“Dollars!” exclaimed Joy.
Everyone cheered. They liked that idea.
“Then we could have the biggest party ever,” said Deedee.
“We’re not collecting a million dollars,” said Mrs. Jewls. “Any other ideas?”
“Pumpkins!” suggested Dana.
Everyone cheered Dana’s idea too, but not as loudly as Joy’s.
“I don’t think a million pumpkins would fit in the school,” said Mrs. Jewls. “We need something small, and not too expensive.”
Stephen suggested, “Little pieces of paper.”
Nobody cheered.
“Bo-ring,” sang Kathy.
Stephen felt hurt, but deep down, he had to admit that collecting bits of paper wouldn’t have been a whole lot of fun.
Ron suggested mud, but that too was rejected. “It’s a good idea, Ron,” said Mrs. Jewls, “but you can’t count mud.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“There’s no such thing as one mud, or two muds,” explained Mrs. Jewls.
“Why not?” Ron asked again.
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Jewls had to admit.
Terrence couldn’t take it any longer. He took off his shoe, then his sock.
One desk over, Rondi stared at him, horrified.
Terrence’s toenail was bent out of shape, and it had turned black and blue.
He opened his desk and took out his pair of safety scissors. Then, crossing one leg over the other, he started snipping.
“You can’t cut your toenail in class,” said Rondi. “It’s against the rules.”
“Who says?” said Terrence.
It was one tough toenail, and the scissors weren’t all that sharp.
“Mrs. Jewls!” called Rondi. “Terrence is cutting his toenail, right in class!”
Some kids laughed. Some said, “Gross!”
Terrence pushed hard on the scissors. At last, a piece of his toenail fell free. His toe instantly felt better.
“Terrence! Come up here now!” demanded Mrs. Jewls. “And bring your toenail with you!”
Terrence picked up the clipping off the floor. One shoe off, one shoe on, he hobbled to the front of the room.
“Give me that!” Mrs. Jewls demanded.
Terrence dropped the nail clipping into his teacher’s outstretched hand.
“You’re a genius, Terrence,” said Mrs. Jewls.
She held his nail clipping high in the air. “That’s one!” she announced. “Nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine . . . to go!”
3
Up and Down
“Up!” said D.J.
“Down!” replied Kathy, who sat next to him.
“Up!” D.J. repeated.
“Down!” Kathy insisted.
In truth, Kathy didn’t know what D.J. was talking about. She just liked to argue. No matter what D.J. said, she always said the opposite.
“Up!” D.J. said again.
“Down!” Kathy instantly replied.
“Shh!” said Dana, who sat behind Kathy. “I’m trying to read.”
Kathy turned around. Dana’s face was streaked with tears.
“Why are you crying?” asked Kathy.
Dana showed her the book she’d been reading. The Lost Giraffe.
“So?” asked Kathy.
“The giraffe is lost,” Dana sobbed.
“Well, what did you expect, stupid?” asked Kathy.
She didn’t like Dana any more than she liked D.J.
“Up!” said D.J.
“Down!” snapped Kathy.
“Dana, Kathy, D.J.,” said Mrs. Jewls. “You are making a lot of noise for silent reading.”
“Sorry,” said D.J. “I can’t—up!—help it. I have the—up!—hiccups.”
Kathy turned red. She had been arguing with a hiccup.
“Has this ever happened before?” Mrs. Jewls asked him.
“I’ve had the—up!—hiccups before,” said D.J., “but they—up!—always went—up!—away.”
“Stand on your head and drink a glass of water,” Myron suggested.
“Eat a lemon,” said Jenny.
“Hold your tongue while you say the Pledge of Allegiance,” said Joy.
D.J. tried their suggestions. When he finished, his mouth was puckered, his shirt was wet, and he still had the hiccups.
He felt very patriotic, however.
“I think you better go see Dr. Pickle,” said Mrs. Jewls. “Kathy will take you.”
Kathy hopped out of her seat, glad she wouldn’t have to read. “C’mon, dummy,” she said, and led D.J. out the door.
“Up!” hiccuped D.J.
“Down!” said Kathy.
She couldn’t help herself.
Dr. Pickle’s real name was Dr. Pickell. His office was on the fourth floor. Kathy knocked on the door.
Dr. Pickle opened it. He had a pointy beard and wore glasses. “Yes?” he said.
“Stupid here got the hiccups,” said Kathy.
“Up!” hiccuped D.J.
“Down,” said Kathy.
Dr. Pickle rubbed his chin. “Very interesting,” he muttered, although he was looking at Kathy, not at D.J. “Very, very interesting.”
He told Kathy to wait, and invited D.J. inside.
“And he smiles too much too!” Kathy called, just before the door shut.
D.J. sat down on a couch.
Dr. Pickle sat across from him. He held a long gold chain. On one end hung a green stone shaped like a pickle.
Dr. Pickle gently swung the stone, back and forth. “Watch the pickle,” he said. His voice was warm and soothing.
D.J.’s eyes moved back and forth with the stone.
“I will count to five. And then you will fall into a deep, deep sleep.” Dr. Pickle slowly counted. “One . . . two . . . BOO!”
D.J. fell off the couch.
“Well?” asked Dr. Pickle.
D.J. got up. He waited a moment. “I think they’re gone,” he said.
Dr. Pickle led him to the door. “First thing we learned in psychiatrist school,” he said, patting D.J. on the head.
“My hiccups are all gone!” D.J. told Kathy.
“Who cares,” said Kathy.
“Wait,” said Dr. Pickle. “Would you mind stepping inside my office, young lady?”
“Me?” asked Kathy.
“Please,” said Dr. Pickle.
“But he’s the sicko!” said Kathy, pointing at D.J.
“Please,” Dr. Pickle repeated.
Kathy shrugged, then entered the counselor’s office. “That beard is really ugly,” she said. “I guess your face must be even worse, huh?”
D.J. sat on the floor in the hallway, with his back against the wall, waiting for Kathy. He smiled, happy that his hiccups were gone. Although he missed them a little bit too. Hiccups are annoying, but kind of fun.
Some time later, the counselor’s door opened.
“Thank you, Dr. Pickell,” said Kathy, calling him by his proper name. “You are very wise. And I like your beard.”
“That’s very nice of you to say, Kathy,” said the school counselor.
She stepped out the door. “Hi, D.J.,” she greeted him. “Thanks for waiting. You’re a good friend.”