Karen's School Page 2

  “What are lesson plans?” Hannie asked.

  “They are lists of what everybody is supposed to learn. We will make them for our students. Okay. First we should write down the names of our students.”

  Hannie pulled a notepad out of her pocket. She wrote: Sari, Andrew, Emily, Keith, Callie. Then she said, “Now what?”

  “Well, they should all learn to read and write,” I said. “Except Andrew. He only needs to learn how to write. I already took care of the reading.”

  “They should all learn to read and write?!” exclaimed Hannie.

  “Yes. Reading and writing are gigundoly important.”

  “I know. But Sari and Emily are only two and a half. They hardly even talk. How are they supposed to read and write?”

  “Don’t worry. We will teach them,” I said.

  “But — ”

  “Hannie, please. I know what I am doing. I am the teacher and you are my helper. I am in charge of Miss Karen’s School.”

  “Okay-ay,” sang Hannie.

  One afternoon Hannie and I sat in her bedroom. We made teaching materials for our students. We made alphabet tracing sheets like the one I had made for Andrew. We made some flash cards with words and pictures like this:

  We made worksheets for learning sounds and letters. They were just like the worksheets we used to have in kindergarten. Hannie’s father made copies of the pages for us at his office.

  Another day, we went to the big house. We ran straight to the playroom. I pointed to the writing table. “There is my desk, the teacher’s desk,” I told Hannie. “But we need more work spaces for our students.”

  Hannie and I decided that Andrew and Callie and Keith would sit at the little crayon table. Emily and Sari could do their work on the floor. (They like to sit on the floor.) Then we found old towels for resting mats. After that we collected picture books and put them on a bookshelf.

  “Now we have a library corner,” I said.

  “Nice,” said Hannie. “But this classroom needs something else. It needs … decorations. Like the ones in Ms. Colman’s room.”

  “You’re right!” I exclaimed.

  We went back to Hannie’s house. We got out the scissors and paper again. We cut out pumpkins and leaves and ghosts and apples. Our classroom was almost ready for its students.

  Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

  Guess what. For half an hour every day, Mr. Howard was our teacher. Ms. Colman sat in the back of our classroom. She did not say a word. She just watched Mr. Howard learn how to be a teacher.

  I thought Mr. Howard had a long way to go.

  Mr. Howard’s neckties were horrible. (I love Ms. Colman’s clothes.) Mr. Howard never wore nice striped ties like Daddy and Seth and my brothers wear. He wore flowered ones or ones with pictures on them, or ones that were orange and pink. And he always gooped up his hair with that smelly stuff. Worst of all, Mr. Howard was not as patient as Ms. Colman. Sometimes he raised his voice. He was very strict about our classroom rules. He did not smile as much as Ms. Colman. But he did like to tell jokes. I thought they were stupid jokes. Everyone else thought they were funny. (Nancy thought they were hysterical.)

  On the very first day that Ms. Colman let Mr. Howard teach for a while, this is what Mr. Howard said to us: “Class, while I am here, I am going to teach a unit about the book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, by Roald Dahl. So the first thing I am going to do is read the book to you.”

  I raised my hand. “Mr. Howard, excuse me. I have already read that story,” I said. “More than once.” (You would think Mr. Howard would want to teach us something new.)

  “That’s okay,” replied Mr. Howard. “We are going to be doing lots of things besides reading the story.”

  “Okay,” I said. I would have to wait and see.

  So Mr. Howard had been reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory a little bit each day. I did not think he was very good at reading aloud. He was certainly not as good as Ms. Colman. Ms. Colman tells us to read with expression. And she reads with lots of expression herself. But not Mr. Howard. Plus, he was not very good at switching voices.

  On the day he read the end of the book to us, I felt wiggly. I could not sit still in my seat. But everyone else was sitting still just fine. My classmates liked Mr. Howard. I did not understand. How could they look so interested?

  When school was over that day I ran back to Hannie and Nancy. Nancy was smiling. She looked faraway. And do you know what she said? She said, “I have a secret. I love Mr. Howard.”

  The Love Poem

  Well, for heaven’s sake. Nancy loved Mr. Howard. I wondered if she was in love with him. That would be interesting.

  If Nancy was in love with Mr. Howard it would explain a lot of things. Mostly, it would explain why she did not want to work on Miss Karen’s School with Hannie and me. For almost two weeks now Hannie and I had been busy. We had been planning what we would teach our students. We had been setting up our classroom. And we had been making those decorations. Usually, the Three Musketeers work on projects together. But Nancy was not working on Miss Karen’s School. Now I thought I knew why.

  I thought I knew a few other things, too. I thought I knew what Nancy was daydreaming about all the time. (Mr. Howard.) I thought I knew why she had been getting so dressed up for school. Do you know what she had been wearing? Party dresses and ribbons in her hair and her very best shoes. Once, her mother even let her curl her hair.

  Another thing. Nancy kept bringing little gifts to school. And she left them on the teacher’s desk — but only when Mr. Howard was sitting at it. One day she brought him a tiny, intsy pumpkin. Another day she brought him a little bouquet of fall flowers. (They have a L-O-O-O-O-N-G name.) And yesterday she brought him two pieces of candy.

  I hoped she was not hurting Ms. Colman’s feelings.

  On Friday, Hannie and Nancy and I were standing in the back of our classroom. We were waiting for Ms. Colman to come in.

  “Well,” I said, “tomorrow Miss Karen’s School will open.”

  “I cannot wait,” replied Hannie.

  “I hope our students like our school.”

  “Oh, they will love it,” said Hannie. “Especially the decorations.”

  “Are you sure you do not want to help us, Nancy?” I asked.

  Nancy did not answer. I do not think she had heard me. She was all dressed up again, and she was searching through her purse. “Karen? Hannie?” she said. “I have something to show you. I — I wrote a poem. I want to know if you think it is good. You have to tell me the truth.”

  “Okay,” said Hannie and I. (We like poetry.)

  Nancy pulled a piece of paper out of her purse. She unfolded it. She held it out to us. “Go ahead. Read it,” she said.

  Hannie and I bent over. This is what we read:

  Luckily, Nancy had not written her name on the paper.

  “What do you think?” Nancy asked. She looked at Hannie and me hopefully.

  I glanced at Hannie. “Um, it is beautiful,” I said.

  “Oh, thank you!” cried Nancy. Then she leaned forward and whispered, “Would one of you leave it on Mr. Howard’s desk for me? Please? I cannot do it. I am too nervous.”

  Well, I was certainly not going to give a love poem to smelly Mr. Howard, but I did not want to say so to Nancy, since she was in love with him. Luckily, Hannie said she would do it. (There are some things you just do not understand about your best friends.)

  I was glad Miss Karen’s School could take my mind off Mr. Howard.

  The First Day of School

  “First day of school! First day of school!” I called. I ran through the big house ringing a bell. Ding, ding, ding.

  It was Saturday. And it was almost time for Miss Karen’s School to begin.

  “Come along, Andrew. Come along, Emily,” I said.

  “Skoo?” said Emily.

  “That’s right,” I replied. “School. You are going to learn to read, just like Andrew. And you are both going to learn
to write.”

  “I can write my name,” said Andrew.

  “Well, soon you will be able to write much more than that.”

  I opened the door to the playroom. I let Andrew and Emily inside. Then I heard the doorbell ring downstairs.

  “Oh, good,” I said. “I think my other students are here.”

  Sure enough, a few moments later, Hannie came into the playroom with Sari. “I brought Callie and Keith, too,” she said.

  Callie and Keith peeped into the room. They looked a little shy.

  “Come on inside,” I told them.

  “Hi, Keith! Hi, Callie!” called Andrew. “Hey, did you see our fish? Here are Goldfishie and Crystal Light. Gold — ”

  “Andrew,” I interrupted him. “This is school. We are here to work. Now, Callie, you and Keith and Andrew sit at this table. You each have your own chair and your own place. Emily and Sari will sit at their work space on the floor. Hannie, you watch them, okay?”

  My students slid quietly into their places.

  “All right, now. The first thing we do at real school,” I said, “is take roll. When I call your name, raise your hand and say, ‘Here!’ ”

  All of my students were present. I checked off their names on a list.

  “Now for school rules,” I went on.

  “Hey, Keith,” whispered Andrew. “Do you want — ”

  “Ahem!” I said loudly. “The first school rule is no talking while I am talking. Also, you have to raise your hand if you want to say anything. Then you have to wait for me to call on you…. Hannie, what are Emily and Sari doing?”

  “They’re, um, playing,” answered Hannie.

  “No playing!” I cried. “This is real school!”

  “But Karen, they cannot just sit here,” said Hannie. “They do not sit still for very long. Especially without something to do.”

  I sighed. Then I checked my watch. “Well, it is time to start working anyway. We have a schedule. We need to stick to it. Okay, you big kids — Andrew and Callie and Keith. You have worksheets. They are about letters and sounds. My assistant, Miss Hannie, will help you with them. I will be working with Emily and Sari.”

  Keith raised his hand then. “Excuse me, but what do we call you?” he asked.

  “While we are in school, you call me Miss Karen,” I told him.

  “Even me?” Andrew wanted to know.

  “Even you. And remember to raise your hand.”

  My students got to work. I sat on the floor with Emily and Sari.

  “Time to learn the alphabet,” I told them.

  Emily and Sari were a lot more interested in some My Little Pony dolls. I had to hide them. (Emily cried.)

  We stuck to my schedule all morning. My students finished worksheets. They practiced writing their letters. (Emily and Sari just practiced tracing.) I read them a story. We discussed the story. They had a ten-minute rest. Oh, and they had snacktime. Just before the morning ended, I gave my students homework. I would help Emily with hers, Hannie would help Sari with hers, Hannie would help Sari with hers, and the big kids were on their own.

  “See you tomorrow!” I called when Miss Karen’s School was over. “Remember to bring your homework with you.”

  “We Want Recess!”

  “Andrew,” I said on Saturday night, “have you done your homework yet?” (Andrew was just sitting on the couch, watching TV.)

  “No,” he said.

  “But Andrew, you have to do it. You have to bring it with you to school tomorrow. And it has to be finished. That is the point of homework.”

  “Okay. I will do it when this show is over.”

  While Andrew watched his show, I made Emily work on tracing again. That was her homework. Then I handed Andrew another worksheet.

  “Do I have to do this?” wailed Andrew.

  “Yes,” I replied. “This is real school, remember?”

  I hoped Keith and Callie and Sari were doing their homework.

  * * *

  On Sunday morning I marched into the playroom right after breakfast. I wanted to make sure Miss Karen’s School was ready for its students and for another day of work.

  School was supposed to start at ten o’clock. But at five minutes to ten o’clock, I was the only one in the playroom.

  “Andrew!” I called. “Emily! Hurry up. You will be late for school!”

  I practically had to carry them into the playroom. Just as they were sitting down, Hannie and Sari arrived.

  “Oh, good. You are right on time,” I said. “But where are Callie and Keith? And Andrew, where is your homework paper?”

  Andrew went looking for his worksheet, while I went looking for Callie and Keith. I found them playing at their house. They had forgotten about Miss Karen’s School. And they had not done their homework.

  Boo and bullfrogs.

  School started half an hour late that morning.

  “You will all have to stay an extra half hour to make up for it,” I said. “School will not end until twelve-thirty today.”

  “No fair!” cried Andrew.

  “No calling out,” I reminded him. “Now it is time for writing practice. Hannie, you help Emily and Sari with their tracing. Today I will work with the big kids.” I pulled out the sheets with the letters of the alphabet on them. “Okay. Practice your letters again,” I said.

  “Miss Karen? Could we practice words?” asked Callie.

  “Yeah, we want to write words,” added Keith.

  “Not yet. You are not ready.”

  Everyone worked quietly for five minutes. Then I looked over at Emily and Sari. I saw that they were not working at all. They were playing with My Little Pony dolls.

  Before I could say anything, Andrew announced, “We want recess!”

  “But it is not recess time yet,” I told him.

  “Maybe it is time for art,” said Callie hopefully.

  “Pony!” cried Sari happily.

  I could see that my students did not care much about learning. Well, I would change that. I cleared my throat. “Ahem!”

  “Uh-oh,” said Andrew.

  “Everybody! Attention, Please! No wiggling, no talking, no My Little Ponies! This is worktime.”

  My students went back to work.

  At twelve-thirty, I said, “Okay, school is over.”

  “Yea!” cried Andrew.

  I frowned at him. Then I said, “Before you leave, let me give you your homework. It is due two weeks from yesterday, when you come back to Miss Karen’s School.”

  “Nuts,” said Andrew.

  Chocolate Factory Day

  Ms. Colman let Mr. Howard be our teacher more and more. He was in charge of our class longer and longer each day. Sometimes Ms. Colman sat in the back of our room and watched Mr. Howard. Sometimes she sat in the back of our room and worked on lesson plans or looked in our workbooks. And sometimes she left the room.

  Mr. Howard had finished reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to us. That was fine with me. Now we were doing other things. In math we were measuring things. We measured out a little chocolate factory and built it with blocks. In art we colored portraits of Charlie Bucket and the other people in the book. In writing we were working on our own ending to the story. We pretended the book needed another chapter. I liked our chocolate factory unit. But I did not like Mr. Howard.

  One day Mr. Howard said, “Class, I have an announcement.” (I wondered if it would be as good as Ms. Colman’s Surprising Announcements.) “You have been working hard and I am proud of you. I have been working hard, too. I will only be your teacher for about two and a half more weeks. I thought we could do something special on our last day together. So I have decided that we will hold Chocolate Factory Day. Chocolate Factory Day will be a program for your families and friends. You may invite your parents and grandparents and younger brothers and sisters and a few friends to come to our class in the afternoon. We will perform songs and skits about Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. And we will serve chocolate candy that
we’re going to make ourselves.”

  I glanced at Ricky Torres. I was surprised. Mr. Howard’s announcement was pretty good after all. In fact, it was great.

  I raised my hand and wiggled my fingers around. I waited for Mr. Howard to call on me. Then I said, “Oh, Mr. Howard, I just love being onstage. I love singing and dancing and acting. I might be an actress one day. This program is going to be terrific!”

  Mr. Howard smiled at me. “Thank you, Karen,” he said.

  I really might be an actress one day. Nancy too. I like having an audience. Some people do not, but I do.

  I tried to imagine myself on Chocolate Factory Day. I would stand in the front of the class before all the parents and other guests. Maybe I would sing a song I wrote myself. And I would be the star.

  From next to me, I heard Ricky whisper, “Pssst, Karen! Pay attention! Mr. Howard is talking to us.”

  I sat still. I listened to Mr. Howard.

  “… so we need to think about our program,” he was saying.

  I raised my hand again. When Mr. Howard called on me, I said, “I think we should put on four small skits, and then we should all sing a song together. Some people do not like to be in skits, you know. But they probably would not mind singing a — ”

  “Okay, Karen,” said Mr. Howard. “That is a good idea.”

  I raised my hand again. Before Mr. Howard called on me, I said, “Can Hannie and Nancy and I put on a skit by ourselves? We could write one about different kinds of candy.”

  “We’ll see,” said Mr. Howard.

  “Oh, and you know the chocolates you said we are going to make? Could we make chocolate-covered cherries? Nannie loves those. She — ”

  “Karen,” said Mr. Howard. “Excuse me. Would you let me talk for a minute? And would you please give your classmates a chance to say something? They would like to plan the program, too.”

  Well, for heaven’s sake. I knew it. I just knew it. Mr. Howard did not like me. He did not want to hear my ideas. Ms. Colman always wanted to hear my ideas. But not Mr. Howard.