Mrs. Kormel Is Not Normal!

  My Weird School #11

  Mrs. Kormel Is Not Normal!

  Dan Gutman

  Pictures by

  Jim Paillot

  To Emma

  Contents

  1 Never Kiss Your Mom in Public

  2 Mrs. Kormel’s Secret Language

  3 My Head Almost Exploded

  4 Are We There Yet?

  5 The Middle of Nowhere

  6 The Nude Kid’s Dad

  7 Fighting Evil Under the Bus

  8 Striker Smith’s Final Battle

  9 We Are Survivors

  10 Mrs. Kormel Is Driving Us Crazy

  11 We Finally Meet the Nude Kid

  About the Author and the Illustrator

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  Never Kiss Your Mom in Public

  My name is A.J. and I hate school.

  Do you know which is the worst day of the week? If you ask me, it’s Monday. Because Monday is the start of five days of school in a row. That’s horrible!

  Tuesday and Wednesday aren’t so great either.

  Thursday is a pretty good day, because then we only have one day of school left before the weekend.

  Friday is really good, because that’s when the school week is over.

  But the best day of the week is Saturday. I play peewee football on Saturday, and we don’t have school again for two whole days.

  Too bad it was Monday morning. I was waiting in front of my house for the school bus with my mom.

  “You be a good boy, A.J.,” my mom told me.

  “I will.”

  “Don’t get into any trouble, A.J.,” my mom told me.

  “I won’t.”

  “Remember to raise your hand when you want to talk, A.J.,” my mom told me.

  “I will.”

  “Don’t shoot straw wrappers at the girls, A.J.,” my mom told me.

  “I won’t.”

  My mom told me about a million hundred other things I wasn’t allowed to do until I saw the yellow school bus coming around the corner.

  “Mom, I promise not to have any fun at all,” I said. “Bye!”

  The bus pulled up. Mrs. Kormel, the bus driver, pushed a button and made the little STOP sign pop out the side of the bus so the cars on the street will stop. We call it the magic STOP sign. That thing is cool.

  “Give Mommy a kiss, A.J.”

  No way I was going to kiss my mother in front of all the kids staring out the bus window. That’s the first rule of being a kid. Don’t ever kiss your mother when other kids are watching!

  “Uh, I don’t want to be late for school, Mom.”

  “Give Mommy a kiss, A.J.”

  “That’s not gonna happen, Mom.”

  “Give Mommy a kiss, A.J.”

  “Over my dead body, Mom.”

  “Give Mommy a kiss, A.J.”

  “I will if you give me a hundred dollars, Mom,” I said.

  My mother tried to wrap her arms around me, but I know how to get away from tacklers. When Mom went to grab me, I threw her a head fake, spun away, and gave her a few of my best fancy foot-work moves that I learned playing peewee football. She didn’t have a chance! I sidestepped her and ran on the bus before she could hug or kiss me.

  Ha-ha-ha! My mom can’t play football for beans. Nah-nah-nah boo-boo on her!

  2

  Mrs. Kormel’s Secret Language

  I dashed on the bus and there was Mrs. Kormel, the school bus driver. She was wearing a crash helmet on her head and a silver whistle around her neck.

  “Bingle boo, A.J.!” she said.

  “Bingle boo, Mrs. Kormel.”

  “Bingle boo” is Mrs. Kormel’s way of saying “hello.” One time I asked her why she doesn’t just say “hello” like normal people.

  “I’m inventing my own secret language,” she told me. “Everybody says ‘hello.’ But I think ‘hello’ is boring. I’m trying to get people to switch from saying ‘hello’ to saying ‘bingle boo.’ Secret languages are fun!”

  Mrs. Kormel is not normal.

  “Limpus kidoodle,” said Mrs. Kormel. That means “sit down” in Mrs. Kormel’s secret language.

  I looked around the bus. There was a snot-covered kindergartner in the front row behind Mrs. Kormel, and a few angry fifth graders in the back row.

  Fifth graders are really mean because they get a lot of homework. The more homework you get, the meaner you are. That’s why fifth graders are meaner than fourth graders, and fourth graders are meaner than third graders, and third graders are meaner than second graders.

  You don’t want to go near seventh or eighth graders. They get lots of homework, and they just hate the world. I hope I never get to high school.

  I sat down in the middle by myself. Mrs. Kormel stopped the bus at the next corner, and a few other kids got on. At the stop after that, my friends Ryan and Michael got on.

  “Bingle boo!” Mrs. Kormel said to Ryan and Michael. “Limpus kidoodle.”

  Ryan and Michael sat down next to me.

  “What did you bring in for Show and Share?” Ryan asked. “I brought in an old light switch.”

  “I brought in a ball of string,” said Michael.

  Show and Share is when we bring something from home that starts with a certain letter of the alphabet and talk about it in class. Today’s letter was s.

  I took my Show and Share thing out of my backpack. It was an action figure called Striker Smith. He’s a superhero from the future who travels through time and fights bad guys with a sharp sword that’s attached to his hand. He can turn into a jet plane, too, and fly when you push a button. I saw a commercial for Striker Smith on TV and bugged my parents until they finally got it for me.

  “Striker Smith belongs to a secret organization of crime fighters,” I told Ryan and Michael, in case they didn’t see the commercial.

  “You should get extra credit,” Ryan said, “because Striker Smith has two S ’s.”

  “He’s cool,” said Michael. “Sometimes I take my old action figures down to the basement and my dad lets me saw them in half or torture them with his power drill.”

  “I take mine out in the sun and melt their faces with a magnifying glass,” said Ryan.

  Michael and Ryan are weird.

  At the next stop, this really annoying girl in my class named Andrea who thinks she knows everything got on the bus with curly brown hair. Well, the bus didn’t have curly brown hair. Andrea did.

  “Bingle boo, Andrea!” said Mrs. Kormel.

  “Bingle boo,” Andrea said. “I’ll go limpus kidoodle now.”

  What a brownnoser! Andrea plopped her dumb self down in the seat right in front of me, like always.

  “Good morning, Arlo,” she said.

  I hate her.

  Andrea’s mother found out that A.J. stands for Arlo Jervis, so Andrea went and told everybody. It was the worst day of my life. I thought I was gonna die. I wanted to switch schools or move to Antarctica and go live with the penguins, but my mom wouldn’t let me.

  Penguins are cool.

  “Are you boys ready for the big spelling test this afternoon?” Andrea asked.

  Oh no. I forgot all about the big dumb spelling test! How can I be expected to remember stuff over the weekend? Weekends are for having fun, not for studying for tests. I hate spelling.

  “Do you know how to spell ‘spelling,’ A.J.?” asked Andrea.

  “Sure,” I said. “I-H-A-T-E-Y-O-U.”

  Michael and Ryan laughed.

  “I made my own spelling flash cards,” Andrea told us, “and I’m going to use them for Show and Share, too. Because spelling begins with an s.”

  I was going to tell
Andrea that “stupid” also begins with an s and that’s what she is, but I decided I would save that and use it the next time she really got me mad.

  Andrea turned around so she wasn’t facing us anymore. I picked up Striker Smith and pretended that he was going to attack the back of her head with his sword. It was hilarious. Michael and Ryan laughed. But Andrea turned around suddenly, before I could take Striker Smith away from her head.

  “That’s a nice doll, Arlo,” she said.

  “It’s not a doll!” I told her. “It’s an action figure!”

  “My mother told me that action figures are dolls for boys,” said Andrea.

  “They are not!” I said.

  “Are too!” said Andrea.

  We went back and forth like that for a while.

  “Striker Smith is a one-man wrecking machine,” I told Andrea. “He belongs to a secret organization of crime fighters. If Striker got into a fight with one of your dumb dolls, he would rip its head off.”

  “Dolls don’t fight,” Andrea said.

  “Striker Smith does,” I said.

  “I thought you said he wasn’t a doll, Arlo.”

  Why can’t a bus filled with spelling flash cards fall on Andrea’s head?

  3

  My Head Almost Exploded

  “Bingle boo! Limpus kidoodle,” said Mrs. Kormel.

  Andrea’s equally annoying crybaby friend Emily got on the bus in front of her house. She sat down next to Andrea, and they studied Andrea’s dumb flash cards together.

  “Is everybody here?” asked Mrs. Kormel after she picked up a few more kids.

  “Yes,” we all said.

  “If you’re not here, raise your hand.”

  I knew that was a trick question, because if somebody wasn’t there we wouldn’t be able to see if their hand was up. But just to be on the safe side, I got up in my seat to see if anybody who wasn’t there had their hand up.

  “Limpus kidoodle, A.J.,” said Mrs. Kormel.

  In case you don’t remember, that means “sit down.” Mrs. Kormel doesn’t like it when we get out of our seats.

  “No standing on the seats,” said Mrs. Kormel.

  “Can I kneel on my seat?” I asked.

  “You can only kneel on your seat if your name is Neil. Anyone named Neil may kneel.”

  “Can I stand if my name is Stan?” asked Ryan.

  “Okay,” said Mrs. Kormel. “If your name is Stan, you can stand.”

  “I can’t stand sitting down,” Michael said.

  “Nobody can stand sitting down,” Ryan said. “If you’re sitting down, you’re not standing.”

  “Can you crouch if your name is Crouch?” I asked.

  “There’s nobody named Crouch!” Andrea told me. She thinks she knows everything.

  “Oh yeah?” I said. “What about that guy on Sesame Street named Oscar the Crouch?”

  “That’s Oscar the Grouch, dumbhead!” Andrea said.

  I knew that.

  “Now that we’re all here, how about singing a song to make the ride go quicker?” suggested Mrs. Kormel.

  “Let’s sing ‘The Wheels on the Bus’!” said Andrea. “I love that song.”

  “I hate that song,” I said. “Can we sing ‘Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall’?”

  Mrs. Kormel said we couldn’t sing about beer because kids aren’t allowed to drink beer. I wouldn’t want to drink beer even if I was allowed to. My dad gave me a sip of his beer once. I thought I was gonna throw up. Mrs. Kormel said we could sing “Ninety-nine Bottles of Pop on the Wall” if we wanted to.

  The girls started singing “The Wheels on the Bus.” The boys started singing “Ninety-nine Bottles of Pop on the Wall.” Me and Michael and Ryan tried to sing louder than all the girls. Andrea and Emily tried to sing louder than all the boys. It was really loud in there.

  Soon everybody on the bus was screaming, and kids were bouncing around like Mexican jumping beans. I covered my ears so my head wouldn’t explode.

  Something about being on a school bus makes you want to go crazy. Maybe it’s all that yellow.

  I’ll bet Mrs. Kormel was sorry she told us to sing. Suddenly she blew her whistle really loud.

  “Zingy zip!” she yelled.

  That’s her way of saying “quiet down” in her secret language. Everybody stopped singing.

  “Shhhhh, my cell phone is ringing,” said Mrs. Kormel. “It’s Mr. Klutz.”

  Mr. Klutz is our principal. He is like the king of the school. He’s bald, too. One time he kissed a pig. This other time he got stuck on the top of the flagpole. Another time he was climbing the school, and the custodian had to rescue him by sticking one of those toilet plungers on his head. We saw it live and in person. Mr. Klutz is nuts!

  “What does Mr. Klutz want?” somebody yelled.

  Mrs. Kormel finished talking to Mr. Klutz and turned around to whisper something to the boy in the row behind her. He turned around and whispered something to the girl in the row behind him. She turned and whispered something to the girl in the row across from her, who then turned and whispered something to Michael.

  “We have to go pick up a nude kid,” Michael whispered.

  “A nude kid?” I said. “That’s disgusting!”

  “That nude kid better not sit next to me,” said Ryan.

  “Tell the nude kid to put some clothes on!” said Michael.

  4

  Are We There Yet?

  We hadn’t even met him yet, but suddenly everybody on the bus was buzzing about the nude kid.

  “Some people don’t believe in wearing clothes,” said Andrea, who thinks she knows everything. “They’re called nudists.”

  “I call ’em freaks,” said Ryan.

  “My parents say we should respect and celebrate people’s differences,” Emily said.

  “Your parents are weird,” I told her.

  “What’s the big deal?” Andrea asked. “After all, we were born without clothing.”

  “You were born without a brain,” I couldn’t resist adding. Anytime anyone says anything about being born, always say they were born without a brain. That’s the first rule of being a kid.

  “I’m nude under my clothes,” Ryan told us.

  “Thanks for sharing that with us,” I told him. “Now I’m totally grossed out.”

  Andrea said that nudists save a lot of money because they don’t have to buy clothes. But Michael said that nudists have to spend a lot of money because they always have to buy sunscreen. But Emily said that nudists save a lot of money because they don’t have to do laundry. But Ryan said that nudists have to spend a lot of money to heat their houses because they’re so cold.

  “The nude kid probably doesn’t even have a closet at home,” I said, “because he doesn’t have any clothes to put in it.”

  “Do you think nude kids are allowed to wear hats?” asked Michael.

  “Zingy zip!” yelled Mrs. Kormel.

  Mrs. Kormel had pulled out a big map and she had it opened up on top of the steering wheel. She told us we had to be quiet while she figured out the directions. I bet it’s hard to drive and look at a map at the same time.

  To make things even worse, it started raining. Mrs. Kormel put the windshield wipers on. All the girls started to sing, “‘The wipers on the bus go swish swish swish, swish swish swish, swish swish swish!’”

  “Zingy zip!” Mrs. Kormel yelled again. “I can’t concentrate.”

  We drove for a long time in the rain. It was hard to go so long without talking.

  “Are we there yet?” somebody asked.

  “No,” said Mrs. Kormel.

  “Are we lost?” Emily asked.

  “Of course not,” said Mrs. Kormel. “I just don’t know where we are.”

  “Oh no, we’re going to miss Show and Share!” Andrea said to Emily, like she was all worried. “And I spent all weekend making my spelling flash cards.”

  Ha-ha-ha! I spent all weekend playing football. Nah-nah-nah boo-boo on her!
We were going to be late for school. It was great! I hoped Mrs. Kormel wouldn’t find the right way to the nude kid’s house for a while. Because right after Show and Share, we have math.

  And I hate math.

  5

  The Middle of Nowhere

  Mrs. Kormel drove for a million hundred hours, and we still hadn’t reached the nude kid’s house. Where was it? Now Show and Share was over for sure. We probably missed math, too. If we didn’t get to school soon, we would miss our DEAR time. That stands for Drop Everything and Read.

  I hate reading.

  Finally we drove by some big trucks and there was a sign that said DETOUR.

  “Hey, we’re going to take a tour,” said Ryan. “Tours are cool!”

  “Detours aren’t tours, dumbhead!” said Andrea. “Workers are fixing the road, so Mrs. Kormel has to get off this road and go another way to the nude kid’s house.”

  “Bix blattinger!” said Mrs. Kormel as she slammed her fist against the steering wheel.

  I don’t know what “bix blattinger” means, but that’s what Mrs. Kormel always says when she gets really angry or frustrated.

  “What does ‘bix blattinger’ mean, Mrs. Kormel?” I asked.

  “Never you mind!” said Mrs. Kormel.

  “I think Mrs. Kormel must have said a bad word,” said Ryan.

  “But she said it in her secret language,” Michael said, “so we won’t know what it means.”

  You shouldn’t say bad words. We all tried to figure out which bad word Mrs. Kormel said. I had heard most of the bad words, but Michael and Ryan knew a few that I didn’t know and they taught them to me. So even though we were really late for school, it was still a learning experience.