Part 11 (1/2)

*Cheyenne,' Erica said as we came down the path towards her. *Why don't you . . .'

Cheyenne raised her eyebrows at Erica. Erica rarely, if ever, said anything mean to anyone. She was too busy trying to make sure everyone got along.

But today Erica surprised me, Cheyenne and everyone else who was watching, by shouting, *Cheyenne, why don't you just shut up . . . Big Mouth!'

*Yeah,' Sophie yelled. *Big Mouth O'Malley!'

*BIG MOUTH O'MALLEY!' Caroline shouted.

Cheyenne looked startled to be called Big Mouth O'Malley. Especially when Rosemary, who was standing nearby, starting laughing.

*Big Mouth O'Malley,' Rosemary said. *That's exactly what she is!'

Cheyenne's face started turning red.

*I am not a big mouth,' she said.

*Uh, excuse me,' Rosemary said. *But, yeah, actually, you are.'

*If I'm a big baby, Cheyenne,' I said, feeling a burst of love for my friends, who were helping me stand up to this girl who had been making me miserable for so long, *you're a big mouth.'

*You are a big baby,' Cheyenne said. Her face was turning redder by the second. *But I'm not a big mouth!'

Wow. Why hadn't I noticed before that Cheyenne was good at calling other people names, but she wasn't so good at taking it when other people called her names? How genius of Erica to have figured this out!

*Big Mouth,' Erica sang. You could tell she was kind of enjoying herself. She had had plenty of practice at home, watching her older brother and sister tease each other (and, sometimes, her). She knew how it was done. *Big Mouth O'Malley.'

*Big Mouth.' Caroline, Sophie, Rosemary and I linked arms and joined Erica. *Big Mouth,' we sang. *Big Mouth O'Malley!'

*Shut up!' Cheyenne's face was so red now, it looked like a tomato. Tears were glistening in her eyes. *I hate you guys!'

Marianne and Dominique and the rest of the girls from our cla.s.s didn't know what to do. At first they'd been giggling. Because calling someone a big mouth was pretty funny.

But then when Cheyenne started crying, they stopped giggling as much.

Still, I noticed no one came to Cheyenne's defence. No one said, *Hey! She's not a big mouth!'

I guess because they knew it was true. Also because they probably knew that tomorrow it could be them Cheyenne was calling a big baby, or something even worse, for no other reason than that they hadn't done something she'd told them to.

Suddenly, from over near the flagpole, the sound of a whistle pierced the playground. We turned around, wondering what it could be. Normally Pine Heights uses a bell system.

That's when we saw Mrs Hunter standing there in her dark green winter coat with its imitation fur trim.

*Room Two Oh Nine,' she cupped her gloved hands over her mouth to yell in our direction. *Get in your lines now!'

We all stared at her. The first bell hadn't even rung yet. What was she talking about?

*Right now!' Mrs Hunter yelled. *Patrick Day, you put down that ice this minute and get in line!'

Patrick Day dropped the two foot chunk of ice he'd managed to pry up from the sidewalk. It shattered into a million pieces a” just as he'd intended it to, although he pretended he'd dropped it by accident.

*What's all this about?' Rosemary wondered as we picked our way across the iced-over playground to get into our lines.

*You don't think she heard us, do you?' Erica worried. *And we're in trouble? I mean, Cheyenne started it.'

*She couldn't have,' Caroline said. *Maybe she's worried about the ice. You saw what Patrick was doing.'

I had a sinking feeling I knew why Mrs Hunter's cla.s.s a” and just Mrs Hunter's cla.s.s a” was being called inside early. Had my mom gone ahead and done what I'd asked her not to?

I felt like I had swallowed a fork or something.

My mom had called Mrs Hunter. She had actually called my teacher. I knew it. I just knew it.

And Mrs Hunter was going to tell everyone!

But wait . . . Mrs Hunter wouldn't say anything. When Stuart's mom had called a” and I was pretty sure she had a” Mrs Hunter hadn't said so. She'd just said the Kissing Game had had to stop. She hadn't said, *The Kissing Game has to stop because Stuart's mom called.'

Maybe it would be OK. Maybe I wasn't about to get killed by every girl in this cla.s.s (except my friends). Maybe . . .

Oh, who was I kidding? I was dead meat.

We got into our twin lines that Mrs Hunter required us to get into in order to march into school every morning when the bell rang. Only no bell had rung. Mrs Hunter stood in front of us, looking more disapproving than I had ever seen her.

Everyone thought it was because of Patrick and the ice. Patrick's face was even redder than Cheyenne's had been. Mrs Hunter looked up and down our rows to make sure everyone was there.

Then she said, in her coldest voice, *Follow me, please. When we get into the cla.s.sroom, put your coats and hats away silently and take your seats.'

It was clear that Mrs Hunter's fourth-grade cla.s.s was in trouble. Big trouble. We followed Mrs Hunter inside the warm building, aware that all the other kids in school, back outside, were watching us and talking about us. The first bell hadn't even rung yet, and they were all outside, still playing, while we were being brought inside to . . .

What? Be punished?

We didn't know. But it was clear it wasn't going to be good.

We didn't dare speak. We just went upstairs to Room 209, took off our coats and hats and mittens and scarves and went to our desks the way Mrs Hunter had told us to. None of us said a word. Joey Fields tried to say something to me. I think it was Arf, but I gave him a warning look, and he quietened down. I don't know about anyone else, but I felt as if what I had had for breakfast a” oatmeal a” was sitting like a tiny bowling ball in my stomach.

Mrs Hunter, instead of going to her desk and looking over her lesson plan for the day, like she normally did first thing, got the stool she usually read to us from, brought it to the front of the room and sat down on it.

Then she just looked at us.

She didn't seem to like what she saw either. It was as if what she saw was a bunch of maggots crawling from a skull, like in one of Stuart Maxwell's drawings.

*Last night,' Mrs Hunter began when she was sure she had our complete and undivided attention, *I got a very disturbing phone call from the parent of a fourth-grader.'

Oh no! She'd done it! My mom had done it! And after I'd asked her not to!

I wanted to bury my face in my hands. Only I couldn't, because then everyone would have known the parent who'd called was my own. Instead, I tried to sit as still as possible, with my face turned straight ahead and my expression as blank as possible, as if I found what Mrs Hunter was talking about very interesting.