Wayside School Beneath the Cloud of Doom (Wayside School #4) - Louis Sachar Page 0,15

somewhat surprised. “Yes, you!” he declared. “I chose you, didn’t I? And I don’t make mistakes!”

He strode toward Stephen, then placed his big hands on both sides of Stephen’s desk and leaned over. “Be in my office on Friday, at two minutes before three o’clock!” he ordered. “You will get one, and only one, swing of the mallet, so you better not miss! You must hit the very center of the gong, at exactly three o’clock. Not a second early! Not a second late!! There are no second chances!!!”

Stephen’s right leg was shaking.

The principal straightened up and headed toward the door. “Good-bye, children,” he said.

He stopped.

He waited.

He folded his arms across his chest.

Mrs. Jewls waved her arms like an orchestra conductor.

“Good-bye, Mr. Kidswatter,” everyone said together.

As soon as the principal was gone, everyone crowded around Stephen’s desk.

“You are so lucky!” said Jason.

“This is the best thing that has ever happened to anyone in our class!” said Jenny.

“You better not blow it!” said Joy. “Or else no kid will ever get to ring the gong again!”

“Can you even lift the mallet?” asked Terrence.

Stephen didn’t say anything. He hadn’t heard a word they said.

It was as if the moment Mr. Kidswatter had said, “YOU!!!” someone had banged a gong inside Stephen’s head.

GONNN-nnnn-NNNNN-nnnnn-NNNNN-nnnnn-NNNNNGGGG!!!

18

The Mirror

Dr. Pickle kept two things on his desk. One was a bust of Sigmund Freud.

A bust is a statue of someone’s head, neck, and shoulders. Sigmund Freud was the most famous psychologist ever. He was Dr. Pickle’s hero.

Dr. Freud also had a beard.

The second thing on Dr. Pickle’s desk was a handheld mirror. Dr. Pickle checked his beard at least five times per day, to make sure it was trimmed just right.

Now, however, that was the least of his worries. He looked at his face in the mirror. His cheek was puffed out. His tongue was sticking out. One eye was closed. One eyebrow was raised.

He looked like a big doofus!

He gently swung his pickle stone between his face and the mirror.

“I am getting sleepy,” he said to himself. “By the count of five, I will fall asleep. One . . . two . . . thruppledub.” His head plopped down on his desk.

This would normally be the time when Dr. Pickle would tell his patient what she was supposed to do when she woke up. But he was his own patient. And both patient and doctor were sleeping.

Sometime later, a car horn blared. It sounded like there was an angry driver right behind him.

Dr. Pickle woke up. He had no idea how long he’d been sleeping. It took him a moment to remember who he was, where he was, and why he had tried to hypnotize himself.

He picked up the mirror and checked his face. No change.

“Now what am I going to do?” he asked.

That was strange.

He had felt his mouth move when he spoke, but the mouth in the mirror didn’t move.

He brought his hands to his face. He could see his hands touching the face in the mirror too.

The cheek in the mirror was still all puffed out, but his own cheek felt soft and flat. He moved his tongue around inside his mouth, even though the tongue in the mirror was sticking out at him.

He set the mirror on his desk.

“This is very interesting,” he said aloud. Clearly, the face shifts to whoever stares at it, he realized.

He turned the mirror over, facedown.

He hadn’t read about this in any of his psychiatry books. He slowly raised the mirror, caught a glimpse of the hideous face that was still there, then quickly lowered it back down on his desk.

This discovery would make him famous! He picked up the bust of Sigmund Freud. “Even more famous than you,” he said to it.

But would all that fame be worth it? What if someone else’s face got stuck along the way?

“What would you do?” he asked Dr. Freud.

There is a reason it is called a bust. It was made of bronze, and felt heavy in his hand.

He flipped the mirror over, and slammed Sigmund Freud down on top of it.

The face shattered.

Up in Mrs. Jewls’s class, Kathy suddenly felt very dizzy and confused.

She looked at the sentence she had just written. “I can’t read this!” she exclaimed. “It’s backward.”

“Let me see,” said D.J., taking it from her. “How did you do that? That is so cool!”

“Warm!” Kathy replied.

19

Push-Downs

Stephen lay on the playground, surrounded by his classmates. He grunted as he pushed down on the blacktop with all his might.

Nothing happened.

“You

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