Trouble Magnet (5 page)

“Boot camp! Boot camp!” we all chanted.

I looked at Julio way in the back.

He pumped his fist.

“Sssssss,”
Mr. Purdy hissed through his teeth.

Everyone stopped joking and turned to look at Mr. Purdy. Awesome, I thought. He hisses like a snake.

“When you hear that sound, what does it mean?”

Rubin bounced up and waved. “It means shut your yaps!”

The class roared. “Bingo,” Mr. Purdy said. “Looks like you got a little smarter since I saw you last, Mr. Tamioka.”

Rubin turned red. He sat down and fiddled with something on his desk.

I fiddled with something, too.

It needs air. It's dying.

Just a little crack of air.

T
he centipede was lying on its back with its hundred feet in the air.

Maybe Julio was right, and it would jump out.

But it looked dead. I'd killed it.

I glanced up when Mr. Purdy said, “If you haven't met him yet, this is Willy. His family
just moved to Kailua from … was it Los Angeles, Willy?”

Everyone looked at Willy.

“Pasadena,” he mumbled without looking up.

“Right,” Mr. Purdy said. “Pasadena is in Los Angeles County, which is in Southern California. Has anyone here been to California?”

No one raised a hand. I sure hadn't, though Dad had said to come visit the mainland sometime. Rubin had been to Japan, but that was it. Some kids in that classroom probably hadn't even been on a car ride to Honolulu.

I leaned forward and peeked down the front row. The new kid was staring at his desktop.

“Good to have you in our class, Willy,” Mr. Purdy said.

Willy nodded.

I turned back to the centipede. Slowly, I unscrewed the lid all the way and looked down into the jar.

The centipede sprang to its feet, slithered up the inside of the jar and out onto my wrist.

Yah!

I froze, gaping as it snaked over my hand and dropped into my lap.

“Mr. Coconut,” Mr. Purdy said. “Is something going on over there that's more interesting than I am?”

I looked up, my mouth half open.

“Calvin?”

I looked down. The centipede scurried over my shorts, down my leg to my foot, and onto the floor. It zipped under the desk behind me, heading through a forest of wiggly legs. And only I knew it.

“Mr. Coconut!” Mr. Purdy snapped.

I was too stunned to answer.

Mr. Purdy shook his head. “Ace, will you please change seats with Shayla.” It was a command, not a question.

Ace got up and moved.

Shayla plopped her books on the desk next to me.

“Hi, Calvin,” she said. “Did you have a nice summer?”

“Uhnn.”

Mr. Purdy was brutal.

He turned back to the class. “Now might be a good time to bring up the subject of responsibility. Your whole fourth-grade experience will be based on it. Who can tell me what
responsibility
means?”

Hands went up. But not mine.

“Mr. Coconut, what does
responsibility
mean?”

“Uh … it means … take out the garbage?”

The class exploded in laughter.

Even Mr. Purdy smiled. “That was one of
my responsibilities when I was a kid, too,” he said. “Still is.”

I tried to smile, too, but I was going crazy thinking about that centipede. Was it smart enough not to crawl over somebody's foot and start a riot?

Mr. Purdy went on. “By
responsibility
I mean I'm going to hold you
responsible
for doing your best in this class. Respect me, respect each other, and respect yourselves. Give me the best you have in you, and I'll give you the best I have in me. Is it a deal?”

“Deal!” everyone shouted.

I plastered Mom's fake smile on my face and tried to look like I knew what was going on. But in my mind I was down on the floor looking under all those desks.

Where.

Was.

It?

I
had three brand-new pencils in my backpack. I took them out, lined them up on my desk, and glanced back at Mr. Purdy, who was handing out papers to take home.

With my finger, I nudged the pencils toward the edge of the desk.

Closer, closer.

The pencils clattered onto the floor.

Mr. Purdy turned.

“Oops. My pencils.”

Mr. Purdy turned back, shaking his head.

I got down on my hands and knees to pick them up. Too easy. They were right by my feet. I needed more time down there. I flicked them farther away.

Here, peedy, peedy, peedy, I said in my brain, like mental telepathy. Where are you? I winced when I saw something stuck to Shayla's shoe. But it was just muddy grass.

Here, peedy, pe-

There!

Not squished. It was moving along the wall, back by Rubin's desk.
“Pssst.”
I tried to get Rubin's attention, but he was gazing out the window, picking his nose.

“Rubin,” I whispered.

I pushed my pencils back toward the centipede.

“Calvin.”

I looked up. Mr. Purdy was standing
over me. “Is this some kind of a pencil race?”

I shot up and banged my head on Kai's desk. Oww.”

“What are you doing, Calvin?” Kai said.

Everyone laughed.

“Back to your seat,” Mr. Purdy said. “Now!”

I grabbed my pencils and took one last glance at the centipede.

Gone!

Mr. Purdy headed to the front of the room, holding up two fingers. “Two things,” he said. “Rules. And lunch.”

Rubin took his finger out of his nose. “Lunch?”

Mr. Purdy pointed toward the list of class rules on the wall near his desk. “Did anyone happen to read this?”

The rules were written in big black letters on yellow poster board.

Everyone laughed and turned to look at Rubin when they got to number ten. “I'm serious about that last one,” Mr. Purdy said. “I don't want to find dried-up boogies under your desks.”

Rubin turned bright red.