Ralph S. Mouse - Beverly Cleary [20]
The class promised. Of course, they would work quietly. Didn’t they always work quietly when the teacher left the room? Ralph climbed to the top of a book to watch.
As soon as Miss K left, Melissa, taking the precaution of leaving the door open, posted herself as a lookout. When the teacher was safely out of sight, everyone began to whisper at once. Wads of paper flew back and forth. Ryan pulled the broken motorcycle out of his pocket and said to Brad, “See what you did?”
By standing on his hind legs on top of a book, Ralph was able to see the remains of his motorcycle. More than Miss K’s hair was needed to repair that wreck. His motorcycle was broken in two pieces, the muffler dangled, the spring forks were bent, the handlebars twisted. Ralph felt sick looking at it, sick and angry.
Brad scowled. “Why don’t you buy him another? You’re a rich kid.”
Why should he? thought Ralph. Brad was the one who broke it.
“I’m not a rich kid.” Ryan was astonished by Brad’s remark.
“Then how come you live in a hotel?” demanded Brad.
“Because my mother works there,” said Ryan. “I eat in the kitchen with the maids and waitresses.”
“Oh.” Obviously Brad had not known this. “Where’s your father?”
“I don’t know.” Ryan was sensitive about this subject. “Someplace, I guess.”
“Psst!” hissed Melissa, and scooted back to her seat.
Quiet as mice, thought Ralph, as heads bent over spelling words.
Miss K was smiling as she walked to the front of the room. The class looked up, waiting for her answer. “Mr. Crossman, the superintendent, telephoned Mr. Tanner this morning to ask about mice at Sneed,” she told her class. “Mr. Tanner said he didn’t think there was much to worry about, that the reporter got carried away. Mr. Crossman said that was good, because since people voted for Proposition 13 and taxes had been cut, the school district couldn’t afford an exterminator. Mr. Tanner told him not to worry, that he would have Mr. Costa set mousetraps overnight to see what happened. Mr. Crossman said there was enough money in the budget for five mousetraps.”
Traps, thought Ralph. What a joke.
“Was that the investigation?” someone asked. “One phone call?”
Miss K laughed. “That was the investigation.”
Even though the class was concerned for Ralph’s safety, everyone felt let down. They had expected some excitement. A team of men in white uniforms perhaps, and the school closed for several days.
“If Mr. Costa doesn’t catch any mice, do we get to write our letters to the Cucaracha Voice?” asked Gloria.
“That’s right,” agreed Miss K.
“But what if Mr. Costa catches Ralph?” someone asked. Others voiced the same worry.
Ralph was insulted. Hadn’t he proved his intelligence by finding a new way to run a maze? He knew all about traps. As soon as he was old enough to leave the nest, his mother had taken him to see a baited trap in the hotel kitchen and had explained its evils one by one.
“We’ll just have to take that chance,” said Miss K. “Now please settle down and finish those spelling sentences.”
Spelling sentences were all Room 5 did manage that morning. At lunchtime, some of the girls began to call, “Ralphie, where are you, Ralphie?” as they gathered up their lunch boxes.
Ralphie! Ralph would never answer to such a silly name. He noticed Brad was the last to leave, as if he were not eager to join the others for lunch.
Suddenly Ralph’s anger boiled over. He did not care if Brad looked lonely. He did not care if Brad found out he could talk. He was going to take matters into his own paws and tell that boy a thing or two.
Ralph leaped lightly from the top of the book, dashed across the floor, and sprang up on Brad’s jeans. Desperately he clung by his toenails as Brad walked out of the room and slowly down the hall.
Miss K locked the door of her room and caught up with Brad, put her arm around his shoulders, and said, “Is there something I can do to help?”
“I’m OK,” was all Brad said.
“If I can do anything, please let me know.” Miss K released Brad and went on down the hall.
Neither had noticed the mouse clinging to Brad