Wayside School Beneath the Cloud of Doom
Dedication
For Ruth
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
A Note from the Author
1.The Bells of Wayside
2.A Million
3.Up and Down
4.Consider the Paper Clip
5.Eric, Eric, and What’s-His-Name?
6.Oppositosis
7.The Closet That Wasn’t There
8.Science
9.The Gonnnnng
10.Stuck
11.What’s the Point?
12.Mrs. Surlaw
13.Umbrella
14.Mr. K and Dr. P
15.The Unbreakables
16.A Short Chapter About a Long Book
17.The Best Principal Ever!!!
18.The Mirror
19.Push-Downs
20.Inside the Closet
21.Breathe
22.The Moment
23.Blame It on the Cloud
24.The Ultimate Test, Day One
25.Jump Rope Arithmetic
26.The Ultimate, Ultimate Test
27.Kachooga Boop
28.The Teacher With the Long Fingernail
29.After the Storm
30.Rainbow
About the Author
Books by Louis Sachar
Copyright
About the Publisher
A Note from the Author
This is the fourth book about Wayside School. I wrote the first one, Sideways Stories from Wayside School, more than forty years ago.
I’m a lot older now, but in my heart I’m still Louis, the yard teacher, passing out the balls and playing with the kids at recess.
To fully enjoy this book, you should read the other three first, wait forty years, and then read this one.
Or you can just read it now.
1
The Bells of Wayside
It is very important that the children at Wayside School know the bell system.
The first bell in the morning sounds like this: WHOOP-WHOOP! WHOOP-WHOOP! WHOOP-WHOOP!
When they hear it, they know they have sixteen minutes to get to class. That’s not too difficult for those in Mr. Hardgroves’s class on the third floor.
But Wayside School is a thirty-story building, with one room on each floor. So for those who happen to be in Mrs. Jewls’s class, way up on the thirtieth floor, they must be ready on first whoop.
Todd was in Mrs. Jewls’s class. He was stuck behind a mass of kids outside the building waiting for the doors to open. He jumped up and down, trying to see over the heads of those in front of him. If he was late, Mrs. Jewls would put his name on the blackboard, under the word DISCIPLINE.
The kids who went to class on the lower floors often dilly-dallied. If Todd got stuck behind a large group of dilly-dalliers, he’d have no chance.
Inside the principal’s office, Mr. Kidswatter sat behind his enormous desk as he watched the clock. At the moment the second hand reached the number twelve, he shrieked into his microphone. “WHOOP-WHOOP! WHOOP-WHOOP! WHOOP-WHOOP!”
The doors unlocked, and the children stampeded into the building and up the stairs. Todd tried his best to weave his way to the front, but there wasn’t a lot of room.
Eight minutes later, Mr. Kidswatter tugged on the rope hanging through the hole in the ceiling, and the second bell rang. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Todd counted the clangs. Eight. That meant he now had eight minutes to get to class. Seven or nine clangs would have meant something completely different. Seven meant a helicopter was landing on the roof. Nine clangs meant a porcupine had entered the building.
So far, he had only made it to the seventh floor, but he had finally managed to weave his way past all the dilly-dalliers. There was nothing to slow him down now.
When he reached the eighteenth floor, he heard this sound: ching-a-ling, ching-a-ling, ching-a-ling.
Nothing to worry about there. That just meant they were out of doughnuts in the teachers’ lounge.
The scary bell was the late bell. It didn’t matter where he was. It always sounded like an angry driver was slamming on a car horn, right behind him. It made Todd jump every time.
He quickly dashed from the eighteenth to the twentieth floor. There was no nineteenth floor.
His legs were sore, and he was breathing hard as he reached the top. Just ahead, he could see Joy entering the classroom.
“Don’t shut the—” Todd shouted.
Joy shut the door behind her.
“Goozack,” said Todd.
He was just opening it when the horn blared, as if right behind him.
“You’re late, Todd,” said Mrs. Jewls as he entered the classroom. “Write your—”
“I know,” he said. He wrote his name on the blackboard, under the word DISCIPLINE.
Other bells rang throughout the day. At noon, the lunch bell kaboinked three times. Three kaboinks meant macaroons and cheese.
The bell for recess was just a single ding, but nobody ever missed it.
At the end of each day, Mr. Kidswatter would bang a giant gong with a large iron mallet. It was his favorite thing about being principal.
Todd sat at his desk, glumly looking at the blackboard. The day had started off badly for him and had only gotten worse.
There was now a check mark next to his name, under the word DISCIPLINE.
Next to that, Mrs. Jewls kept adding new homework assignments.
READ A BOOK. WRITE A BOOK REPORT. DRAW A PICTURE. (DON’T FORGET YOUR PAPER CLIP!!!)
HISTORY—READ PAGES 55–59 AND ANSWER QUESTIONS ON PAGES 61 AND 62.
MATH WORKSHEET—DO EVEN- AND ODD-NUMBERED PROBLEMS.
SCIENCE—READ PAGES 29–34, AND DO EXPERIMENT ON 37.
Todd had a sick feeling in his stomach, and it wasn’t just the mac and cheese. In big letters, across the top of the blackboard, Mrs. Jewls had written:
ULTIMATE TEST STARTS TOMORROW!
Mrs. Jewls had been warning the class about the Ultimate Test all year. The test would last for three days. If he failed, Todd would be sent back to kindergarten.
And then he heard it—the most magical bell of all!
Ping . . . PONG!
This bell had only rung once in the history of Wayside School, and nobody knew who rang it. But everyone knew what it meant.
All around, kids began cheering and clapping their hands. Shouts of joy could be heard coming from every floor of Wayside School.
Todd just sat there, in stunned disbelief.
It rang again.
Ping . . . PONG!
It was the Erase-the-Blackboard bell.
Mrs. Jewls had no choice. She picked up the eraser. Up and down Wayside School, teachers were doing the same thing.
Todd smiled as the homework assignments were wiped away. The Ultimate Test was canceled. His name was removed from the discipline list, and even the word DISCIPLINE soon disappeared.
Deep in the basement, a man with a black mustache snapped open a black attaché case. Another man, also with a black mustache, placed a small silver ball into the case. A third man, who was bald, put in a solid gold Ping-Pong paddle.
2
A Million
By the time Terrence got to school, he had already kicked ninety-nine different things.
It started the moment he woke up. He kicked his bed. He kicked Rocky, his favorite stuffed animal. When he left his bedroom, he kicked the door shut.
He kicked the wall as he sat at the kitchen counter and ate cereal. He kicked a table. He kicked three chairs. He kicked rocks on the way to school. He kicked the flagpole.
Still, a
s much as Terrence liked to kick things, it would take him his whole life to kick a million things.
“How much is a million?” Mrs. Jewls asked her class.
“Ooh! Ooh! I know, I know!” said Mac, stretching his hand high.
Mrs. Jewls called on Mac.
“A million,” Mac answered proudly.
“Well, yes, I suppose that’s correct,” said Mrs. Jewls. “A million is a million. Anyone else? John.”
John lowered his hand. “Nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine . . .” He paused, then added, “Plus one.” He smiled.
“Ooh, that’s good, John,” said Dana, very impressed.
“John’s really smart,” Joe agreed.
Terrence wasn’t paying attention. His big toe hurt from all that kicking. His toenail was too long.
Sharie, who had been sleeping at her desk, suddenly awoke and said, “Ten times ten, times ten, times ten, times ten, times ten.” She rested her head on her red-and-blue overcoat and went back to sleep.
“Is that right, Mrs. Jewls?” asked Jason.
“Um . . .” said Mrs. Jewls as she tried to multiply all of Sharie’s tens. “Well, if Sharie said it, it must be right!”
“Arithmetic makes my brain numb,” said Dameon.
“That’s why they’re called ‘numb-ers,’” said D.J.
Terrence’s big toe throbbed in pain. He couldn’t think about anything else.
“There’s really one way to understand just how big a million is,” said Mrs. Jewls. “And it’s not by using arithmetic. We need to collect a million somethings.”
“Dollars!” exclaimed Joy.
Everyone cheered. They liked that idea.
“Then we could have the biggest party ever,” said Deedee.
“We’re not collecting a million dollars,” said Mrs. Jewls. “Any other ideas?”
“Pumpkins!” suggested Dana.
Everyone cheered Dana’s idea too, but not as loudly as Joy’s.
“I don’t think a million pumpkins would fit in the school,” said Mrs. Jewls. “We need something small, and not too expensive.”
Stephen suggested, “Little pieces of paper.”
Nobody cheered.
“Bo-ring,” sang Kathy.
Stephen felt hurt, but deep down, he had to admit that collecting bits of paper wouldn’t have been a whole lot of fun.
Ron suggested mud, but that too was rejected. “It’s a good idea, Ron,” said Mrs. Jewls, “but you can’t count mud.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“There’s no such thing as one mud, or two muds,” explained Mrs. Jewls.
“Why not?” Ron asked again.
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Jewls had to admit.
Terrence couldn’t take it any longer. He took off his shoe, then his sock.
One desk over, Rondi stared at him, horrified.
Terrence’s toenail was bent out of shape, and it had turned black and blue.
He opened his desk and took out his pair of safety scissors. Then, crossing one leg over the other, he started snipping.
“You can’t cut your toenail in class,” said Rondi. “It’s against the rules.”
“Who says?” said Terrence.
It was one tough toenail, and the scissors weren’t all that sharp.
“Mrs. Jewls!” called Rondi. “Terrence is cutting his toenail, right in class!”
Some kids laughed. Some said, “Gross!”
Terrence pushed hard on the scissors. At last, a piece of his toenail fell free. His toe instantly felt better.
“Terrence! Come up here now!” demanded Mrs. Jewls. “And bring your toenail with you!”
Terrence picked up the clipping off the floor. One shoe off, one shoe on, he hobbled to the front of the room.
“Give me that!” Mrs. Jewls demanded.
Terrence dropped the nail clipping into his teacher’s outstretched hand.
“You’re a genius, Terrence,” said Mrs. Jewls.
She held his nail clipping high in the air. “That’s one!” she announced. “Nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine . . . to go!”
3
Up and Down
“Up!” said D.J.
“Down!” replied Kathy, who sat next to him.
“Up!” D.J. repeated.
“Down!” Kathy insisted.
In truth, Kathy didn’t know what D.J. was talking about. She just liked to argue. No matter what D.J. said, she always said the opposite.
“Up!” D.J. said again.
“Down!” Kathy instantly replied.
“Shh!” said Dana, who sat behind Kathy. “I’m trying to read.”
Kathy turned around. Dana’s face was streaked with tears.
“Why are you crying?” asked Kathy.
Dana showed her the book she’d been reading. The Lost Giraffe.
“So?” asked Kathy.
“The giraffe is lost,” Dana sobbed.
“Well, what did you expect, stupid?” asked Kathy.
She didn’t like Dana any more than she liked D.J.
“Up!” said D.J.
“Down!” snapped Kathy.
“Dana, Kathy, D.J.,” said Mrs. Jewls. “You are making a lot of noise for silent reading.”
“Sorry,” said D.J. “I can’t—up!—help it. I have the—up!—hiccups.”
Kathy turned red. She had been arguing with a hiccup.
“Has this ever happened before?” Mrs. Jewls asked him.
“I’ve had the—up!—hiccups before,” said D.J., “but they—up!—always went—up!—away.”
“Stand on your head and drink a glass of water,” Myron suggested.
“Eat a lemon,” said Jenny.
“Hold your tongue while you say the Pledge of Allegiance,” said Joy.
D.J. tried their suggestions. When he finished, his mouth was puckered, his shirt was wet, and he still had the hiccups.
He felt very patriotic, however.
“I think you better go see Dr. Pickle,” said Mrs. Jewls. “Kathy will take you.”
Kathy hopped out of her seat, glad she wouldn’t have to read. “C’mon, dummy,” she said, and led D.J. out the door.
“Up!” hiccuped D.J.
“Down!” said Kathy.
She couldn’t help herself.
Dr. Pickle’s real name was Dr. Pickell. His office was on the fourth floor. Kathy knocked on the door.
Dr. Pickle opened it. He had a pointy beard and wore glasses. “Yes?” he said.
“Stupid here got the hiccups,” said Kathy.
“Up!” hiccuped D.J.
“Down,” said Kathy.
Dr. Pickle rubbed his chin. “Very interesting,” he muttered, although he was looking at Kathy, not at D.J. “Very, very interesting.”
He told Kathy to wait, and invited D.J. inside.
“And he smiles too much too!” Kathy called, just before the door shut.
D.J. sat down on a couch.
Dr. Pickle sat across from him. He held a long gold chain. On one end hung a green stone shaped like a pickle.
Dr. Pickle gently swung the stone, back and forth. “Watch the pickle,” he said. His voice was warm and soothing.
D.J.’s eyes moved back and forth with the stone.
“I will count to five. And then you will fall into a deep, deep sleep.” Dr. Pickle slowly counted. “One . . . two . . . BOO!”
D.J. fell off the couch.
“Well?” asked Dr. Pickle.
D.J. got up. He waited a moment. “I think they’re gone,” he said.
Dr. Pickle led him to the door. “First thing we learned in psychiatrist school,” he said, patting D.J. on the head.
“My hiccups are all gone!” D.J. told Kathy.
“Who cares,” said Kathy.
“Wait,” said Dr. Pickle. “Would you mind stepping inside my office, young lady?”
“Me?” asked Kathy.
“Please,” said Dr. Pi
ckle.
“But he’s the sicko!” said Kathy, pointing at D.J.
“Please,” Dr. Pickle repeated.
Kathy shrugged, then entered the counselor’s office. “That beard is really ugly,” she said. “I guess your face must be even worse, huh?”
D.J. sat on the floor in the hallway, with his back against the wall, waiting for Kathy. He smiled, happy that his hiccups were gone. Although he missed them a little bit too. Hiccups are annoying, but kind of fun.
Some time later, the counselor’s door opened.
“Thank you, Dr. Pickell,” said Kathy, calling him by his proper name. “You are very wise. And I like your beard.”
“That’s very nice of you to say, Kathy,” said the school counselor.
She stepped out the door. “Hi, D.J.,” she greeted him. “Thanks for waiting. You’re a good friend.”
The smile left D.J.’s face. Something was definitely wrong with Kathy.
“Let’s go up,” said D.J.
“Yes, up,” Kathy agreed.
Now he was really worried.
4
Consider the Paper Clip
Read a book. Write a book report. Draw a picture.
That was the assignment Mrs. Jewls put up on the board.
Dana’s picture showed a giraffe studying a map. She had drawn a large question mark over the giraffe’s head.
Her book report only had to be one page, but she had written two whole pages. The Lost Giraffe was her favorite book ever!
Now all she needed was a paper clip.
She searched her desk.
She found quite a few pencils, mostly broken. There were lots of eraser bits and crayon nubs. There was also a crumb-covered pink piece of paper that had come off the bottom of a cupcake.
“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” she moaned as she continued to search.
She raised her hand.
“Yes, Dana,” said Mrs. Jewls.
“I need a new paper clip.”
“But I gave you one at the beginning of the year,” said Mrs. Jewls.
“I know, Mrs. Jewls. I’m sorry. I just can’t find it!”
Mrs. Jewls sighed. “I’m very disappointed in you, Dana.”
“I need a paper clip too,” said Joe.
Mrs. Jewls glared at him. “What did you do with the one I gave you?” she demanded.
“I think I used it on my science homework,” said Joe.