Karen's Field Day Read online

  “Gym is almost over,” said Mrs. Mackey when she had everyone’s attention. “Before we go inside, I want to talk to you about Field Day.”

  “Yea!” we all shouted. Everyone loves Field Day. I forgot about basketball.

  “There will be eight events,” Mrs. Mackey said. She ticked them off on her fingers. “Fifty-meter sprint. Four-hundred meter run. Four-person relay race. Standing long jump. Sack race. Wheelbarrow race. Three-legged race. Water-balloon toss.”

  Everyone started talking at once about the Field Day events. We could not help it. It was too exciting.

  Tweeet! “Ten points will be given for finishing first in any event. Five points for second. And two points for third,” said Mrs. Mackey. “Whoever has the most points in each grade at the end of the day will win a gift certificate to Phil’s Sporting Goods.”

  “Yea!” we shouted.

  Tweeet! “Any questions?” Mrs. Mackey asked.

  Nobody raised a hand.

  Tweeet! “Class dismissed.”

  Ms. Colman led us back inside the school building to our classroom. I like Mrs. Mackey. And I like gym class. But I am glad that Ms. Colman does not blow a whistle at us all the time.

  * * *

  During afternoon recess, Nancy, Hannie, and I huddled to talk about Field Day. We wanted to plan our strategy. The Three Musketeers were determined to win as many points as possible.

  “We should all enter all of the events,” I said. “That way there’s a better chance that one of us will win.”

  “We will need a fourth person for the relay race,” Hannie pointed out.

  “I will ask Sara Ford,” said Nancy. “She is a fast runner.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “Now, who will team up for the three-legged race?”

  “I will do it with you,” said Hannie. “Is that okay, Nancy?”

  Nancy nodded. “I guess so. I will ask Sara if she wants to team up with me for that race too.”

  “Great,” said Hannie. “And since I will run the three-legged race with Karen, you two can do the wheelbarrow race together. Maybe I will try to get a boy to do that one with me.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Nancy, who will be the wheelbarrow? You or me?” I had a feeling I knew what she would say.

  “I do not want to be the wheelbarrow,” said Nancy. She rubbed her chin, as if it still hurt from last year.

  I had had a chance to think about being the wheelbarrow. I did not really want to be the wheelbarrow. But I decided I would, to make Nancy happy. That is what friends do.

  “Okay.” I sighed. “I will be the wheelbarrow. You may push me. I will try hard not to fall.”

  Nancy smiled. “Thanks, Karen,” she said. “I will be careful not to push too fast.”

  “Push just fast enough to win,” I said.

  Nancy nodded.

  “And that leaves Nancy and me together for the water-balloon toss,” said Hannie. “I hope it is warm outside on Field Day.” (People always get wet during the water-balloon toss.)

  “Me too,” I said. “I think I will ask Ricky Torres to be my water-balloon partner.” (Ricky is my pretend husband. We were married on the playground one day.)

  The Three Musketeers grinned at one another. We were all set. Field Day was going to be so much fun!

  Vowing to Win

  Nancy, Hannie, and I were just about to go inside when Pamela Harding walked by.

  I do not like to say mean things about people, so I will not say anything about Pamela. Even if she deserves it. Pamela has been my best enemy ever since she came to Stoneybrook Academy.

  Pamela was talking to her best friends, Jannie Gilbert and Leslie Morris.

  “I cannot wait to win the most second-grade points on Field Day,” Pamela said in a very loud voice. “I love Phil’s Sporting Goods Shop. I already know how I am going to spend the gift certificate.”

  “Really?” asked Jannie. “What are you going to buy?”

  “Yes, what?” said Leslie. (They always go along with whatever Pamela says.)

  “Pamela is not going to buy anything,” I called over to them. “Because she is not going to win on Field Day.”

  “Oh yeah?” said Pamela. “What makes you think that?”

  “I think that because it is true,” I said.

  “Well, you are wrong, Karen,” said Pamela. “I am going to win. And I am going to buy a million pom-pom socks.” She turned to Jannie and Leslie. “I saw the cutest pom-pom socks at Phil’s the other day. They were in all different colors. With the gift certificate, I will be able to buy a pair to match just about every outfit in my —”

  “Pom-pom socks!” I said. “That is the silliest thing I have ever heard.”

  Pamela crossed her arms over her chest.

  “It is not! What would you buy if you won?” she asked. “Which you are not going to do anyway.”

  “Am too!” I said. “And when I win, I will not waste my gift certificate on goofy pom-pom socks.”

  I did not know what I would spend a gift certificate on at a sporting-goods store. I had not thought about it yet. Maybe swim flippers, or new roller skates. Definitely not pom-pom socks.

  “If you wore them, they would be goofy pom-pom socks,” said Pamela. “When I wear them, they will be stylish and fashionable pom-pom socks.”

  Pamela stuck out her tongue and flounced off. Jannie and Leslie flounced off after her.

  Pamela is such a meanie-mo. I might as well tell you. After all, you have probably figured it out for yourself.

  I turned to Hannie and Nancy. “We will show Pamela. One of us will win that gift certificate. We will share whatever we get. And we will not waste it on pom-pom socks.”

  “Cool!” said Hannie.

  “We will not let Pamela beat us,” said Nancy.

  “Let’s make a Three Musketeers vow,” I said. “Pamela Harding will not win Field Day — no matter what.”

  I stuck my hand out palm down and said, “All for one.”

  Nancy put her hand on mine, and Hannie put her hand on Nancy’s.

  “And one for all!” we shouted together.

  The Three P’s

  “I suppose you are wondering why I asked you to come over today,” I said.

  It was Wednesday, after school. Nancy had ridden to my house on the school bus. Her mommy would pick her up later. Hannie had crossed the street to my house, instead of going home. After Nannie had fixed the three of us a snack, we had come out to the backyard. Now we were sitting in the farthest corner of the yard. We would be very private there.

  “To play?” Nancy guessed.

  “Nope,” I said.

  “To pull up weeds?” said Hannie.

  “Nope.”

  Nancy and Hannie looked at each other. “We give up,” said Nancy.

  “We have to come up with a surefire plan for winning Field Day,” I told them.

  They nodded.

  “Okay, I have a plan,” said Hannie. “How about if we run faster, jump longer, and toss water balloons farther than anyone else? That should do the trick.”

  Nancy giggled.

  “I am serious,” I said. “I have been thinking about this a lot. I have realized that we will not win Field Day without the three P’s.” (I had heard about the three P’s from Sam and Charlie. They play sports in high school.)

  “What are the three P’s?” asked Nancy. (She was not giggling now.)

  “Preparation. Practice. Performance,” I said, feeling important.

  “Ooh,” said Nancy. “That sounds good. What does it mean?”

  “I am glad you asked that,” I said seriously. I felt like a football coach giving a pep talk at halftime. I stood up and started pacing back and forth. “First is Preparation. That means exercising. Working out. Building up our strength. We will have to whip ourselves into shape.” I pounded my fist into my hand.

  “Yes!” said Hannie and Nancy.

  “Then there is Practice,” I said. “We have to improve our skills in the events. Es
pecially the tough ones, like the three-legged race and the wheelbarrow race. We must master the skills and techniques.” That is what Sam said his coach had said. It sounded terrific.

  “All right! Master those skills!” shouted Nancy and Hannie.

  “Last is Performance,” I said. “When Field Day comes, Preparation will give us endurance. Practice will give us skill. And a winning Performance will give us the Field Day championship — and a gift certificate to Phil’s Sporting Goods.”

  “Yea!” Hannie and Nancy leaped up. They jumped up and down and slapped high fives. I had done a good job of getting them excited.

  “Now let’s go win one for the Gipper!” I shouted. (I do not know who the Gipper is. But I know that coaches always want their teams to win one for him.)

  That very afternoon, Hannie and Nancy and I started our Preparation. We ran around the big house four times. We did twenty sit-ups. We did thirty leg lifts. We did forty jumping jacks.

  We flopped down on the grass, panting. We were pooped.

  “Is that enough Preparation, Karen?” Nancy asked breathlessly. “I need to rest.”

  “That is enough for now,” I said. I stood up. “Come on, Musketeers. Practice comes next.”

  I went inside and found three bandannas. When I came back, Hannie and Nancy were still lying next to each other on the grass. But they were not panting so hard.

  I sat between my friends, with my left leg next to Hannie’s right leg. Then I tied our ankles, knees, and thighs together with the bandannas. (Not too tightly.)

  “Okay, teammate,” I said. I wished I had a whistle, like Mrs. Mackey did. “Up and at ’em! Get a move on!”

  Hannie and I heaved ourselves off the grass. We hobbled a few steps, but we were not moving together. After a few seconds, Hannie said, “Whoa!” and flailed her arms. She toppled sideways onto the grass, pulling me down on top of her.

  “Oof!” I said.

  What I would have given for a whistle just then. I could see that for our Performance to be good enough to win Field Day, we were going to need a lot more Preparation and Practice.

  Mommy’s Story

  On Friday I ate dinner at the little house, even though it was a big-house month. I did this for two reasons:

  1. I wanted to borrow an exercise tape from Mommy.

  2. I wanted to talk to Mommy about interesting Packett women. (Packett was Mommy’s last name before she married Daddy. Then it became Brewer. When she married Seth, she changed her last name to Engle. My name is still Brewer.)

  Mommy had made a special meal that she knew I would like.

  “Yum!” I said. “Spaghetti and meatballs! Crusty bread and snap peas! My favorites.” Mommy smiled at me. It felt a little weird to be at the little house without Andrew. Usually we are here together.

  After dinner (orange sherbet for dessert, yum) I sat with Mommy in the living room. I took out the sheet of sample questions that Ms. Colman had given us. I read out loud, “ ‘Number one. When you were a child, what woman in our family do you remember your parents talking about?’”

  “Goodness, there were a lot,” Mommy said.

  “Really?” I asked. Great! I would not have to use Daddy’s great-aunt Josephine.

  “Let’s see,” said Mommy. “There was my mother’s cousin Livia. She loved to fish. She would go out in her hip boots and cast flies with her six brothers. Catch more than all the boys put together too. Once she caught fourteen largemouth bass in one afternoon. It was a record for Winslow’s Fishing Hole.”

  “That is interesting, sort of,” I said. “But I was hoping for something a little more … exciting.”

  “How about Great-aunt Harriet?” said Mommy. “She was a real character. The story in the family goes that when her dad died, she took over the family business — running a bookmaking service!”

  “She was a book publisher?” I asked. “Gosh.”

  Mommy laughed. “No, Karen, a book-making service is where people go to place bets, like on racehorses. It is not legal. Great-aunt Harriet was a bookie. Or so the family legend has it.”

  “A bookie!” I exclaimed. “You mean she was a criminal?”

  “Well, technically, I guess she was,” said Mommy. “She was sort of a nice criminal. She never went to prison.”

  I thought about Nancy’s relative, the war hero who had gone to jail for spying. There was no way I was going to write about my relative who had not gone to jail for taking illegal bets.

  “Anyone else?” I asked. I was beginning to think there was a reason why I had never heard of any important Packett or Brewer women. “Anybody famous?”

  “Certainly,” said Mommy. “There was my aunt Patsy. She was famous for her big feet. She had bigger feet than her brother — and he was six foot three. And Granny Nolan could drink water and whistle at the same time — with or without her dentures in!”

  Now I was feeling very discouraged. Even Daddy’s party-throwing aunt was better than the whistling granny.

  “And of course there was Edna Milton,” Mommy said.

  “Who was she?” I asked grimly.

  “Edna was born in London, around the turn of the century,” said Mommy. “She lived at Highgate Hall, one of the grand houses of England.”

  “Really? A grand house?” I perked up and started scribbling notes. I had had no idea that one of my relatives was a rich English lady! I wondered if Edna Milton had had a title, like duchess or baroness. And if Edna had had a title, and I was related to her, was it possible that I might have a title too?

  I could see it now: Karen Brewer, Duchess of Stoneybrook. Her Royal Majesty Karen, Princess of Connecticut.

  Then Mommy said, “Edna was a servant at Highgate Hall.”

  “A servant!” The Princess of Connecticut disappeared.

  “Yes,” said Mommy. “I believe she was a scullery maid.”

  I stopped taking notes. “Gee. Well, did she run off with the rich son? And his parents were furious? And they had to live in a foreign country because his family would not speak to them?”

  “Um, no,” said Mommy. “Edna ran off with the under-gardener and opened a flower shop in London. The shop failed, though. So Edna and Nigel, I believe his name was, set sail for America.”

  Mommy shook her head slowly and looked sad.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Their ship went down,” said Mommy. “They drowned before they ever saw America.”

  Their ship went down? I took a deep breath. Could it be? “Was the ship the Titanic?” I asked hopefully.

  “Oh, no,” said Mommy. “It was the Beulah May.”

  Beulah May? Never heard of it.

  I sighed a long sigh. I folded up my sheet of notes and stuck it in my pocket.

  “Thank you, Mommy,” I said. “You have been a big help.” That was not true, but I did not want to hurt Mommy’s feelings. I did not want to tell her that her female relatives were even worse than Daddy’s female relatives.

  “You are welcome, Karen,” said Mommy. “If you want to know any more about the Packett women, just ask.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But I think I have heard enough already.”

  Aerobics Is Not for Wimps

  The next morning the other Musketeers came over to the big house. We went into the family room.

  I was wearing a leotard, tights, leg warmers, and a headband. My hair was in a ponytail. I had draped a small towel around my neck. Hannie and Nancy were in their workout clothes too.

  “Ready to sweat?” I asked. “Ready to get in shape? Ready to beat Pamela Harding?”

  “Ready!” said Hannie.

  “Go for it!” said Nancy.

  I held up the aerobics tape I had borrowed from Mommy the night before. It was called Earn the Burn! On the cover was a picture of a nice-looking blonde woman with a ponytail. She was wearing workout clothes. I thought she looked sort of like me, without the glasses.

  I popped the tape into the VCR. Hannie, Nancy, and I took our positions an
d got ready.

  Jazzy music started up, and the blonde woman appeared. She started touching her toes and saying, “Come on! You can do it! Earn the burn!”

  Quickly Hannie, Nancy, and I started touching our toes too.

  Then the woman started swinging her arms from side to side. She said, “Here we go! Here we go! Earn the burn!”

  We swung our arms from side to side.

  Then she did waist bends. (“Earn the burn!”)

  We did waist bends.

  I was beginning to feel a little tired and sweaty. I could hear Hannie and Nancy panting next to me. This was a great workout. We were definitely earning the burn.

  The music slowed and faded out. I thought that was the end of the tape. I started to walk toward the VCR.

  Then the woman said something really surprising: “That completes our five-minute warm-up. Now we will begin the workout.”

  “What?” said Nancy. “The exercises have not even begun yet?”

  “I guess not,” I said. “Aerobics is not for wimps, you know.”

  The music started up again, only faster and louder this time.

  I jumped back to my spot.

  The woman started jogging in place.

  We jogged in place.

  She kicked her legs in the air, as if she were part of a chorus line.

  We kicked our legs in the air. (Not as high as the woman did. Nancy’s feet were hardly leaving the ground.)

  The woman did deep knee bends.

  We did not-so-deep knee bends. (Nancy did three, then fell over onto the rug.)

  The woman jogged in place some more.

  We jogged in place. (Hannie sort of stood there, lifting her heels every now and then.)

  The woman did jumping jacks.

  We did jumping jacks. (Hannie did two, then collapsed in a heap.)

  All the while the woman was smiling and shouting, “Earn the burn! Earn the burn! Earn the burn!”

  Finally the woman dived onto her hands and started doing pushups.