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“You?” asked Mr. Kidswatter, sounding somewhat surprised. “Yes, you!” he declared. “I chose you, didn’t I? And I don’t make mistakes!”
He strode toward Stephen, then placed his big hands on both sides of Stephen’s desk and leaned over. “Be in my office on Friday, at two minutes before three o’clock!” he ordered. “You will get one, and only one, swing of the mallet, so you better not miss! You must hit the very center of the gong, at exactly three o’clock. Not a second early! Not a second late!! There are no second chances!!!”
Stephen’s right leg was shaking.
The principal straightened up and headed toward the door. “Good-bye, children,” he said.
He stopped.
He waited.
He folded his arms across his chest.
Mrs. Jewls waved her arms like an orchestra conductor.
“Good-bye, Mr. Kidswatter,” everyone said together.
As soon as the principal was gone, everyone crowded around Stephen’s desk.
“You are so lucky!” said Jason.
“This is the best thing that has ever happened to anyone in our class!” said Jenny.
“You better not blow it!” said Joy. “Or else no kid will ever get to ring the gong again!”
“Can you even lift the
mallet?” asked Terrence.
Stephen didn’t say anything. He hadn’t heard a word they said.
It was as if the moment Mr. Kidswatter had said, “YOU!!!” someone had banged a gong inside Stephen’s head.
GONNN-nnnn-NNNNN-nnnnn-NNNNN-nnnnn-NNNNNGGGG!!!
18
The Mirror
Dr. Pickle kept two things on his desk. One was a bust of Sigmund Freud.
A bust is a statue of someone’s head, neck, and shoulders. Sigmund Freud was the most famous psychologist ever. He was Dr. Pickle’s hero.
Dr. Freud also had a beard.
The second thing on Dr. Pickle’s desk was a handheld mirror. Dr. Pickle checked his beard at least five times per day, to make sure it was trimmed just right.
Now, however, that was the least of his worries. He looked at his face in the mirror. His cheek was puffed out. His tongue was sticking out. One eye was closed. One eyebrow was raised.
He looked like a big doofus!
He gently swung his pickle stone between his face and the mirror.
“I am getting sleepy,” he said to himself. “By the count of five, I will fall asleep. One . . . two . . . thruppledub.” His head plopped down on his desk.
This would normally be the time when Dr. Pickle would tell his patient what she was supposed to do when she woke up. But he was his own patient. And both patient and doctor were sleeping.
Sometime later, a car horn blared. It sounded like there was an angry driver right behind him.
