Junie B. Jones Has a Peep in Her Pocket (2 page)

Then I climbed onto my bed. And I hugged my stuffed animals real tight.

’Cause I kept on thinking and thinking about what Mother said about Uncle Billy’s animals. But mostly, I kept thinking about that mean old rooster.

On account of one time at my school, a boy named meanie Jim brought his rooster for Pet Day. And he said that roosters can peck your head into a nub. And that is not pleasant, I tell you.

I hugged my animals even tighter.

’Cause guess what?

Roosters are a jillion times scarier than ponies.

The next morning, Mother called me for breakfast.

“Good morning,” said Mother.

“Good morning,” said Daddy.

“Good morning,” I said. “Roosters can peck your head into a nub.”

Daddy put down his coffee cup. “Excuse me?”

I pointed to my head.

“A nub,” I explained. “A nub is a teensy
little knob head. Roosters can peck your head into one.”

Mother looked strange at me. “What in the world is
this
about?”

I did a big breath at her.

’Cause how can I even be clearer on this subject?

“A nub! A nub! A roundish, ballish head knob! And do not tell me that roosters do not peck you. On account of we had Pet Day at my school. And meanie Jim brought a rooster to Room Nine. And that boy is a rooster expert.”

I looked at her. “Plus also, you said Uncle Billy’s rooster was mean, too. Right, Mother? Remember that?”

Mother looked fusstrated at me. Then she put her head on the table. And she
didn’t come up for a real long time.

Finally, she peeked her eyes at Daddy.

“Now what?” she asked kind of quiet.

“Maybe it’ll blow over,” said Daddy.

I shook my head.

“No, it will
not
blow over,” I told them.
“’Cause roosters do not listen to reason. And so there is nothing we can do about this pecking situation.”

Daddy rubbed his eyes. “Could we please just change the subject?” he said.

“Yeah, only not talking about a nub will not make it go away,” I said. “And so—”

“That’s
enough
,” said Daddy very growly.

I quick stopped talking then.

But even after we changed the subject, nubs kept staying on my mind.

That day at school, Mrs. told us to draw a picture about our trip to the farm. She said to make it a colorful picture of what we wanted to see there.

I drawed and drawed. Plus also, I colored and colored.

When all of us got done with our pictures, we sat our chairs in a big circle. And we told each other about what we drew.

My bestest friend named Lucille went first.

She drawed a picture of a pink flamingo.

“Flamingos are my favorite animals,” she said. “That’s because pink is my favorite color. And flamingos are pink. And I have a pink dress that will match them perfectly. So that is the dress I’ll be wearing on the field trip.”

She wrinkled her nose real cute.

“Pink brings out the natural blush of my complexion,” she told Mrs. “Have you ever noticed my satiny-smooth skin?”

Mrs. looked and looked at that girl.

“You’re a fascinating child, Lucille. But
I’m afraid there aren’t any flamingos on a dairy farm,” she said.

Lucille looked surprised.

“So where are they, then?” she asked.

“Well, flamingos can be found a lot of places,” said Mrs. “South America, for example.”

Lucille shrugged her shoulders. “So, fine. We’ll just go there, instead.”

Mrs. said for Lucille to please sit down.

Just then, Paulie Allen Puffer springed out of his chair.

“Look, Teacher! I drew a catfish!” he said. “See his whiskers? My brother said catfish whiskers are so sharp they can slice your finger to the bone.”

Mrs. made a sick face.

“Yes, well, thank you for sharing that,
Paulie Allen. But we’re not going fishing. We’re going to a
farm
, remember?”

Paulie Allen Puffer looked upset.

“Yes, but my brother said there’s
lots
of catfish farms around here. And so that’s the kind of farm I think we should—”

“
No
, Paulie. No,” said Mrs. “We’re just going to a regular, plain old farm. With regular, plain old farm animals.”

Paulie Allen Puffer did a mad breath.

He said the word
big whoop.

After that, Paulie Allen Puffer had to stand in the hall.

Mrs. did some deep breathing.

“Please, children. Please. Did
anyone
in Room Nine draw a picture of a regular farm animal? Anyone at all. That’s all I’m looking for here. Just a regular old farm animal.”

“I did! I did, Mrs.!” I yelled real excited. “I drew a picture of a rooster under a tree!”

“Oh, Junie B.! Thank you! That’s perfect!” she said.

I holded it up so she could see it.

“See it, Mrs.? See how pretty it is?”

Mrs. looked at my picture.

“Oh yes. That’s a
very
nice tree, Junie B.,” she said. “But why is it lying on its side?”

“It crashed over in a rainstorm,” I said.

“Oh,” said Mrs. “Oh dear.”

She looked even closer.

“But I’m afraid I don’t see the rooster, honey.”

I pointed.

“There,” I said. “See his foot under the branch? He did not get out in time, apparently.”

Mrs. covered her mouth with her hand.

Just then, a girl named Charlotte
hollered, “I hate that picture! That’s a terrible picture!”

I crossed my arms at that girl.

“You would not say that if your head was a nub, sister,” I said.

Meanie Jim laughed real loud.

Then Mrs. said for all of us to take our chairs back to our tables.

And we did not show any more farm pictures.

On Saturday, Mother came into my room. She said we were going shopping for clothes for the farm trip.

I looked up from my coloring book.

“No thank you,” I said. “On account of I am getting a fever that day. So I won’t actually be going to the farm.”

Mother laughed. “Don’t be silly,” she said.

Then she picked me up. And she carried me out to the car.

“Yeah, only here’s the problem. You are not respecting my wishes,” I said.

Mother laughed some more. “I promise. This will be fun.”

I did a huffy breath. “Whatever,” I said.

Whatever
is the grown-up word for
that is the dumbest thing I ever heard.

And guess what?

I was right. Shopping was not fun at all. ’Cause Mother kept on making me try on clothes that I didn’t want.

First she made me try on a shirt with checkery squares. Then she made me try on overalls with big, giant pockets. Plus she tied a bandanna around my neck. And she put a straw hat on my head.

I looked in the mirror at myself.

“What do you know…I’m a cornball,” I said.

Only too bad for me. ’Cause Mother said I looked cute as a button. And she bought those clothes anyway. Plus also, she bought
me a throw-away camera at the drugstore.

After we got home, I started to color again.

Mother hanged up my new clothes.

“Do you want me to show you how to use the camera for your trip now?” she asked.

“No thank you,” I said. “On account of I am getting a fever that day. So I won’t actually be going to the farm.”

After that, Mother did a big sigh.

And she closed my door.

And she let me color in peace.

I got tricked!

’Cause on the day of the trip, I told Mother I had a fever. But that woman did not even take my word for it.

Instead, she took my temperature!

And so what kind of trust is that, I ask you?

“No fever,” she said.

Then Mother dressed me in my farm clothes. And she drove me right to my school.

We pulled into the parking lot.

“Oh no!” I said. “Oh no! Oh no!”

’Cause the bus was there for the field trip already! It was parked right at the curb!

“Believe me, Junie B.,” said Mother. “You are going to have a great day.”

Then she got me out of the car. And she pulled me to my teacher.

“Good morning, Junie B.,” said Mrs. “Don’t you look cute today?”

I felt my forehead.

“I’m ill,” I said.

Mrs. smiled. “I love your straw hat.”

“My head is a flaming fireball,” I said.

Mrs. bended down next to me. “And that bandanna is absolutely darling.”

“I am burning to a crinkle,” I told her.

“
Crisp
,” said Mother.

“Whatever,” I said.

After that, Mother lifted me onto the bus. And she handed me my backpack with my lunch and camera.

She waved good-bye to me.

I did not wave back. ’Cause my hand did not feel friendly.

Just then, my bestest friend named Grace came running to get me.

“Junie B.! Junie B.! Lucille and I saved you a seat!”

Then she grabbed my arm. And she took me way in the back.

I sat down next to Lucille.

“No!” said that Grace. “That’s
my
seat, Junie B.!”

She quick pulled me up.

“So where am
I
supposed to sit, then?” I asked.

Lucille pointed across the aisle.

“Right there, silly,” she said. “You’re sitting right directly across from Grace and me. And so it’s almost like we’re sitting together. Except you will be separate.”

I sat down.

“But there’s nobody to talk to over here,” I told her.

Just then, that meanie Jim jumped up from the seat behind me.

“Me! You can talk to me!” he said very laughing.

Then he leaned into my ear. And he hollered, “COCKLE-DOODLY-DOO!”
right into my eardrum.

“Too bad you’re afraid of roosters,” he said. “Roosters can tell if you’re afraid, Junie B. Ask anybody. Roosters always peck the scaredy-heads first.”

“No, they do not, Jim!” I said back. “You are just making that up, probably. And anyhow, if roosters pecked people’s heads off, all farmers would have nub heads. Only they don’t. So there. Ha ha.”