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Chapter 9

“Bradley Chalkers! What are you doing out of class?” It was a teacher. Bradley didn’t know her, but it seemed as though every teacher in the school knew him. “I got a hall pass!” he told her.

“Let me see it.”

He showed it to her. “Mrs. Ebbel gave it to me. Go ask her if you don’t believe me.” “Where are you going?”

“Library,” he said. “To get a book.” “Okay, but make sure you go straight to the library. No detours, Bradley.” He had lied. He wasn’t even allowed to check books out of the library.

The door to the counselor’s office was open, so he walked right in. “I’m here,” he announced. “Whadda ya want?” Carla smiled warmly at him. “Hello, Bradley,” she said. “I’m Carla Davis. It’s a pleasure to see you today.” She held out her hand. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” He was amazed by how young and pretty she was. He had been expecting an ugly old hag.

She had sky-blue eyes and soft blond hair. She wore a white shirt covered with different-colored squiggly lines, like some kid had scribbled on it. But as he stared at the shirt he realized that it was made to look that way, on purpose.

“Aren’t you going to shake my hand?” she asked.

“No, you’re too ugly.” He walked past her and sat down at the round table.

She sat across from him. “I appreciate your coming to see me,” she said.

“I had to come. Mrs. Ebbel made me.” “For whatever reason, I’m glad you came.” “I meant to go to the library,” he explained. “I came here by accident.” “Oh, I don’t believe in accidents,” said Carla.

“You don’t believe in accidents?” That was the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

She shook her head.

“What about when you spill your milk?” “Do you like milk?” asked Carla.

“No, I hate it!”

“So maybe you spill it on purpose,” she said. “You just think it’s an accident.” She smiled.

He stared angrily down at the table. He felt like he’d been tricked. “I don’t drink milk,” he said. “I drink coffee.” He glanced around the room. It was full of all kinds of interesting-looking objects. “This place is a mess,” he said.

“I know,” Carla admitted. “I like messy rooms. Clean rooms are boring and depressing. They remind me of hospitals.” “Don’t you get in trouble?”

“Why should I?”

He didn’t know the answer to that. But he knew that if it were his room and it was this messy, he’d get in trouble. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” he declared.

“Nobody said you did.”

“Well, then how come I have to be here?” “I was hoping you’d like it here,” said Carla. “I was hoping we could be friends. Do you think we can?” “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like you.”

“I like you,” said Carla. “I can like you, can’t I? You don’t have to like me.” He squirmed in his seat.

“I was also hoping you’d be able to teach me things,” said Carla.

“You’re the teacher, not me.”

“So? That doesn’t matter. A teacher can often learn a lot more from a student than a student can learn from a teacher.” “I’ve taught Mrs. Ebbel a lot,” Bradley agreed. “Today I taught her geography.” “What do you want to teach me?” Carla asked.

“What do you want to know?”

“You tell me,” said Carla. “What’s the most important thing you can teach me?” Bradley tried to think of something he knew. “The elephant’s the biggest animal in the world,” he said. “But it’s afraid of mice.” “I wonder why that is,” said Carla.

“Because,” said Bradley, “if a mouse ran up an elephant’s trunk, it would get stuck and then the elephant wouldn’t be able to breathe and so it would die. That’s how most elephants die.” “I see,” said Carla. “Thank you for sharing that with me. You’re a very good teacher.” He suddenly felt like he’d been tricked again. He didn’t want to share anything with her. He hated her.

“What else do you want to teach me?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said coldly. “You’re not supposed to talk in school.” “Why not?”

“It’s a rule. Like no sticking gum in the water fountains.” “Well, in this room there are no rules,” said Carla. “In here, everyone thinks for himself. No one tells you what to do.” “You mean I can stick gum in the water fountain?” “You could, except I don’t have a water fountain.” “Can I break something?” he asked.

“Certainly.”

He looked around for something to break, then caught himself in time. It was another trick. He’d break something and then get in trouble, and nobody would believe him when he said that she had said there were no rules. “I’m not in the mood,” he said.

“All right, but if you are ever in the mood, there are a lot of things you can break—things I like very much and things that other children use.” “I will!” he assured her. “I know karate.” He raised his hand sideways over the table. “I can break this table in half with my bare hand.” “I’d hate to see you hurt your hand.” “Nothing ever hurts me,” he told her. “I’ve broken every table in my house,” he declared. “The chairs, too. Call my mother if you don’t believe me.” “I believe you,” said Carla. “Why shouldn’t I?” “You should.”

She did, too. For the rest of the meeting, no matter what he told her, she believed him.

When he told her that his parents only fed him dog food, she asked him how it tasted.

“Delicious!” he said. “Meaty and sweet.” “I’ve always wanted to try it,” said Carla.

When he told her that the President had called him on the phone last night, she asked what they talked about.

“Hats,” he answered right away.

“Hats? What did you say about hats?” “I asked him why he didn’t wear a hat like Abraham Lincoln.” “And what did he say?”

Bradley thought a moment. “I can’t tell you. It’s top secret.” Near the end of the session, Carla gave him a piece of construction paper and asked him if he wanted to draw a picture. He chose a black crayon from the big box of crayons and stayed with it the whole time. He scribbled wildly all over the paper.

Carla leaned over to look at it. “That’s very nice,” she said.

“It’s a picture of nighttime,” he told her.

“Oh. I thought it was a picture of the floor of a barber shop, after someone with black curly hair got his hair cut.” “That’s what it is!” Bradley declared. “That’s what I meant.” “It’s very good,” said Carla. “May I have it?” “What for?”

“I’d like to hang it up on my wall.” He looked at her in amazement. “You mean here?” “Yes.”

“No, it’s mine.”

“I was hoping you’d share it with me,” said Carla.

“It costs a dollar.”

“It’s worth it,” said Carla. “But I only want it if you’re willing to share it.” “No,” he said.

“Okay, but if you ever change your mind, I’ll still want it.” “You can make me give it to you,” he suggested.

“No, I can’t.”

“Sure you can. Teachers make kids do things all the time.” Carla shook her head.

It was time for him to return to class.

“I’ve enjoyed your visit very much,” said Carla. “Thank you for sharing so much with me.” She held out her hand.

He backed away from it as if it were some kind of poisonous snake. Then he turned and hurried out into the hall.

When he got to Mrs. Ebbel’s class, he crumpled his picture into a ball and dropped it in the wastepaper basket next to her desk.