Ralph S. Mouse - Beverly Cleary [6]
3
Irwin J. Sneed Elementary School
As Ryan hopped down the steps of the school bus, Ralph poked his nose out of his pocket and found himself in a crowd of children, all of them bundled up in hooded parkas or jackets and knit caps. Clouds of vapor came from their mouths as they shouted back and forth to one another. A tiny cloud formed in front of Ralph’s nose, too.
A boy jumped out of a yellow tow truck and shouted, “So long, Dad!” Then, as the truck pulled away, he added, “So long, Arfy,” to the dog sitting next to the driver.
“Arf,” answered the dog, who looked like a kindly wolf.
That boy must be Brad, thought Ralph, as the children trampled snow on the playground on their way into the long one-story building that was the Irwin J. Sneed Elementary School.
Inside the building, the linoleum-floored hall, unlike the halls of the Mountain View Inn, was a broad smooth highway with no rough carpets to wear down the already thin tires of a little motorcycle. Ralph wondered how he could endure a whole day of waiting for night to come so he could race down that long hall. There would be no furniture to get in his way and no little relatives to make him feel guilty for not sharing his motorcycle. That hall was the perfect race-course Ralph had dreamed about ever since he had owned a motorcycle. With no one around to see him take spills, he could even rear back on one wheel to practice wheelies.
Ryan entered Room 5, a room different from any room Ralph had ever seen. Unlike the rooms at the inn, this one was furnished with many chairs and tables instead of beds. At the front, seated at a desk, was a woman Ralph knew must be Miss K. Her toothpaste was nowhere in sight.
At the rear of the room, Ryan hung his backpack on a hook. Then he removed his parka and hung it on the hook, too.
“Hey, don’t leave me here all by myself,” squeaked Ralph, alarmed at being alone in such a strange place. “Take me with you.”
“Promise you’ll stay out of sight?” whispered Ryan out of the corner of his mouth.
“Sure,” agreed Ralph.
Ryan started to poke Ralph into the pocket of his jeans until Ralph objected. “Hey! Not here. This place is too tight. You’ll squash me when you sit down.”
“Sorry,” said Ryan, and he dropped Ralph into the breast pocket of his plaid flannel shirt.
No sooner had Ryan sat down at the table than he and the rest of Room 5 stood up again to recite some words about a flag and something about liberty and justice for all. Whatever it was, Ralph hoped mice were included.
Ryan sat down and began to shuffle books and papers while Miss K talked about numbers. Ralph tried to listen above the steady lub-dub, lub-dub of Ryan’s heart, but soon he grew bored. Ryan’s shirt was new and the flannel still fuzzy. Ralph nipped a hole in the front of the pocket for a better view and then, lulled by the muffled lub-dub, lub-dub and the steady rise and fall of Ryan’s chest, fell asleep as if he were being rocked in a cradle. Because a heart does not strike the hours like a clock, Ralph slept until recess and again until lunchtime when Ryan remembered to slip a bit of sandwich into the pocket for his lunch.
Sometime in the afternoon Ralph awoke feeling hot, cramped, and restless. Maybe no one would notice if a small brown mouse poked his nose out for a breath of air. After a few whiffs, Ralph stuck his head all the way out to see what was going on. All heads, except one, were bent over papers on the tables. One girl was chewing