The Waffler Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Go ahead. Ask.”
    Monty didn’t think Tristan would really do it. Tristan wasn’t a get-in-trouble kid. He was the kind of kid teachers sent on errands, like delivering a message to the office. But Tristan called out, “Mrs. Tuttle! Mrs. Tuttle! Is it true our field trip is to the sewage-treatment plant?”
    Mrs. Tuttle made a perplexed face. “No,” she said. “Who told you that?”
    Jasmine Raines raised her hand. “Monty!” she answered. “He said it!”
    Tristan explained, “He said it was Hidden Treasures from your toilet!”
    â€œTristan,” said Mrs. Tuttle, raising her voice over the laughter of the entire fourth grade, “that was
not
appropriate. And Monty, did you change your mind again?”
    Monty was confused. He didn’t think so. “No?” he tried.
    She crossed her arms. “Really? You didn’t change your mind about being on your best behavior for the afternoon?”
    How could he change his mind since he hadn’t made it up in the first place? She was the one who had said he should be on his best behavior. That wasn’t his decision. He shook his head. No.
    â€œNo?” she asked. “Then you didn’t make that inappropriate remark?”
    â€œYes,” he admitted, “I did. But”—he stopped, confused. It was true that he’d
made up
the remark, but Tristan was the one who
made
the remark—said it loud enough for everyone to hear. Except somehow teachers looked at Tristan and thought,
not him
. Trouble wasn’t his fault. It had to be somebody else’s fault. In this case, Monty’s. Which seemed totally unfair, but Monty didn’t know how to explain all that and besides, he knew it wouldn’t matter. Mrs. Tuttle had made up
her
mind that he had changed
his
mind.
    â€œAnd how are we going to remind you that you’ve changed your mind
unnecessarily
?” asked Mrs. Tuttle.
    Monty hated it when grown-ups asked a question just to make a kid say the answer out loud. He might have to answer, but he wasn’t going to say what she wanted him to say. He just held out his arm, and Mrs. Tuttle yanked off a Band-Aid and dropped it in the trash can.
    Monty’s arm stung a little. One down, two to go. What would happen if Mrs. Tuttle ever pulled off all three? It was like a grown-up counting:
One . . . two . . .
They didn’t really want to get to three. They just wanted you to do whatever it was they wanted.
Or else.
    Or else
what
?

“ M onty, my friend!” crowed Mr. Milkovich, the bus driver. “How is your day?”
    Mr. Milkovich’s big hands gripped the steering wheel. He had a big head, too—“for my big brain!” he always said, and then roared with laughter. Monty always tried to sit right behind the driver’s seat so he could talk to him. The bus ride was the second best part of his day, with recess coming in first and actual school coming in last.
    Monty slid into his usual spot. Somehow he had managed to get through the afternoon without finding out what happened after
or else
. He didn’t want to tell Mr. Milkovich about
that
, though. He didn’t want to tell Mr. Milkovich about the principal learning exactly who he was, either. Basically, he didn’t want to talk about anything that had happened today.
    â€œI got a rat!” he said.
    The bus filled up with kids, and Mr. Milkovich pulled out of the bus circle. “Rats?” he asked, heading along the Eastern Promenade. “You got rats?”
    â€œNot
rats
!” explained Monty. “Not like, rats you don’t want! Just one rat. He’s a pet, and he’s totally friendly and nice. He can balance on my shoulder when I walk around. And he has whiskers!”
    â€œHmm,” said Mr. Milkovich, making a thinking-about-it noise. “Does he like apples?”
    Mr. Milkovich used to have an apple orchard in the country he