Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 122

She turned back toward us. "He was best known for the limerick, which is a short, humorous verse form consisting of five lines. The first, second, and fifth lines rhyme, as do the third and fourth." She'd obviously memorized this and her voice had a stiff, robotic rhythm to it.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Alan Gray wadding up a spitball. An unwrapped straw lay on his desk. I cleared my throat loudly in his direction. He glanced at me and I gave him a Look - my most deadly glare, which I reserve for times when I really want to get a point across. He got my message and held up his hand in a silent surrender sign.

I turned my attention back to Mallory and saw she was once again writing on the board. Her hands still trembled terribly as she wrote down an example of a limerick.

There was an old man who supposed That the street door was partially closed; But some very large rats Ate his coats and his hats She didn't finish the limerick because the chalk cracked with a loud snap and went flying across the classroom. "Duck!" Alan shouted, which everyone did.

"Sorry about that," Mallory said.

"What a spaz!" Cokie whispered loudly to Grace Blume.

"Spaz Girl, Spaz Girl," Grace chanted softly, giggling. Several kids looked at Mallory and laughed.

Mallory was well aware of them. She was mortified.

Mrs. Simon stood and clapped her hands sharply for silence. "There's more chalk on the right-hand side," she told Mallory.

"Don't give her another missile to attack us with!" cried Shane Miller. "We're too young to die!" "She's armed! Look out!" Parker Harris added.

"Class!" Mrs. Simon snapped. "Be quiet and listen. I'm going to give you a quiz on this and I'll expect you to know this information." I realized Mallory was staring hard at Mary Anne and me. She was trying to pretend we were the only two students in the room. I shot her a smile and a thumbs-up, but she didn't smile back.

"The Jumblies" is a fun poem about this group of nutty people who set out to sea in a sieve. But despite the poem, Mallory looked and sounded as if she were about to burst into tears.

Her obvious misery inspired some kids to take pity on her and ask thoughtful questions. It brought out the worst in other kids, though. They asked dumb questions and Mal knew they were goofing on her.

While she was trying to finish up the poem, I noticed a paper being passed around. It was causing a lot of laughter and I didn't want to think about what was on it. Before too long it was passed to me. Unfortunately, this is what it said: A Limerick There was a Spaz Girl named Mallory She taught, but not for salary Her joy was to aim Deadly chalk and maim Her students, like ducks in a shooting gallery Each line was written in a different handwriting. It had been a joint effort among five people - five morons. I crumpled the note and crammed it into my jeans pocket.

After what seemed like the longest forty-five minutes of my life (and of Mallory's life too, I'm sure) class finally ended.

"Thank you, Mallory," Mrs. Simon said. "That was very interesting." Mallory nodded but couldn't even manage a smile. She just walked out of the classroom.

Mary Anne and I hurried after her. When we caught up with her, tears were pooled in her eyes, ready to splash over. "It wasn't that bad," Mary Anne said, which was a fib, of course, but for a good cause.

"It was," Mallory insisted in a choked voice.

"Hey, my class was a disaster too," I told her. "Maybe all first classes bomb." Mallory took off her glasses and wiped her eyes. "Do you think so?" "Sure," I said. At least, I hoped so. Even though my class had been bad, hers had been much worse. Anger welled up inside me. You'd think a bunch of eighth-graders would give a break to a poor kid who was two years younger than they were.

About six or seven kids from Mrs. Simon's class came down the hall. Cokie and Grace were among them. A boy's voice loudly whispered "Spaz Girl!" as they passed.

Mal turned an even deeper red than she had in the classroom.

I wanted to murder whoever had said it, but I had no idea who it was.

Chapter 9.

After school that day, Mallory was supposed to baby-sit at her house along with Stacey. But since Mal was desperate to speak to Mrs. Simon about the class she'd taught, Jessi agreed to replace her. (Jordan was sick in bed, so an extra sitter was needed.) Jessi and Stacey arrived at the Pikes' and found Vanessa assembling her students. "Everyone on the couch," she commanded.

Margo ran behind Stacey. "Save me from her," she pleaded in an urgent whisper. "She hasn't stopped since last Thursday when Claudia was here. She really thinks she's a teacher." Mrs. Pike entered the room and sized up the situation. "Margo, you don't have to play school with Vanessa if you don't want to," she said as she took her jacket from the front hall.

"She makes me, Mom," Margo replied. "She follows me all over the house until I agree to be her student." "Vanessa," Mrs. Pike called into the living room.

Vanessa looked at her mother and then turned back to Nicky and Claire, who were sitting on the couch like obedient students. "Excuse me, class," she said to them. "I have to have a word with the principal. I'll return in a moment." Vanessa joined her mother in the hall. "Yes, Principal Pike?" "Vanessa, I know this is a fun game," Mrs. Pike said, "but remember, it's only a game. And if Margo doesn't want to be your student, she doesn't have to be." Vanessa studied Margo for a moment. "All right," she agreed.

"Good," Mrs. Pike said. "I'm going to be at the elementary school, watching Byron and Adam's soccer game, but I'll leave my cell phone on so you can reach me at the number posted on the fridge. Jordan is sleeping - just check up on him every now and then, and call me if there's a problem." She pulled open the front door. Then she leaned in closer to Stacey and whispered, " 'Bye, and good luck with the persistent teacher." Stacey smiled at this description of Vanessa. "Thanks. We'll be fine." When her mother was gone, Vanessa took hold of Margo's wrist and pulled her toward the living room. "But you said I didn't have to be a student!" Margo objected.

"You're not going to be," Vanessa told her. "I've made you an assistant teacher." "Oh." Margo seemed warily interested in this. "What does an assistant teacher do?" Vanessa took hold of Margo's shoulders and pressed her down onto the couch beside eight- year-old Nicky. "An assistant teacher observes what a real teacher does so that someday she, or he, will be able to teach." Jessi and Stacey stood by the stairs and exchanged skeptical glances. But Margo nodded and stayed seated. Vanessa squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. "Now, class," she began in a voice filled with teacherly authority, "today I will teach you about finding good subjects to write about." "I want to write a poem about soccer," Nicky said.

Vanessa stopped to consider this, then shook her head. "No." "Why not?" "What rhymes with soccer?" Vanessa asked.

"Mock her," Jessi volunteered from the bottom of the stairs. Then she ran upstairs to check on Jordan, who was fast asleep.

"When Mallory plays soccer, the kids all mock her," Nicky suggested.

"They do not," Claire disagreed, scowling at Nicky.

"She's not a very good player," Margo said in the interest of accuracy.

"Yeah, but no one has ever mocked her," Claire insisted.

Stacey recalled Mallory complaining about some boys in her class who had given her a hard time about her athletic ability, or lack of it. She kept quiet, though. She didn't think bringing this up would serve any real purpose.

"All right," Nicky said, giving in. " 'I know a girl who plays soccer/When she does, the kids always mock her.' " He turned to Claire. "Okay?" "That's better," Claire agreed.

"But now what?" Vanessa asked. "There's no place to go from there. Besides, soccer isn't a very poetic subject. It's not suitable for a poem." "Wait a minute," Jessi spoke up as she returned to the kids on the couch. "In school I learned that you can write a poem about anything you want." Nicky stuck out his tongue at Vanessa.