his hand into the air. “Sure, why not.”

  She nodded. “Indeed, why not. So, here’s the deal. Beginning in October, one angel per week will get to wear a puppy just like this —” By “puppy” she meant halo, which she waved at us. “When your boss angel week is over” — she grinned at Joseph — “you may take your halo home. You may sleep with it for all I care.”

  We laughed again.

  “So, you ask, how do I get my halo, Mrs. Teacher?” She pointed at us. “Hah, good question. Becoming an angel? Foof — that was easy. All you had to do was make it to third grade. But this” — she jabbed the halo at us — “this … you have to work for. This … you have to earn.”

  Billy Umberger’s hand was waving. “How do we earn it, Mrs. Simms?”

  She blew Billy Umberger a kiss. “I love a kid who asks good questions.” We laughed. We were spending a lot of time laughing. “Let me throw the question back to you guys.” (She called us “guys.” Cool.) “What do you think you have to do to win your halo?”

  Hands went up. She called on Judy Billings. Judy had a butterfly thing holding her hair back from her right ear. I had liked Judy Billings ever since first grade, but I never before had such a good look at the back of her ear. Talk about perfect! Any angel would be proud to have that ear.

  “Be good!” J
udy said, like she was daring anybody to disagree.

  “Okay —” said Mrs. Simms. She repeated it as she wrote it on the board: “BE … GOOD.” She turned back to us. “What else? … Ronald?”

  “Help people,” said Ronald Chu.

  Mrs. Simms wrote on the board: HELPFUL. She looked us over. “Jendayi?”

  Jendayi Owens said, “Be nice.”

  NICE, wrote Mrs. Simms.

  And so it went.

  “Friendly!”

  “Obedient!” (Mrs. Simms wrote: BEHAVE. Joseph put his hand over his mouth and whispered real low: “Boo.” He looked at me and grinned.)

  “Do your homework!”

  “Eat your vegetables!” (That was Bernard Webber. Lots of laughing and groaning, but Mrs. Simms wrote it.)

  “Wash your ears!”

  “Neat cubbies!” (That was me.)

  “Spelling!”

  “Give the teacher an apple!” (That was Joseph. Laughing and clapping. Mrs. Simms wrote: LOVE YOUR TEACHER. Big cheers. Even a whistle.)

  By the time the last hand was called on, the board was almost full. Mrs. Simms took a deep breath. “Well … there you go. Look how many ways there are to earn your halo. Get the picture, angels?”

  “Yes!” we shouted.

  She snapped her fingers and pointed to us. “All right, then. I’ve done my job. The rest is up to you.” She looked at the calendar on the wall. “Twenty-five days till October. I wonder which angel will be first to get a halo.”

  We all wondered with her.

  “Mrs. Simms!” It was Billy Umberger — itching for another kiss, I figured.

  “Yes, Billy?”

  “Does everybody get a halo?”

  Mrs. Simms blinked, like the question surprised her. “I hope so. I expect every one of you to prove to me you’re worthy of being an angel. I’ve been doing this for twelve years now, and so far every one of my students has earned his or her halo.”

  Somebody blurted, “Even Gerald Willis?”

  I heard gasps. Twenty-three heads jerked in my direction — because the somebody who blurted was me!

  Joseph reached across and punched my arm. “You da dude.”

  I couldn’t believe myself. All of a sudden it was like there was no door between my brain and my mouth. As for Gerald Willis, he was a fifth-grader, a troublemaker, and a bully.

  The class was laughing, but Mrs. Simms wasn’t even smiling. She stared at me. “I said everybody.”

  I wanted to jump to my feet and call out, I’m sorry, Mrs. Simms! I don’t know what’s getting into me! I’m not usually a big mouth!

  The bell rang for recess.

  I was first out the door.

  “Boink.”

  I heard the word and felt something hit the back of my head at the same time.

  I turned. It was Joseph.

  “What was that?” I said.

  “This,” he said. He held out a pack of gummy bears. “Take one.”

  “Nah,” I said, because I don’t like gummy bears. And then, for some strange reason, I heard myself say “Okay” and I was reaching out and taking a green one. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He took one — a red one — and stuffed the pack in his pocket. “So, George, what do you think of all this angel bunk?”

  “It’s not George,” I told him. “It’s Suds. George is just on my birth certificate.”

  “I know what you mean,” he said. “I’m Joey.” He sneered. “I hate Joseph. Teachers always do that.”

  He held out his fist. I stared at it. “Bump me, dude,” he said.

  “Oh,” I said. I bumped him. I guess I did it right because he didn’t laugh or sneer. It was my first-ever fist bump.

  “So,” he said again, “what do you think of all that angel bunk?”

  I had heard him the first time. I didn’t know what to say because, to tell the truth, I didn’t think it was bunk. (I didn’t recognize the word “bunk,” but it sounded bad.) “Oh … I don’t know,” I said.

  “Where’s it all come from?” he said.

  I recited the chant for him. I stopped at “Third grade angels.”

  He sneered. He wagged his head. “Dumb. We didn’t do nothin’ like that at my school.”

  I was thinking, This is your school now. But I said, “Where was that?”

  He gave me a name I never heard of. And said, “So what’s fourth grade?”

  “Rats,” I said.

  His whole face changed, like he had just ripped open the best birthday present he ever got. “Whoa. Rats. Cool. I’m gonna like next year.”

  I’m not, I thought.

  We were standing by the fence, near the swings.

  “I saw you looking at her,” he said.

  “Huh?” I said, even though I knew exactly what he was talking about.

  He chuckled. “Don’t pretend.” He poked me in the arm. “And don’t look away. You were looking at her the whole time.”

  “Who?” I said.

  “The hottie,” he said, grinning. He nodded toward the girl on the swing. “What’s her name?”

  “Judy Billings.”

  “So you like her, huh?”

  “Heck no,” I said.

  He grinned. “You were looking at her in class too. I thought you were gonna mash your nose into the back of her head.”

  “I was not,” I said.

  He laughed. He poked me again.

  Things were getting complicated. I started to walk away. He grabbed my arm. “Hey,” he said, “who’s that?” He was pointing to a big kid sitting on the bottom end of the sliding board. A line of kids was waiting at the top to slide down, but nobody was telling the big kid to move.

  “Gerald Willis,” I said.

  “The kid you were talking about in class?”

  “Yeah. He’s in fifth grade.”

  “He was a rat last year?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was he the boss rat?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I said.

  The way Joey was looking at Gerald Willis, I could tell he wanted to be boss rat someday. Then suddenly he was running across the playground to the sliding board. He pushed his way to the top of the ladder, threw out his hands, yelled “Geronimo!” and slid down — right into the back of Gerald Willis. It was like a monkey crashing into a gorilla. Gerald Willis didn’t flinch. Joey, faster than you could think, hopped with both feet onto Gerald’s shoulders, pushed off, and hit the ground running. Gerald Willis was screaming bad words after him, but Joey was only laughing.

  By the time he got back to me, his face was red and his eyes were flashing. He was gasping for breath. Everybody was staring, including Judy Billings. Her swing wasn’t moving. And then Joey was walking — over to her! He stood in front of her, still gasping, kind of hunched over. She stared at him. Her mouth was open.

  He turned back to me. His red face was grinning. His arm came up. It was pointing at me. He squeezed out words between gasps: “He … loves … you.”

  Judy didn’t move at first, like she didn’t hear him. Then her head started turning real slow, till it stopped at me. Her face was still the same — boggled — like she was in the front row at a movie. The only other thing that moved was Gerald Willis, who was heading for Joey. I went into a coma, and then the school bell was ringing and kids were running for the door.

  What a day! It felt like a chipmunk was darting around inside me, trying to get out. “Chipmunky,” Mom calls it.

  As soon as I got home I headed straight upstairs. I turned on the bathwater and poured in Bubble Tubble. Two minutes later I was in the tub and soap bubbles were rising like snow around me. This is what I do when I need to calm down. It was Mom’s idea from when I was little. It’s how I got the name Suds.

  My mother came in. She always seems to know when I’m in the suds. “Chipmunky?” she said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  She put the toilet lid down and sat. “And only the first day of school.”

  “I never had
such a crazy first day,” I told her. “Or any day.”

  She scooped a handful of suds and blew them at me. I laughed. Already the chipmunk was slowing down.

  She saw my tugboat and dinosaur on the shelf. “Wow,” she said. “You must’ve been in a big hurry. You forgot your pals. Want them?”

  I nodded. She dumped them into the tub. They sank into the suds.

  “So,” she said, “want to tell me about it?”

  I told her about it. When I’m in the suds, I tell everything.

  I told her about Mrs. Simms saying “Welcome, angel George” and shaking my hand and talking to us about how we were going to be angels. I told her how we laughed a lot and that Mrs. Simms took out the halo and that we had to earn our halos and that she believed every one of us would do it and she wondered who would be the first.

  “And I kept blurting out stuff,” I told her. “Without even raising my hand.”

  She looked surprised. “Really? That doesn’t sound like you. You’re not a blurter.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I was today.” Then I told her about the new kid, Joey. “I think he’s a troublemaker.”

  “Really?” she said. “How so?”

  “Well, he whispers stuff in class and he kinda talks like an older kid and he doesn’t want to be an angel.” I suddenly remembered. “He called Judy Billings a hottie.”

  Mom didn’t look impressed. “I think Mrs. Simms can handle him.”

  “I don’t think he’s afraid of Mrs. Simms,” I told her. “I don’t think he’s afraid of anybody.”

  “Do tell?”

  “You know what he did on the playground at recess?”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “He slid down the sliding board right into Gerald Willis! And then he jumped off Gerald’s shoulders and ran away laughing.”