Junie B., First Grader_ Cheater Pants - Barbara Park [6]
“Okay. Here's the situation, Herb,” I said. “I'm in a little bit of trouble at school. Only I'm really not bad. I promise. It's just that yesterday I accidentally did something wrong. But I don't actually want to tell you what it was … or else you might not like me anymore.”
Herb looked at me and shrugged. “You copied May's homework when she went to the office,” he said.
I did a gasp at that boy.
Because how did he know that private information?
I scratched my head. “But … but … how did you even—”
Herb interrupted me. “I saw you,” he said. “Lennie and José saw you, too. You're a terrible sneak, Junie B. Really terrible, I mean.”
I did a little frown.
That was not a compliment, possibly.
Herb patted my arm. “Don't worry. We still like you,” he said. “Just don't copy May's homework anymore. And then you won't get in any more trouble.”
I nodded my head.
Then I patted him back.
That Herb is good for me, I think.
Me and Herbert walked to Room One together.
Then we stopped right in our footsteps!
Because wowie wow wow!
That whole room looked different, I tell you!
Instead of being in rows, all of the desks were arranged in groups of circles!
We looked in the back to where we sit. There were five desks in our group.
May was already in her seat.
She was cleaning her desktop with a moist towelette.
Just then, Lennie and José walked in behind us.
“Whoa!” said Lennie.
“What's going on here?” said José.
Mr. Scary told us to please find our desks. And he will explain this in a minute.
All of us went back and sat down.
Sitting in a circle feels friendly.
We waved and smiled at each other.
Only not May.
She looked smuggy at us.
“I already know why we're sitting like this,” she said. “I was the first one here this morning. And when you're first, you get to know stuff.”
José stared at her moist towelette. He made the cuckoo sign.
Just then, Mr. Scary went to the board. And he wrote a weird word.
“Boys and girls, this morning we're going to be doing a poetry assignment,” he said. “That's why I arranged your desks like this. I want you to be able to talk over your thoughts and share ideas.”
He pointed at the weird word.
It was spelled c-i-n-q-u-a-i-n.
“Does anyone want to try and pronounce this?” he asked. “Hmm? Does anyone want to sound it out?”
May jumped right up.
“Tin can!” she shouted. “It's pronounced tin can!”
She grinned real delighted. “I know it's tin can because you told me that this morning, remember? I was the first one here. And I saw you write it on the board. And you told me it was pronounced tin can!”
Mr. Scary looked puzzled at her.
“Gee, I'm sorry, May. But it's not tin can,” he said. “You must not have heard me correctly. This word is pronounced like the words sin and cane. Sin-cane.”
May crossed her arms.
“No,” she said. “I'm sure that's not what you told me. You said it was tin can, Mr. Scary. You know you did.”
Mr. Scary frowned. “No, May. I didn't,” he said. “Now please take your seat.”
May sat down in a huff. She put her head on her desk and hid under her sweater.
Mr. Scary looked back to the board.
“A cinquain is a poem that has five lines,” he said. “And each line has its own special rule.”
He wrote the five rules.
1st line: One word (title)
2nd line: Two words that describe the title
3rd line: Three action words about the title
4th line: Four words that express a thought or feeling about the title
5th line: One word that means the same thing as the title
After that, he wrote a cinquain for us to see. It was a poem called “Pickle.”
Pickle.
Bumpy, lumpy,
Crunching, munching, lunching,
Cucumbers makin’ you pucker,
Gherkin.
I laughed at that crazy thing. ’Cause whoever heard of a pickle poem?
“Writing a cinquain is fun,” I said. “This assignment will be a breeze, I think.”
Mr. Scary smiled. “Well, sometimes poems come very easily, Junie B. And other times they don't. But if you share words and ideas with each other, you can really help spark your imaginations,” he said.
He looked all around. “In fact, I thought it might be fun for some