Ralph S. Mouse - Beverly Cleary [17]
“That motorcycle you said was Ralph’s,” scoffed Brad. “What would that stupid mouse do with a motorcycle?”
Someone dropped a clipping, and before it was picked up, Ralph was able to glimpse a picture of himself looking small and frightened in the goldfish bowl. The picture was not bad; in fact, it was quite good. His eyes were bright, and each hair was distinct. Ralph congratulated himself on being such a handsome mouse and wondered if Matt back at the inn—if he still worked there—would see the picture, recognize, and perhaps miss him.
As the last bell rang, Miss K hurried into the room with a worried look on her face. Instantly she was surrounded by excited children, waving clippings from the Cucaracha Voice and trying to talk at once. “It wasn’t like that at all!” they said. “That reporter got it all wrong!” “It’s a bunch of lies!” “They didn’t even put our picture in the paper.” Most puzzling was, “Ralph isn’t that kind of mouse. He’s nice!”
They’re behaving like a bunch of little mice, thought Ralph. At the same time, he wondered uneasily what the paper had said about him. That he wasn’t nice? Impossible.
Miss K stood without speaking at the front of the room. Gradually the class grew quiet. “That’s better,” said Miss K.
Amazing, thought Ralph. The teacher had silenced the class without using a single bad word. He was even more ashamed of the way he had treated his little relatives.
After the class recited liberty-and-justice-for-all (But not for me, thought Ralph), Miss K said, “Class, we have a lot to talk about this morning, and we can’t talk if we all speak at once. Brad, suppose you begin by telling us what happened to your arm.”
Brad looked embarrassed. “Aw, I just sprained it when I tried to ride my bike in the mud. I was trying to get ready for the first motocross race this spring.”
The class respected what Brad had tried to do, and Ralph was struck by a sudden thought: Brad was exactly the sort of boy who could understand a mouse who rode a motorcycle.
To change the subject, Brad asked, “Is Ralph going to try to run the maze again?”
“How about it, Ryan?” asked Miss K. “Did you bring Ralph to school today?”
“He’s lost.” Ryan sounded worried. “He got mad because…Well, he got mad Friday afternoon and disappeared.”
“I am not lost,” Ralph said to himself. “I know where I am, right here in this mitten.”
A sigh of disappointment ran through Room 5. The class liked Ralph. Besides, watching a mouse in a maze was more fun than social studies or spelling.
“Miss K,” said Gordon, “even if Ryan finds Ralph, I don’t think he should have to run the maze again. He proved there was a better way to get the peanut butter than running into dead ends.”
Why, he’s right, thought Ralph, perked up by Gordon’s support. I’m smarter than I thought I was.
“Class, do you agree?” asked Miss K, who liked her pupils to think.
The class thought. Brad was first to speak. “In motocross racing, it’s against the rules to get off your bike. I think he cheated.”
Several people were quick to point out that testing intelligence with a maze was not the same thing as racing on a bicycle, even a BMX.
“Maybe he was too a-mazed to do it right,” suggested Melissa with a giggle.
“Well, I think he proved he was Gifted and Talented.” Gloria spoke as if she had ended the discussion by using words the school used to describe children such as herself.
Miss K asked for a show of hands. Twenty-one children agreed that Ralph had found a better way to run the maze. Five felt he cheated. Case settled. Ralph was an unusually smart mouse, something he had doubted only once in a while.
“Speaking of solving problems,” said Miss K, “do you think fighting is a good way to settle arguments?”
“No!” chorused the girls.
Ryan defended himself. “Brad pushed me first. Besides, it wasn’t a fair fight, because I had Ralph in my pocket and didn’t want him to get hurt.”
“What do you have to say, Brad?” Miss K asked.
“He made me mad, always bragging about how smart his mouse is and then trying to make