Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 122

I turned and saw that the students had gathered in the gym. They ambled around, talking and joking with one another.

"You're stuck with me, Kristin," Gary commented.

Ignoring him, I headed toward the students. A blast of my whistle brought them to attention. "Hello, everyone. I'll be teaching your class today." "We'll be teaching the class," Gary corrected me.

'A girl? Teaching boys' gym?" a boy called out.

"Don't freak," Gary told him. "I'm your teacher. Girls, you can freak out because you're now under the control of hammer-fisted Kristin, the Soccer Queen." I glared at him. Then I smiled warmly at the girls. "Hi, everybody," I said. "Today we'll be playing soccer. But first, our warm-up." Ms. Walden started all her classes with a military-style workout, complete with jumping jacks and squat thrusts. Everyone hated it.

"I've put together a new warm-up routine," I told them. "You'll find it way more fun than what you usually do." As I spoke, I moved toward the boom box. I took the tape I was going to play from my shorts pocket, Hits from the 70s. Mom had let me borrow it. "Everybody, just do what I do. Follow me," I instructed.

When I clicked the tape on, a funky, upbeat song called "Joy to the World!" blared from the speakers. I began clapping over my head while I kicked out one foot, then the other. It was a move I'd seen over the weekend on an exercise show.

Everyone stood there, staring at me as if I were out of my mind. "Come on!" I encouraged them. "Clap!" "Yes, kiddies, clap your little hands," Cary said. With a ridiculous expression on his face he clapped and bounced in a circle. Some kids found this hysterical and followed his example. The others stood with arms folded, looking peeved.

I blasted my whistle. "Be serious!" I cried. "Do what I'm doing." I began my next move, a light jog done while touching my hands to my shoulders and then stretching my arms out. A few girls began to jog along with me. "That's it!" I encouraged them. "Keep those arms up high." The girls in front of me were cooperating so well that I didn't notice what was happening on the other side of the class. But in a minute, I couldn't miss it.

Gary had started a conga line that snaked around the gym. The kids kicked their feet out and flung their arms in total discord, whacking one another, tripping, and falling into each other.

I looked at Mr. De Young and Ms. Walden, certain that they'd call a stop to this. They just stood there, watching. They were leaving the class up to me.

I blew my whistle. "Stop!" I shouted with as much lung power as I could.

But the conga line kept right on dancing.

At lunch that day I sat with my head cradled in my hands. "It was a nightmare," I told my friends. 'And when we went outside for the actual soccer game, it got even worse. Gary picked up the ball and ran around the field with it. The kids began chasing him." "That's awful. What did you do?" Stacey asked.

"I blew my whistle and blew and blew until they finally paid attention. Then I made them all do jumping jacks, just to bring them under control." Abby gazed at me doubtfully. 'And they actually listened to you?" "Well, I had help. Mr. De Young came out just then and finally he stepped in. He told the class to do what I said or they'd do nothing but jumping jacks for the rest of the year." "Boy, I bet they hated you for that," Abby said.

I scowled at her. "They did not. I think a lot of the kids were glad that someone was bringing some sanity back into the class. What bugs me is that I know I could have done a good job if Gary hadn't been there. The warm-up would have gone well if he hadn't started that dumb conga line. And I could have taught soccer too if he hadn't started running with the ball." "You're going to have to have a serious talk with him before the next class," Mary Anne said.

"Tell me about it," I muttered. "I've already made one suggestion that he agreed with. Next class, he's going to coach one team and I'll coach the other." "That's brilliant," Claudia said. "That way it will seem like you're teaching together, but you'll really be rivals." "Exactly. I hope we annihilate his team," I added.

"Kristy, you need to lighten up," Abby said. "I think you're taking this too seriously." "You weren't there," I snapped. "You weren't completely undercut by a total jerk." "That's true. Still ... it isn't like this is your real job. It's just, you know, school." "I want to show Ms. Walden how she can improve the class, and thanks to Gary Retlin I can't get anything done. I don't think it's funny." "Don't worry. Ms. Walden will know what you had in mind when she reads your lesson plan," Mary Anne said.

"I didn't do one," I mumbled.

"You didn't?" Mary Anne looked shocked. "My social studies class today went really well. But without the lesson plan to check, I wouldn't have been half as organized." "Gym is different," I said. And in fact, Ms. Walden hadn't asked for the plan, so I assumed she agreed with me and didn't think much of lesson plans for gym.

I had English class right after lunch. I knew it would be taught by Mallory, and I figured she was a jumble of jangled nerves by now.

Mary Anne and I walked to class together. "Keep your fingers crossed for Mal," I said to her.

"I'm not worried. She's as prepared as can be." I thought about that and felt a twinge of guilt. Should I have been more prepared? No. Who could possibly have been prepared for Gary Retlin? No matter what kind of carefully detailed lesson plan I'd written down, he'd have thrown it off track.

We arrived at the door of our English classroom and found Mallory waiting there. "Hi," I said. She wriggled her fingers at me. Her face was pale.

'Aren't you going inside?" Mary Anne asked her.

She nodded but made no move. "When?" I asked.

"N-N-Now." She didn't budge.

"Listen, Mallory," I said, "you know me, and you know Mary Anne. Teach the class as if you were speaking to us. Just focus on us, at least until you relax a little." Mrs. Simon came to the door and smiled. "We're ready to start," she said. Mary Anne and I nudged Mallory into the classroom. She hovered by the door while we took our seats. "Class," Mrs. Simon began, "today's student teacher is Mallory Pike. She's going to talk to you about a poem called 'The Jumblies' by Edward Lear. I'm sure you'll all give her your attention and cooperation. Go ahead, Mallory." "Thank you, Mrs. Simon," Mallory said as she moved to the middle of the room. I was pleased to hear her voice come out more forcefully than it had in the hall.

"I'm going to pass out copies of the poem for each of you," she told the class. "Please take one and pass the rest to the person behind you." She stepped up to Lily Karp, who sits in the first seat of the first row by the door. As she reached out to hand the stack to Lily, the papers tumbled from her hands and fell to the floor. This brought on a few giggles from the class. When Mallory bent to pick up the papers, another stack slid from her other hand.

That - combined with Mallory's horrified expression - caused a lot of laughter.

Mallory grabbed up the papers, but now they were a mess. "Those papers have got a bad case of 'The Jumblies'!" Pete Black called out. He's a pretty good guy and didn't mean any harm by it, but Mallory blushed a deep red.

I jumped up, took the papers from her, and began handing them out. "How cute," Cokie whispered as she took her sheet. "Helping your little buddy." I ignored her.

"As you can see," Mallory began once I sat down again, " 'The Jumblies' is a long poem. But Edward Lear is really most famous for - " "For inventing the Lear jet!" a boy named Lane Reynolds shouted out.

At first Mallory looked surprised. Then she smiled. "No. That would have been impossible because Edward Lear was born in eighteen-twelve." She turned toward the board to write this down. I could see her hand shaking. I suppose the whole class could see it.