Blubber (5 page)

When she finished her song she was right next to Wendy. “Wendy … can you tell me what was coming out of my mouth as I sang?”

“Out of your mouth?” Wendy asked.

“That’s right,” Miss Rothbelle told her.

“Well … it was … um … words?”

“No … no … no …” Miss Rothbelle said.

Wendy was surprised. She can always give teachers the answers they want.

Miss Rothbelle moved on. “Do you know, Caroline?”

“Was it sound?”

“Wrong!” Miss Rothbelle said, turning. “Donna Davidson, can you tell me?”

“It was a song,” Donna said.

“Really Donna … we all know that!” Miss Rothbelle looked around. “Linda Fischer, do you know what was coming out of my mouth as I sang to the class?”

Linda didn’t say anything.

“Well, Linda …” Miss Rothbelle said.

“I think it was air,” Linda finally told her. “Either that or breath.”

Miss Rothbelle walked over to Linda’s desk. “That was not the correct answer. Weren’t you paying attention?” She pulled a few strands of Linda’s hair.

A loud noise came out of Linda then. At first I wasn’t sure what it was but then the smell hit me and I knew. I wondered if she’d had sauerkraut for breakfast because that happens to Kenny whenever he eats it.

Miss Rothbelle made a face and stepped away.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. With Mrs. Minish you can laugh out loud and nothing really bad happens. She threatens to send us to Mr. Nichols’ office but she never does. With Miss
Rothbelle you don’t laugh, no matter what.

She walked up and down the aisles until she stopped at my desk. “You’re smiling,” she said.

“I am?”

“You are.”

“I don’t think so, Miss Rothbelle,” I said.

“We’ll see if you’ve been paying attention … suppose you tell me the answer to my question.”

I had no idea what Miss Rothbelle wanted me to say. There was just one thing left that could have been coming out of her mouth as she sang, so I said, “It was spit.”

“What?” Miss Rothbelle glared at me.

“I mean, it was saliva,” I told her.

Miss Rothbelle banged her fist on my desk. “That was a very rude thing to say. You can sit in the corner for the rest of the period.”

I pressed my lips together and felt my face turn hot as I carried my chair to the front of the room. I sat down facing the blackboard. Damn that Blubber! I thought. It’s all her fault. She’s the one who made me smile with her disgusting smell. Miss Rothbelle never would have called on me if I hadn’t been smiling. Blubber’s the one who should be sitting in the corner. I’d like to tell that to Miss Rothbelle. I really would. Talk about unfair …

At the end of music period Robby Winters
called out, “Miss Rothbelle … Miss Rothbelle …”

“What is it?” she asked.

“You never told us what was coming out of your mouth when you sang.”

“That’s right,” Miss Rothbelle said. “I didn’t.”

“What was it?” Robby asked.

“It was melody,” Miss Rothbelle said. Then she spelled it. “M-e-l-o-d-y. And every one of you should have known.” She blew her pitchpipe at us and walked out of the room.

At eleven Mr. Kubeck, the custodian, delivers our lunch milk. He leaves it outside the classroom door, in the hall. When I see it standing there my stomach growls and I start thinking about my peanut butter sandwich, sitting inside my stuffy old locker, getting soggy. By lunchtime the milk is warm. I think it’s sour too. I’ve told my mother to report that to the Board of Health. We’ll be able to buy cold milk next year, when the school gym is converted into a part-time cafeteria. Until then we have to suffer through lunch in our classrooms.

At noon Mrs. Minish leaves the room. She goes out to lunch every day. All the teachers do. It makes me mad to think of them sitting in some nice restaurant eating hamburgers and
french fries while I have to sit at my desk drinking sour milk.

As soon as Mrs. Minish is gone we all move our desks around. I push mine next to Wendy’s. So does Caroline. Sometimes Donna Davidson joins us and other times she sits across the room with Laurie, which is fine with me. I can’t stand hearing her horse stories.

Linda Fischer eats by herself. I watched as she unpacked her lunch and spread it out across her desk. She had a sandwich, a pack of Hostess cupcakes and a big red apple.

“You’re going to turn into a real whale if you keep eating like that,” Wendy told her.

“Just shut up,” Linda said, more to her sandwich than to Wendy.

“Well, listen to that!” I said. “Blubber told Wendy to shut up. Can you imagine!”

“Some people don’t know how to talk nice,” Caroline said.

“Didn’t your mother teach you any manners, Blubber?” Wendy asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Otherwise Blubber wouldn’t chew with her mouth open.”

“Oh yes,” Wendy said. “I noticed that too. She must want us to see that she has an egg-salad sandwich.”

“On wholewheat bread,” Caroline added.

“And how lovely it looks all chewed up in her
mouth,” I said. “I guess that’s why she decided to report on the whale. She has a lot in common with them.” I was beginning to enjoy myself.

“Blub … blub … blub …” Wendy made this funny noise.

Linda took her cupcakes and stuffed them back into her lunch bag. She stood up and headed for the trash basket but Wendy stopped her before she could throw anything away. “You can’t waste those
beautiful
cupcakes, Blubber!”

“I’ll take them,” Robby Winters called.

Wendy grabbed the bag out of Linda’s hand, took out the package of cupcakes and threw it across the room to Robby. He tossed it to Bill, who passed it to Michael. Michael ate one. The other cupcake was squashed by that time but Irwin stuffed it into his mouth anyway.

Linda went back to her desk. Wendy followed her. “Oh look … Blubber has a shiny red apple.” She held it up for the class to see. Then she put the apple on top of her head and paraded around the room.

Michael stood on his desk and yelled, “I’m William Tell!”

“Who’s he?” Laurie asked.

“The guy who shot the apple off his kid’s head, dummy.” Michael pretended to pull back his bow and aim an arrow at Wendy’s head.

“Help … oh help!” Wendy cried, racing
around the room, holding the apple on her head with one hand.

“Help is on the way,” I called, taking off my shoe and throwing it at Michael. It hit him in the leg. He picked it up and ran to the window.

“You wouldn’t!” I yelled.

As soon as I said that Michael raised the window and tossed out my shoe. It landed in the bushes.

“You jerk! You absolute idiot!”

“I’ll fix him, Jill,” Wendy called, firing the apple at Michael. It missed him and crashed against the blackboard. Bruce picked it up, polished it off on his shirt, then took a bite.

Donna pointed at him and chanted, “He ate the poison apple … he ate the poison apple …”

“Oh …” Bruce made this gurgling noise, clutched his stomach and dropped to the floor. He rolled over and played dead while the rest of us circled around him singing, “The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, they eat your guts, and they spit them out …”

“It’s
much
too noisy in here!” Mrs. Horvath stood in our doorway with her hands on her hips. She is in charge of us during lunch. She’s called a “lunch teacher” but really, she’s more like a policewoman, patrolling the halls and sticking her head in and out of classrooms.

We shut up in a hurry and scrambled back to our desks.

“What is that?” she asked, spying the apple on the floor.

Nobody answered.

“To whom does this apple belong?”

We all looked at Linda.

“Well?” Mrs. Horvath said.

“It’s mine,” Linda told her in a very weak voice.

“Food does not belong on the floor!” Mrs. Horvath shouted.

“I know,” Linda said.

“Then why is it there?”

Linda didn’t say anything.

“Do you want me to report you to Mr. Nichols?”

“No.”

“Then pick up that apple this instant!”

Linda hurried to the front of the room, picked up the apple, and dumped it into the trash basket.

“That’s better,” Mrs. Horvath said. “Now, get into your jackets and go outside.”

As long as it isn’t raining we go to the playground after lunch. Rainy days are bad because we have to spend all of lunch hour in our classroom and that is just so boring, even though
Mrs. Minish unlocks the supply closet and hands out extra vanilla drawing paper.

I prayed that Mrs. Horvath wouldn’t notice I was wearing just one shoe and all the way down the hall I walked with my sock foot in front of my shoe foot. Outside, instead of jumping rope, like usual, I hunted in the bushes for my shoe. As soon as Tracy heard what happened she came over to help. When we finally found it, it was time to go back to class.

My mother has decided to give up cigarettes. She says if I have enough will power to stop biting my nails then she should have enough to stop smoking. I’m very proud of her. Dad says we’ve got to encourage Mom, so Kenny gives her all the bubble gum from his baseball cards. Mom can blow the biggest bubbles I’ve ever seen. She has to keep her mouth busy so she won’t crave cigarettes, which is why she’s taken up chewing. I know how she feels, only with me, instead of chewing, I wiggle my loose tooth.

On Sunday night, Mom reminded me that I still have nothing to wear to Warren Winkler’s bar mitzvah and it’s just two weeks away. His father lived next door to my father when they were boys. We don’t see the Winklers very often—just
once or twice a year—but that is more than enough for me. Warren is such a creep! His mother is always making jokes about how me and Warren will like each other a lot more when we grow up, which proves that Mrs. Winkler doesn’t know anything.

“Do I really have to go?” I asked my mother.

“Yes,” Mom said, trying to scrape the bubble gum off her chin.

“You need alcohol for that,” I told her.

“Oh … thanks.”

We went into the bathroom and I watched Mom clean off her face. “I think I’ll wear a long dress,” I said. “Tracy went to a bar mitzvah last year and she wore one. Her mother made it for her … it’s beautiful … maybe she’d lend it to me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mom said.

“What is?” I asked. “Wearing a long dress or borrowing Tracy’s?”

“Both.”

“Then what am I going to wear?”

“I’ll look for something this week.”

“No ruffles or anything like that.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get a very simple dress.”

“I hope so,” I said.

We always get off to a slow start on Monday mornings because Mrs. Minish has to collect our
milk money for the week. I’ve noticed that she isn’t so fast when it comes to arithmetic. If she didn’t pay so much attention to thinking the problem through, like it says in our book, she could probably do better.

While Mrs. Minish was counting, Robby Winters came over to my desk, holding his hands out like some kind of zombie. He had a pin stuck through the skin of every finger. I used to think it was very brave of him to do that. But when I tried it myself I found out it’s easy. It doesn’t even hurt. Last time I did it Mrs. Sandmeier caught me and made me soak my fingers in Epsom Salt for two hours.

“Robby, you are gruesome,” I told him, as he pushed his pin fingers in my face. As soon as he saw that he couldn’t get anywhere with me he went over to Linda Fischer. She screamed.

Mrs. Minish looked up. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Robby …” Linda said. “He’s got pins in his fingers.”

“Take them out, Robby,” Mrs. Minish said. “Right now.”

“But they feel nice,” Robby told her.

“Take them out!”

“Yes, Mrs. Minish.”

When she was finished with the milk money, Mrs. Minish announced that we would have a social studies test on Wednesday, on the explorers.
I get them all mixed up. I can never remember which one is de Vaca and which one is de Soto and who discovered what.

At lunchtime, Wendy and Caroline traded sandwiches. Wendy loves salami and Caroline’s favorite is tuna. I had my usual, peanut butter.

“Don’t you get sick of the same old thing day after day?” Wendy asked.

“Nope.”

“Doesn’t it stick to the roof of your mouth?” Caroline said.

“If it does I just work it off with my tongue.”

“It’s good you’re so skinny,” Caroline told me. “Peanut butter’s fattening.”

“Jill doesn’t have to worry,” Wendy said. “Not like some people …”

We all looked over at Linda. She had her lunch spread out on her desk—two pieces of celery, one slice of yellow cheese and a package of saltine crackers. “Hey …” I said, “Blubber’s on a diet!”

“Is that right?” Wendy asked.

“Yes,” Linda said. “I’m going to lose ten pounds and then you won’t be able to call me that name anymore.”

“What name?” Wendy said, and we all giggled.

“You know.”

“Say it!”

“No … I don’t have to.”

Wendy got up and went over to Linda’s desk. She made a fist at her. “Say it …”

“Blubber,” Linda said very low.

“Louder.”

“Blubber,” she said in her regular voice.

Caroline was laughing like a hyena. I’ve never heard a hyena laugh, but I just know it would sound like Caroline. I think she’s really stupid sometimes.

“Now say,
My name will always be Blubber
,” Wendy told Linda.

“No … because it won’t.”

“Say it!” Wendy told her and she didn’t look like she was fooling around anymore.

I sat on the edge of my seat, not moving.

“My name will always be Blubber,” Linda said. There were tears in her eyes.

“And don’t you forget it,” Wendy said, “because even if you weigh fifty pounds you’ll still be a smelly whale.”

That night, after my bath, I went to my parents’ room. Mom was stretched out reading a book. I did a flying leap onto her bed and lay down next to her.

“You’re sleepy, aren’t you?” she asked, playing with my hair.

“A little …”

“You should go to bed.”

“In a minute.”

“Okay.”