Never Swipe a Bully's Bear (2 page)

That night, after I brushed my teeth and put on my pajamas, I went down to the kitchen.

I grabbed my backpack off the counter. I reached inside to pull out Hamilton. But there was an empty space where Hamilton was supposed to be.

WHERE WAS HAMILTON????

I yelled. “HE'S GONE! HAMILTON IS GONE!!!”

Mom and Dad ran in. “Roscoe,” Mom said, “what's wrong, honey?”

“HAMILTON IS MISSING I KNOW HE WAS IN HERE AND NOW HE IS GONE WHERE COULD HE BE???!!!” I screamed. “HAMILTON IS LOST!!!!”

I am not always calm in a crisis.

Not when it's about my pig.

“Can you think where you might have left him?” Mom asked.

“If I knew where I'd left him, then he wouldn't be lost!” I cried.

“Did you take Hamilton out for show-and-tell?” Dad asked.

“No way,” I said. “Max said I would humiliate him if people knew I brought
Hamilton to school.”

“So nobody saw you with the pig?” Max asked.

“Well,” I said, “Wyatt saw me talking to him.”

“I didn't know you spoke Pig,” Max said.

I didn't answer. On account of I was ignoring Max.

“Wyatt is a real pain,” I reminded Dad.

“Want me to talk to him?” Max said. “I could threaten to lock him in the boys' room.”

“Max!” Mom said. “Don't even think such a thing!”

“A minute ago you were teasing Roscoe,” said Dad. “And now you're trying to protect him?”

Max made his shoulders go up and
down. “It's my job, Dad. I'm his big brother.”

We looked everywhere for Hamilton.

Under the couch. In the laundry room. In the toy chest. In the garage.

I even checked the bathtub.

Everybody tried to find Hamilton. Even our dog, Goofy.

He could tell we were looking for something.

So he brought us a slobbery tennis ball. A dirty sock. And a Lincoln Log he'd chewed on.

But no Hamilton.

Finally, Mom said, “I'm afraid we have to call it quits for tonight. Hamilton will show up, honey. He's just a very good hider.”

We headed upstairs. I climbed into bed.

“My bed feels funny without Hamilton,” I said.

Mom tucked the covers around me. “We'll find him, sweetheart,” she said. “But for tonight, what could we do to make it easier to sleep?”

I stared at the ceiling. I have a mobile hanging there. It glows in the dark.

It's all the planets. Except Pluto. Which Goofy ate.

I guess that's okay. Since the science guys decided Pluto's not really a planet.

“There's nothing we can do,” I said. “I can't sleep without Hamilton. Period. End of story. No more discussion.”

Mom says that a lot.

You can pick up some really useful
sayings from adults.

Hazel came into my room.

She was wearing her Pretty Prancing Pony pajamas. With footies.

“Sweetie, you're supposed to be asleep,” Mom said.

“I brought something for Roscoe,”

Hazel said. She held up one of her Barbie dolls.

The doll was wearing an astronaut helmet.

And a white doctor coat.

And purple sparkle high heels.

“Her name is Janelle,” Hazel said.

She lay Janelle on my pillow.

It felt all wrong to see that sparkly astronaut doctor lying on Hamilton's favorite spot.

“You can borrow her,” said Hazel. “Since you losted Hamilton.”

“I didn't lose him!” I shouted. My voice was pretty grouchy. “He disappeared!”

“Roscoe, Hazel is just trying to help,” Mom said.

I felt a little bad. Especially because Janelle is Hazel's favorite Barbie.

“Thanks, Hazel,” I said. “You're a good sister.” I picked up Janelle. Even though I really didn't want to.

She had pointy little hands.

Hamilton had nice soft piggy paws.

“Remember that Janelle likes to sleep with her high heels on,” Hazel said.

She sounded a little worried.

“You know what?” I said. “I think Janelle would miss you.” I handed Janelle back to Hazel. “She probably wouldn't be able to sleep. But thanks, Hazel.”

Hazel grinned. “Yeah, you're probably right. Janelle is very picky.”

Mom kissed the top of my head. “Sleep tight, Pumpkin. Hamilton will turn up, I'm sure of it.”

After they left, I stared up at my glow-in-the-dark planets.

There was a big, empty spot next to me.

Right where Hamilton was supposed to be.

He snores a little, but that's okay.

Because all pigs do.

The planets swirled softly over my head.

Usually Hamilton and I loved to watch them.

But tonight all I could think about was Pluto.

The missing planet.

“Roscoe, you look terrible,” said Emma the next morning at school.

“REALLY terrible,” Gus agreed.

“I had bad dreams all night,” I said. “I dreamed I was a giant pig. And I got locked in a suitcase. And sent to Alaska.”

“Alaska, huh?” Emma said.

“I think it was Alaska. 'Cause there were
polar bears and giraffes.”

I felt my eyes getting wettish.

Which is not okay when you are an official first grader.

“I can't find Hamilton,” I said. “I brought him to school yesterday just like always. And when I got home, he was vanished!”

“Wow,” said Gus. “Pig-napping is a serious crime.”

“Pig-napping?” I cried. “You mean someone stole him?”

“We don't know if he was pig-napped,” Emma pointed out. “Maybe Roscoe left him somewhere. Did you take him to the boys' room?”

When you have a big problem, it is nice to have a good thinker like Emma around.

I shook my head.

“The lunchroom?” Emma asked.

I shook my head harder.

“Did you show him to anyone?” Emma asked.

I thought for a second. “Just Wyatt. I didn't mean for him to see us. But he did. Hamilton was in my backpack. I was just saying a quickie hi.”

We all looked over at Wyatt. He was in the activity center making a magnet building.

He saw us looking at him. He pulled on his nose to make a pig face.

“Wyatt isn't my favorite person,” Emma said. “He isn't even my tenth favorite person.”

“Maybe Wyatt knows what happened to Hamilton,” Gus said.

I thought about that. Wyatt was a meanie.

And he'd seen me with Hamilton.

And now Hamilton was missing.

“You don't think…Wyatt's a pignapper, do you?” I whispered.

“Wyatt? Why would Wyatt pig-nap Hamilton?” Gus asked. “I was thinking maybe Mr. McGeely took him.”

“Mr. McGeely?” I repeated. “You mean the janitor? You think Mr. McGeely put Hamilton IN THE TRASH?”

“No offense, Roscoe,” Gus said. “But Hamilton is kind of, well, old.”

“And he smells a little…funny,” Emma added.

“My Great-aunt Hilda is old and smells funny, and I love her,” I said.

Emma smiled. “You're a good guy, Roscoe.”

“You know what I'm going to do?” I said. “I'm going to march right over there. And I'm going to ask Wyatt if he took my pig.”

But before I could do that, Ms. Diz rang her gonger. It is a big round golden thing shaped like a plate. It hangs from a hook on the ceiling.

When you hit it with a hammer, it goes

 

g-o-o-n-n-g-g!!!

 

That means FREEZE!

Ms. Diz used to ring a teensy little silver bell.

But then she figured out we could make more noise than any old bell.

So she outsmarted us. With her giant gonger.

Ms. Diz is a brand-new teacher.

But she is learning fast.

“Time for morning meeting, folks,” said Ms. Diz.

We sat in our spots.

We talked about the weather. (Cold.)

We talked about the day. (Tuesday.)

We talked about talking. (We had been
interrupting Ms. Diz a lot.)

She said that when someone is talking, you listen with your ears.

And save your questions for the end.

Then
you use your mouth.

Even if you see something that is a miracle.

Like a squirrel with a blue Matchbox car in his mouth.

Which I saw yesterday.

You are not allowed to jump up and scream, “MS. DIZ I SEE A SQUIRREL WITH A MATCHBOX CAR IN HIS MOUTH OR MAYBE IT'S AN SUV!!! I AM NOT KIDDING MS. DIZ!!”

That's just a for-instance.

After we talked about the weather and the day, we read our morning message. Ms. Diz writes it on a giant piece of paper.

It said:

I looked over at Wyatt.

He pulled up his nose to make another pig face.

That did it. I jumped up.

I put my hands on my hips. Like a superhero.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY PIG?” I screamed.

Everybody froze. They were perfectly quiet.

So that when I also screamed, “YOU, SIR, ARE A PIG-NAPPER!” my very loud voice seemed extra especially loud.

“I AM NOT A PIG-NAPPER!” Wyatt screamed back.

He looked at Ms. Diz. “What's a pignapper, Ms. Diz?”

“Roscoe and Wyatt!” said Ms. Diz. “First of all, sit down, please. Secondly, if you have something to say, you raise your hand.”

I raised my hand. I waved it back and forth. Fast as Goofy's tail when he sees my mom with a can opener.

“Yes, Roscoe?” said Ms. Diz.

I looked at Wyatt. “You, sir, are a pignapper,” I said in a nice, gentleman voice.

Wyatt raised his hand. He waved it like a flag on a super windy day.

“Yes, Wyatt?” said Ms. Diz. She looked a little tired. And it was still morning.

“I am not a pig-napper,” Wyatt said in a
nice, gentleman voice. “And what exactly is a pig-napper?”

“A pig-napper is a person who takes another kid's most favorite pig out of his backpack when he isn't looking!” I said.

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Why would I want your stupid stuffed animal? Stuffed animals are for loser babies. I did not take your stinky pig!”

“Prove it!” I screamed

“You prove it!” Wyatt said. “You 'cused me!”

I ran to Wyatt's cubby. I grabbed his backpack and came back extra fast.

“Roscoe,” said Ms. Diz. “This isn't appropriate behavior.”

Wyatt jumped up. He grabbed the other side of his backpack.

It said
WYATT
on it with a picture of a dinosaur.

Wyatt looked pretty mad. Kind of like the
Tyrannosaurus rex
on his backpack.

But I just knew Hamilton was in that backpack.

So I kept pulling.

Ms. Diz came over. She pulled on the backpack straps.

All the kids watched. It was like tug-of-war.

Three ways.

“Boys, let go,” said Ms. Diz.

Ms. Diz was using her Listen-or-Else Voice.

Wyatt let go.

So did I.

Ms. Diz fell backward.

She landed—
plop!
—in her teacher chair.

The backpack flew into the air.

Something popped out.

Something stuffed.

But it wasn't Hamilton.