Excerpts

Like lots of kids, I take the bus to and from school every day. And, like most kids, I hate the bus. For me, it's a lose-lose proposition. Why? Because at Kinney Elementary, there are two different kinds of bus drivers, and they're both awful. The worst kind of driver is the type I like to call Sergeant Sally. This one takes her job WAY too seriously: A Sergeant Sally treats her bus like it's a large yellow detention room on wheels, and she makes sure you don't forget it. On the first day of school, she already knows every kid's name. A Sergeant Sally also knows your parents' names and has their cell numbers . . . and will call them. You can only sit in your assigned seat on a Sergeant Sally bus. Using some kind of evil computer program, she strategically places all good friends a minimum of five seats apart. In the past, I've been assigned to sit with a kid named Reggie, who only recited the digits of pi Another time I had to sit with Emma, who just couldn't help herself and had to eat her sardine-and-pickle sandwich on the way to school. It's a miracle the Sergeant Sally buses don't get into more accidents. The drivers never look where they're going. How could they? They spend all their time watching the kids. Stand up to talk to a friend? A Sergeant Sally sees it and calls you out by name. Toss a crumpled-up piece of paper at the kid across the aisle? Busted! Get out of your seat too soon, before the bus has made a COMPLETE stop? You've got detention, buddy. A Sergeant Sally bus is never late. If your pickup time is 7:03 a.m., you better count on her rounding the corner and pulling up to your stop at 7:02 a.m. And she doesn't care at all if you forgot your lunch and have to run back home. The second kind of bus driver is a Relaxed Ralph, and he seems nice enough at first. A Relaxed Ralph always gives parents a big "good morning!" with a happy wave, but once those doors close, his bus is utter chaos. Everyone basically runs wild on Ralph's bus--even sitting in your seat is optional. A Relaxed Ralph only knows the names of the worst kids. He has been known to give out high-fives for perfectly thrown snowballs and well-executed atomic wedgies. He never watches his monitors. Oh yeah, and he is ALWAYS late. This particular morning was no different. It was pouring rain as Ralph pulled into school after the second bell. Michael and I sat in the first row, knowing we'd have to sprint to homeroom to prevent another tardy. "Have a great day at school, Joey," said Mr. Ralph #2, looking right at me as he pulled the giant handle to open the doors. "Wow. He's getting better. Yesterday it was Sam. He got the J part right," whispered Michael as he pushed me down the incredibly steep bus stairs. I'd say we missed the curb by about four feet that morning. Because of the rain, a raging river of disgusting brown water separated me from higher ground. Looking back at Relaxed Ralph with my best "are you kidding?" face, I saw that he couldn't care less. The bus driver was already talking on his phone. "Go for it, Jake!" encouraged Michael. "Nothing like an early morning swim!" With a chorus of "move!" and "jump!" and "come on!" growing behind me, I had no choice. SPLASH! No matter how quickly you jump back out of a puddle, you still end up with soaked sneakers. Squishing down the empty hall on the way to class, I thought about how it was AWESOME having a best friend. Michael was a really cool kid. Once he cut his hair and stopped dressing like it was hunting season, the teachers and all the other students at Kinney Elementary stopped being so afraid of him. Our librarian, Mrs. T., knew he was smart and encouraged him to take the placement tests for gifted classes. Michael passed easily. Over Christmas break, the school moved him into Mrs. Pilsen's class, where he joined me and the rest of the Misfits. *NOTE: The new-and-improved Michael was all business. And NOBODY called him Wild Boy anymore. Not even me. But change was coming to my perfect world at Kinney Elementary. Unfortunately for us, a very pregnant Mrs. Pilsen was leaving. I didn't want to say anything about her timing, BUT, a baby in the middle of the year? Hello! You are a teacher! There are young minds at work here! We were all bummed out at losing our AWESOME teacher, but if she had to go, the Misfits were going to send her off in style. She deserved an epic good-bye party. Of course, once we got the idea of throwing a big party, Lesley Kim jumped in and took over the whole operation. She's bossy like that, but at least she gets stuff done. With her in charge, I was confident Mrs. Pilsen would be blown away. And I hoped she LOVED her gift! I'm sure Mrs. Pilsen never expected us to get her anything, because teaching us was gift enough! But we all chipped in some cash and got her something spectacular. We also successfully recruited Mrs. T. as our faculty accomplice. Her job was to get Mrs. Pilsen out of the room for a few minutes while we decorated, laid out the food, and rolled out her present. Her big surprise wasn't exactly what I would have picked out, but Lesley and all the class moms thought it was the greatest thing ever. I still can't understand the big deal. We bought her a baby stroller. Really! (I had been thinking of something more along the lines of a 3-D TV or five-tiered chocolate fountain.) But after seeing the thing, I realized it wasn't a stroller at all. It was a high-performance baby ATV, complete with a sick aerodynamic design, monster-truck tires, and a modified suspension that guaranteed a bump-free ride. Kids these days sure are soft. Ajit, the class brainiac and resident rapper, refused to pitch in for the stroller and insisted on writing some lyrics for Mrs. Pilsen instead. He argued that his "dope rhymes" would someday be worth way more than a stupid stroller. After he "blew up" and became a famous hip-hop star, Mrs. Pilsen could collect millions in royalties. It would have been fine, but he demanded we all listen to him rehearse. He wanted his gift to be perfect: YOOOO!!! Maternity is ON because your bundle of joy. I know I shouldn't say it, but I hope it's a boyyyy! Hoping your young gangsta someday rocs da mic Just like me, DJ Ajit. I bet his IQ is out of sight. Don't worry about nothin', and please don't get the jitters. Be sending you selfies and updates straight from Twitter! OUT!!! With everything in place, the brand-new kiddie mobile parked in the middle of the class, and all of us hidden, we waited anxiously for Mrs. T. to deliver our beloved teacher. Minutes passed, and no Mrs. Pilsen. After about a half hour of squatting behind the trash can, my legs were killing me. Just then, an out-of-breath Mr. Yeatter came crashing into the classroom. It took a while to decode what he was saying--something about "Mrs. Pilsen" and "baby" and "labor" and "hospital"--but it soon became clear our teacher wasn't coming back. APPARENTLY, the soon-to-be most important person in the WORLD decided to show up early, and our teacher was rushed to the hospital. After eating a few slices of pizza and guzzling a can of Coke, Mr. Yeatter started checking out Mrs. Pilsen's tricked-out baby stroller. "Hey kids, what's that?" asked Mr. Yeatter as he circled around the carriage. "That's our gift to Mrs. Pilsen. It's an ultra baby wagon," said Lesley proudly. "Sweet! Mind if I take it for a spin?" Mr. Yeatter said, half kidding, as he rocked it back and forth, impressed with its fine craftsmanship and sturdy build. Without hesitation, Lesley skillfully kicked off the wheel brakes and swiftly pushed the gift into our coat closet for safekeeping. Not a chance, BUDDY! Step away from the stroller. Soon a whole bunch of teachers started showing up in our class. They all tried to act concerned about us and wanted to "check in" and see how we were doing. But, interestingly, the more "concerned" teachers popped by, the more our party food disappeared. Vultures! Eventually, Mrs. T. returned to school. She was the one who drove Mrs. Pilsen to the hospital. Wow, Mrs. T., you took your job of keeping Mrs. Pilsen busy a little too seriously. Mrs. T. let us know that Mrs. Pilsen was doing fine and that she was REALLY sorry about missing the rest of the school year and had promised to send us updates every day. Sorry? Mrs. Pilsen didn't have to be sorry. She didn't do anything wrong. The only one that needed to be sorry was that baby for coming a week early. He owed us all a big-time apology! That night at dinner I told my parents what happened, and I ended up getting yelled at by my mom. In retelling the story, I referred to the newest Pilsen family member as "that stupid baby" and my mom freaked out. "You CAN'T call a baby 'stupid,' Jake!" roared my mom. "Why not? He knew what he was doing. Couldn't he let his mom be the center of attention for a minute while we said good-bye?" I said. "But you're right, Mom. He isn't stupid. That baby's a spoiled JERK!" Mom got even more upset. It looked like Little Lord Pampered Pants could do no wrong. After dinner I found myself clearing the table AND washing the dishes. Thanks, kid! Maybe I would ask all my classmates to pitch in money for a second gift for Mrs. Pilsen! Hey, Mr. Saggy Diaper . . . how'd you like to wake up from nappy time and find a brand-new, floppy-eared, supercute beagle puppy sitting on Mommy's lap? That's competition you don't want, son! No good-bye party. No cake. No ice cream. No nothing! All we got was a spoonful of disappointment followed by a heaping helping of angry crazy! The school had struggled with budget cuts and was in a tight spot to find a long-term replacement. Their answer was Ms. Cane. Her first day at school was something I'll never forget. With Principal McCracken standing by her side, Ms. Cane warmly greeted each of us as we entered the class. She was all smiles, hugs, and laughter. Um, her physical appearance was, how do I say . . . different. Let's start with her hair color: pink! Not just light pink, or a touch of rosy pink, but over-the-top CRAZY pink. Like cotton-candy pink. It looked like there was an Easter egg on her head. Excerpted from Just Jake - Dog Eat Dog by Jake Marcionette All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.