Double Z: Day of the Mantid

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Paradise

The feeling started like an itch.

It grew stronger until the tingling reached all the way to the tips of his fingers. Zach slipped the joke ring on, imagining what would happen if he squeezed the secret squirting device hidden underneath. One long arc of water and SPLAT!—it would smack like a bug on a windshield.

Hey, let me see that.

Zach looked up and saw yellow: yellow braids, yellow t-shirt and skirt, sparkly yellow shoelaces.

It’s nothing. Zach slid the ring off his finger and into his pocket. He opened his mouth to introduce himself, but the girl cut him off.

It’s probably something dumb anyway. Braids swinging, the girl wrinkled her nose and moved away, a yellow streak against the red brick of the school.

For a moment, Zach just stared after her. He wasn’t trying to be mean, but he couldn’t let anyone see the ring—he wasn’t supposed to bring any of his joke stuff to school. He glanced at the other kids scattered around the playground and wondered which of them liked to fool around as much as he did. Along with the squirting ring, Zach could practically open his own joke shop with his assortment of farting whoopee cushions, swarms of rubber spiders and fake bugs, pretend dog poop, and gum that snapped when you pulled a piece from the package.

Zach smiled. Joke stuff could be pretty funny, but things weren’t what made someone a good practical joker. No, what you needed was imagination. Zach knew that the greatest advantage in the joke department was being able to think up good ideas. That’s what made his grandpa the perfect prankster of all time. And Zach such a close second.

Just then the back door of the school opened and a teacher came out. She was carrying a sign that read ‘MS. PARADISE’, the same name that had been written on the fourth grade registration card Zach’s mother had brought home a couple of days ago. Zach’s mouth dropped open. Was it just him, or was there a whole lot wrong with his new teacher?

For one thing, Ms. Paradise was dressed in a shiny white business suit that made Zach’s eyeballs ache for sunglasses. He could only hope that in the classroom the glare wouldn’t be as intense. Her shoes, too. They were high-heels—gi-normous—and with a bright pink flower jammed on top of each one.

Oooh—she’s so pretty! The yellow girl was next to Zach again. She poked him in the shoulder and pointed at Ms. Paradise.

Pretty? Not really, it’s just that her clothes are so fancy.

I love her hair! the girl gushed.

Zach looked closer. Ms. Paradise’s hair wasn’t right, either. It was shiny like her suit, bulged up weirdly on the sides, and way too fancy for teaching fourth grade. Plus, although Zach felt a light breeze wrestling with his own fidgety hair, the same air left hers completely alone. Was her hair actually glued into place?

You’re kidding, right? Zach didn’t wait for her answer. Are all the teachers here like Ms. Paradise?

"No, just Ms. Paradise." The girl practically swooned.

Zach shook his head. None of his old teachers looked anything like Ms. Paradise. Sure, sometimes they wore nice clothes, but they hadn’t ever seemed so . . . perfect. Maybe Ms. Paradise had taken the wrong bus this morning and had gotten off here at Granite Elementary instead of at her real job—the bank, maybe—where she was the vice-president and made a million bucks a year.

One thing was for sure: Ms. Paradise looked like no nonsense.

Zach’s heart sank. The excited feeling he’d had about his new school whooshed out of him like the air in a punctured bicycle tire. Now Zach didn’t feel excited at all, and there were a bunch of reasons why:

Summer vacation was over.

He was the new kid.

And,

Everyone knew that fourth grade was the toughest grade yet.

Zach watched as Ms. Paradise pulled something from the leaf-patterned bag she had over her shoulder. It was a wireless microphone, and she clipped it to the front of her suit. She said a few words into it that Zach couldn’t hear and then tapped at it a couple of times. The microphone didn’t seem to be working as Ms. Paradise walked towards the clumps of boys and girls scattered around the playground.

Good morning! Zach heard her call to the first group. We’ll line up in a few minutes. She made her way over to Zach. Zeroing in, she leaned over and whispered, X.Y.Z.

What?

X.Y.Z. That means ‘examine your zipper’, she explained as she bent close to his ear.

Zach wrinkled his brow. What zipper? The one on his backpack? The ones on his new orange and black sneakers? He glanced down to check.

No, dear, she whispered, I meant— The microphone suddenly squeaked into life and a spray of static followed along with Ms. Paradise’s next awful words.

YYYOOURR PANTSSS ARRRE UNNNDONE! The words ricocheted around the playground as the microphone thundered into life.

Zach’s eyes shot downward. His fly was undone and his Mighty Rabbit superhero boxers—the really lame ones his mom had bought on sale and had been the only ones clean—were showing through!

OH MY GOD!

The whole school snickered. Zach could feel a mass of eyes crawling over him like ants at a left-over picnic. He zipped up quickly. So much for being the funniest kid in fourth grade. Now he was funny alright, but everyone was laughing at him instead of at his jokes. His face burning, Zach looked up at his new teacher. She patted him on the shoulder and went over to talk to another group of kids.

A moment later the yellow girl, hovering nearby, barged in front of Zach. By the way, I’m from London. That’s in England, you know, she said. I was born there, but I don’t have a British accent because I only lived there for six months.

Oh, Zach said.

Where are you from?

Um, Wellerton, Zach answered.

That’s not even out of the state!

"Well, yeah, but . . ." Zach started and then trailed off, unable to think of a good comeback.

Me and my mom already met Ms. Paradise. The girl leaned in closer, and Zach took a step backwards. "She said I was special."

Zach rolled his eyes and turned away. He still felt the flip-flop feeling in his stomach, but at least his face wasn’t burning up any more. He peeked around to see if any of the other kids were still staring at him, and wished he was anywhere but here. No, actually, if he could be somewhere else, he wished he was in his grandpa’s kitchen back in Wellerton, three blocks from where his old house used to be. Grandpa would listen to him first and then pick just the right words to make Zach feel better. Grandpa had words for every occasion. In fact, you could say that Grandpa was a word collector—he saved words and phrases the way Zach collected joke stuff and baseball cards.

Suddenly, it was like Grandpa was right here, inside Zach’s head: That was some rotten luck about the microphone being on. And, I can see how that yellow girl really grinds your gear.

Yes, those words described the girl exactly! Zach hoped that none of the other kids here were as annoying.

Just then, the bell rang and ‘grinds-my-gear’ girl nudged Zach again. Casually, Zach reached down. His fly was good and zipped up.

Everybody has to line up, now, the girl said. Follow me. I know what to do.

Reluctantly, Zach trailed behind her to the place where the fourth graders were supposed to wait in line. The kids’ voices seemed to buzz louder as Ms. Paradise took out a small, blue clipboard from her bag. Zach noticed that grinds-my-gear girl was directing some of the others towards the line-up area, and Zach thought of another Grandpa phrase to describe her: Bossy-boots.

He turned to a boy nearby who was wearing a Packers jersey. Hey, was Ms. Paradise here last year? he asked.

Nah, she’s new. My mom met her at the post office. She only got the job a few days before school started, the boy said. And then, Wait, you’re new, too. Where are you from?

Zach opened his mouth to blurt out an answer—somewhere exciting like Canada or Milwaukee. Before he could decide which one sounded the most interesting, Ms. Paradise used her microphone—fixed now—to blast everyone into silence.

Attention fourth graders! Attention, please! Each day before we go inside, we will line up in ABC order by first names, Ms. Paradise said into the microphone. Her voice came out loud and distorted, like she was talking through a wall of marshmallows.

Do you think we’ll always have to line up in ABC order? Zach asked the boy beside him.

I dunno, but my name’s Alex, so I’m at the front of the line. The boy moved into his place as Ms. Paradise called for the A-kids.

Unfortunately, first or last name, it made no difference to Zach Zinsky. You’d think that with a last name like Zinsky, his parents would have named him Aaron or Anthony, or maybe Arthur after his grandpa. Arthur Zinsky, the second. He’d even have been happy with Ben or Brian Zinsky. His parents had obviously realized their mistake by the time his little sister Alison came along. But that didn’t help Zach. Sadly for him, he’d been an end-of-the-line kid for as long as he’d been in school.

Ms. Paradise continued calling the letters of the alphabet, and one by one, kids took their places in line. The annoying girl stepped aside. In fact, she didn’t move into line at all until there was nobody left but Zach and her.

What Z names are there for girls? Zelda? Zinnia?

Both names came after Zach in ABC order. Zach held his breath.

Y is for Yolanda Yernoff, Ms. Paradise announced. I do love that name. The girl—Yolanda—flounced into line.

Finally, Ms. Paradise directed her gaze at Zach and spoke into the microphone even though he could hear her perfectly well without it. And finally Zachary Zinsky, another double initial name, she boomed.

Zach scuttled into line, waiting until the last possible moment as if somehow ‘Z’ was going to be promoted to the middle of the alphabet. Or that a set of Zyler triplets—Zane, Zeke, and Zeus—would suddenly rush over apologizing for being late.

But nothing like that happened, and Zach was stuck at the end of the line.

Forward, march, Ms. Paradise ordered. The line of kids tramped across the asphalt and past the brightly painted sign above the door: ‘Granite Elementary: Get a Rock Solid Education’.

Zach marched forward with the rest of the class. He was busy marching—one, two, one, two—when the tingling feeling came back to his fingertips. It was like he absolutely, positively couldn’t NOT do what he was about to do.

Slowly, Zach reached into his pocket and slipped the joke ring on. He imagined holding the ring up and aiming it at the back of Yolanda. Pressing the secret button. Letting loose the hidden stream of water. Having it whack her square in the