She was still a block away from the school when she heard the whoop-whoop. Now she was going to be late! She had done too much puddle stomping, and not enough straight-ahead walking.
She tried to hurry, but it was difficult to run while carrying her umbrella, especially in her yellow boots.
By the time she reached the outer edges of the school, the eight-minute warning bell was already clanging.
She counted the clangs and was disappointed when they stopped at eight. She was hoping for a porcupine.
Glancing down, she noticed the sidewalk around the school was dry. She stuck out one hand. The rain seemed to have stopped.
She tilted the umbrella a little to the side and looked up.
The Cloud of Doom had kept all the other clouds away, including the rain clouds. Sharie glared at the horrible cloud. It almost seemed alive as it turned and churned inside itself.
Suddenly a gust of wind tore the umbrella from her hand.
Horrified, she watched it bounce across the blacktop toward the school. She chased after it.
The umbrella hit the bike rack and stuck there for a moment. But just as Sharie got there, it swooped upward.
She jumped and managed to grab the curved handle.
The umbrella continued to rise.
She thought about letting go, but she didn’t want to lose her umbrella. She held on with both hands.
When she passed the second-floor window, she realized she probably should have let go sooner.
When she rose past the third floor, she wished she had let go at the second floor.
When she reached the fourth floor, she wished she had let go when she was back at the third floor.
By the time she reached the sixth floor, it was definitely too late.
Her left rain boot slipped off when she passed the ninth floor. She watched it fall the long way down.
Higher and higher, scarier and scarier. She passed the seventeenth floor, the eighteenth, the twentieth.
(There was no nineteenth floor.)
She could see inside the classroom windows as she went past them. Some of the kids waved at her.
She couldn’t wave back. She couldn’t risk falling.
Although the alternative wasn’t much better. If she continued to hang on, she realized, she’d be sucked into the Cloud of Doom.
She passed the twenty-fifth floor, then the twenty-sixth, and the twenty-seventh. She knew the floor numbers by the teachers she saw through the windows.
At the thirtieth floor, she could see her own desk, next to the window.
The window was open.
She closed her eyes, then jumped.
A horn blared.
When Sharie opened her eyes, she lay sprawled across the top of her desk.
“Oh, you are here, Sharie,” said Mrs. Jewls. “Funny, I didn’t see you. I was just about to mark you absent. Were you sleeping?”
Maybe it was a dream. She hoped so. If not, her favorite umbrella was lost forever!
Her left foot felt cold.
On her right foot she wore a yellow rain boot, but on the left, just a thin red sock.
14
Mr. K and Dr. P
(Author’s note: Due to strict rules about confidentiality, and to avoid unnecessary embarrassment for those involved, the names of the characters have been omitted from this story. Please don’t try to guess.)
Mr. K headed up the stairs. He wore a paper bag over his head. It was ten o’clock in the morning. All the little brats—as he liked to call them—should be in class, but he wore the paper bag just in case he encountered a stray one.
When he reached the third floor, he tripped over the top step and fell onto the landing.
“I knew I should have cut out some eyeholes,” he said to himself. His knee hurt, but that was the least of his worries. He got back to his feet and limped up the stairs.
Actually, only one eyehole would have helped. His left eye was shut tight. His other eye was wide open. The eyebrow was raised in a constant expression of surprise.
By counting his steps, he knew when he reached the fourth floor. He felt his way to the door, then knocked.
“Yes, who’s there?” asked Dr. P from the other side.
Mr. K did not want to say his name aloud in case anyone was listening. He opened the door and entered.
If Dr. P was surprised to see a person with a bag over his head, he didn’t show it. He had been trained to keep a straight face, no matter what! Whenever someone came to see him, it was part of his job to act like everything was perfectly normal.
“Yes, what seems to be the problem?” he asked, stroking his beard.
Mr. K removed the bag.
“Yikes!” screamed Dr. P, throwing both his hands up in the air.
He quickly regained his composure. “So, why did you come see me?” he asked as he rubbed his beard.
Mr. K made an “uhhhh” noise as he pointed to his face.
“Your face is stuck?” said Dr. P.
Mr. K nodded.
“Please, have a seat.”
Mr. K sat on the couch.
Dr. P came closer to get a better look. He poked a puffed-out cheek. “Does this hurt?” he asked.
Mr. K shook his head.
“How about this?” He tugged on the tip of Mr. K’s tongue.
Again, Mr. K shook his head.
“Very interesting,” said Dr. P.
He walked to the bookshelf. “Hmm . . .” he muttered as he tried to find the book he needed. “This should do it!” he declared, removing a very fat book.
He bonked Mr. K on the top of the head with it.
“Uhh!” exclaimed Mr. K.
“Any better?” Dr. P.
“I bit my tongue,” Mr. K said without moving his lips.
“Hmm, this will be more difficult than I thought,” said Dr. P. He returned to the bookshelf, chose a different book, and brought it to his desk. He thumbed through the pages. “Cold feet . . . sticky fingers . . . ah, here we are, stuck face!”
He silently read to himself for a minute or two, then looked up and asked, “Did you have a pet when you were a child?”
Mr. K nodded.
Dr. P looked back at his book and read some more.
“A cat?”
Mr. K shook his head.
“A dog?”
He nodded.
“Did you love your dog?”
Mr. K’s head didn’t move at all. A tear trickled out of his eye and dripped down his face.
“Excellent!” declared Dr. P. “I think we’re making real progress.”
He shut the book, scooted his chair up close, and leaned toward Mr. K. “Look into my eyes,” he said.
With his one eye, Mr. K stared at Dr. P.
Dr. P stared back.
He held up a gold chain with a green stone attached. He let the stone swing gently back and forth between them. Their faces were so close, the stone kept barely missing their noses.
“I’m going to take you back to another time and place,” said Dr. P. “You are just a young boy, playing with your dog in your backyard. Your grandmother smiles from the kitchen window. A pie is baking in the oven. You can smell cinnamon.”
Mr. K’s nose twitched.
“Now your grandmother is outside, holding the pie. She asks if you want some.”
Mr. K’s tongue remained sticking out. However, it slowly moved from one side of his mouth to the other.
Dr. P noted the breakthrough.
“But instead of giving you a piece of pie,” he said, “she smashes it in your face!”