Dingus Read online

  This book is dedicated to every teacher who has ever made a difference. And to Esther, who makes all the difference in the world.

  ISBN 978-1-77138-880-1 (EPUB)

  Text © 2017 Andrew Larsen

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of Kids Can Press Ltd. or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a license from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright license, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance of characters to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book and Kids Can Press Ltd. was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been printed in initial capital letters (e.g., Scrabble).

  Kids Can Press gratefully acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Media Development Corporation; the Ontario Arts Council; the Canada Council for the Arts; and the Government of Canada, through the CBF, for our publishing activity.

  Published in Canada and the U.S. by Kids Can Press Ltd.

  25 Dockside Drive, Toronto, ON M5A 0B5

  Kids Can Press is a Corus Entertainment Inc. company

  www.kidscanpress.com

  Edited by Yvette Ghione

  Designed by Marie Bartholomew

  Jacket illustrations by Ian Turner

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Larsen, Andrew, 1960–, author

  Dingus / written by Andrew Larsen.

  ISBN 978-1-77138-661-6 (hardback)

  I. Title.

  PS8623.A77D56 2017 jC813’.6 C2016-903201-9

  1

  “Poop!”

  “Poop?”

  “On your shoulder.”

  “What?”

  “A bird just pooped on your shoulder,” said Max.

  “When?”

  “Just now.”

  I looked at my left shoulder.

  Nothing.

  I looked at my right shoulder.

  Bingo!

  A big load of bird poop was dribbling down the front of my shirt.

  “Why would a bird do that?” I asked.

  “It’s what birds do,” said Max. “They say it’s good luck when a bird poops on you.”

  “Who says it’s good luck?”

  “I don’t know, but don’t worry, Henry,” said Max. “You can wash it off when we get to school.”

  “I don’t want to wash it off. I want to get rid of this shirt,” I said. “It’s disgusting.”

  “Here,” said Max, unbuttoning his own shirt and offering it to me. “You can wear this.” It was long-sleeved, black with red stripes. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt underneath.

  “Thanks,” I said, carefully taking off my dirty shirt so none of the poop would get on me. I put on Max’s black shirt. It was too big, but at least it was clean. “You actually gave me the shirt off your back.”

  “It’s not such a big deal,” he said. “It’s what best friends do. Besides, I’m still wearing a T-shirt.”

  I dropped the poopy shirt in the first garbage bin we passed.

  It had been a big day. The first day of spring and also the first time I’d walked to school by myself. Well, I had been with Max. But, for once, I hadn’t been walking to school with my mom or dad.

  I’d been looking forward to this day for a long, long time. Max had started walking to school on his own last year, in fourth grade. I’d still had to walk to school with one of my parents. Sometimes Max had walked with us, but it was his choice. I’d had no choice. I had been starting to think I’d be a teenager before I was allowed to walk to school by myself.

  And then, the night before, my mom had said, “You’re almost finished fifth grade, Henry. We think it’s time.”

  “Time for what?” I asked.

  “Your dad and I have agreed that it’s okay for you to walk to school with Max,” she said.

  “Just me and Max?”

  “Just you and Max,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Remember to look both ways before you cross the street,” my dad said. “And be careful of the cars.”

  “Caw! Caw!” said my baby brother, Sam, sounding a little like a crow. He had turned one a few months before. He has his own way of saying everything.

  “I promise I’ll be careful!” I said. “And to look both ways.”

  “I know you’ll do fine,” said my mom. “Just be sure to pay attention to everything that’s going on around you.”

  “I will. I promise,” I said. “So you’re really not going to walk me to school anymore? This isn’t some kind of prank?”

  “I’m really not going to walk you to school anymore,” my dad said.

  “Max and I can walk by ourselves?”

  My parents smiled and nodded.

  “YES!” I said, jumping up and down.

  “YETH!” said Sam, doing his happy dance. I don’t know if he knew why I was so happy, but it seemed to make him happy. Maybe he was happy because I was happy and that was enough. Who knows?

  First day of spring.

  First day of walking to school on my own.

  Things had definitely been looking up.

  I just wish somebody had warned me to look out for the poop.

  2

  Mr. Buntrock is my favorite teacher. My kindergarten teacher was great. And I loved my third-grade teacher. But Mr. Buntrock is different. He treats his students like real people. He tells us stories about his own life and about the way things used to be when he was a kid.

  Every morning, after the announcements, Mr. Buntrock teaches us a new word. He says it’s one of the most important things we can learn. Words matter, he says. They matter in life as much as they do in Scrabble.

  “Once, when I was playing Scrabble, I got sixty-two points for a two-letter word,” said Jamal. “Za.”

  “So you know what I’m talking about, Jamal,” said Mr. Buntrock. “You need a good vocabulary if you want to get a good score. Today’s word is homophone. A homophone is a word that sounds the same as another word but is often spelled differently or has a different meaning. For instance, today is the first day of spring. Spring is one of the four seasons, but spring can also mean a sudden leap or movement. It can mean an underground source of water. It’s one word with several different meanings. That makes it a homophone. Can you think of another homophone?”

  I looked at Max.

  Max looked at me.

  We laughed.

  We were thinking of the same thing. It happens to us a lot. It’s like our brains are in sync. We said the exact same thing at the exact same time.

  “Poop!”

  “Poop?” said Mr. Buntrock. “Interesting. Do you have to go to the bathroom or are you telling me that poop is a homophone?”

  The whole class laughed.

  “It’s a homophone,” said Max. “Henry got bird poop on his shirt when we were walking to school today.”

  “Ew!” said Selena. “Gross.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I ditched the shirt. It’s all good.”

  “They say it’s good luck when a bird poops on you,” said Mr. Buntrock.

  “Who says that?” I asked. I really wanted to know. I couldn’t understand how something so disgusting could
actually be lucky.

  Mr. Buntrock laughed. “Everybody. But they might just be saying it to make people feel better when a bird poops on them. Can you give me another meaning for the word poop? If it’s a homophone, it has multiple meanings.”

  “Someone who is a fool or an idiot,” I said. “You could call them a poop. I think it comes from the word nincompoop. I saw it in one of my old dictionaries.”

  “That’s good, Henry,” said Mr. Buntrock. “Who can think of another homophone?”

  “I know,” said Bill, waving his hand. “Bill is a homophone. Obviously, Bill is my name. But a bill is also what a duck has, instead of lips. It’s also what you get when you finish a meal in a restaurant.”

  “School is a homophone,” added Selena. “We’re in school right now, but if we were a bunch of salmon swimming together we’d be called a school of fish.”

  “So, there you have it,” said Mr. Buntrock. “Now you know what a homophone is. Your vocabulary has grown since you arrived at school this morning. If you learn anything else today, it’s icing on the cake. Now, let’s do a little laughter yoga.”

  Laughter yoga isn’t really yoga. It’s funnier. When we do laughter yoga we stand in a big circle at the back of the classroom. Mr. Buntrock says it’s a great way to clear our minds of clutter before we exercise our brains.

  “Let’s start with some slow, deep breaths,” he began. “Breathe into your belly and out through your mouth. Breathe in and breathe out. Laughter starts in the belly and it comes out through your mouth. It starts small and gets bigger. Choose someone to laugh with. Look them in the eye.”

  Max and I paired up like always.

  “Cross your eyes,” continued Mr. Buntrock. “If you can’t cross your eyes, you can flare your nostrils or stick out your tongue. Make a funny face. Now hold that face while you’re looking at your partner. Be ridiculous. Remember to keep breathing in and breathing out.”

  I tried to cross my eyes but that didn’t work. I couldn’t flare my nostrils, either. So I just stuck out my tongue.

  Max was crossing his eyes, flaring his nostrils and wagging his tongue at the same time. He’s multitalented.

  “Let the smile start in your belly as you breathe in, and let it grow into a little laugh as you breathe out,” said Mr. Buntrock. “Breathe in and breathe out. Look at your partner and let the laughter out. Breathe in and breathe out.”

  Max and I were smirking, but we weren’t laughing. Not yet. Soon, though, my smirk grew into a little laugh. The laugh got bigger with every breath. It felt good.

  “Now, look around the circle and share your laughter with the rest of us,” said Mr. Buntrock. “Make eye contact with your classmates. Let the laughter start in your belly, and let it come out through your mouth.”

  By then, the whole class was laughing. Even Mr. Buntrock. It’s not like we were thinking of anything funny. We weren’t laughing at each other. We were laughing with each other.

  There’s a big difference.

  3

  When Max was in second grade he joined the chess club at school. At first he went one afternoon a week. He got hooked pretty fast. He started going two afternoons a week, then three. That summer he went to sleepover camp for the first time. It was a chess camp.

  I’m not surprised Max is so good at chess. He’s good at math, too. He’s one of those kids who can do math problems in his head. He can solve a Rubik’s Cube in less than two minutes. You might say he’s a bit of a brainiac. He’s not like me. I can barely do one side of a Rubik’s Cube and even that takes me a little while. You could give me a week and I still couldn’t solve a whole Rubik’s Cube.

  Max taught me to play chess when we were in third grade. I even beat him once. Max was surprised when I won. At first he claimed he wasn’t really trying. Then he said I had made an illegal move that cost him the game.

  “Illegal?” I said. “When did I make an illegal move? I won. You know I won.”

  “You didn’t win,” said Max. “You made an illegal move two turns ago. You can’t move your knight the way you did. You cheated!”

  “I didn’t cheat,” I said. “Anyway, if I was cheating then, why didn’t you say something? You can’t complain about something I did two moves ago. It’s not fair.”

  “I didn’t know I was going to lose,” he said. “If I knew I was going to lose I would have said something.”

  That was the last time we played chess together.

  Last November Max led the chess club to a second-place finish at the citywide Fifth Grade Fall Chess Challenge. Everyone on the team got a silver medal. They wore their medals to school the next day. They started to act like they were in some sort of secret society. They had their own little jokes that only they understood. It was obnoxious.

  When they were getting ready for the Fifth Grade Spring Chess Challenge, Max and his teammates practiced all the time. They even practiced on the weekends. Max and I were supposed to go to the movies one Saturday afternoon but he canceled. He said he had to go to chess practice instead.

  “Can’t you miss one little practice?” I said. “Can’t you say you have other plans?”

  “I can’t,” he said. “The whole chess team is counting on me to be there.”

  “But I was counting on you, too,” I said. “We were going to see The Revenge of Gravity Man. We’ve been talking about seeing it for ages.”

  “We can go another time, Henry,” said Max. “The Fifth Grade Spring Chess Challenge is a big deal. We have to practice if we want to win.”

  “I know.”

  I knew the Fifth Grade Spring Chess Challenge was a big deal. And I knew he had to practice before the tournament. But knowing all that didn’t make me feel any better. Max was spending more and more time with the chess club and less and less time with me. I almost started to wish I was in the chess club, too.

  And then, Max and the chess club won the Spring Chess Challenge. They all wore their gold medals to school. There was even a special Assembly of Champions where each member of the team was introduced and they got to show off their trophy. Chess was all Max and the rest of the team talked about at lunch. They kept on telling the same stories about all the funny things that had happened at the Challenge.

  I looked for other people to sit with at lunch, but that didn’t work out so well. When you’ve been sitting beside the same person for so long, it’s not so easy to suddenly switch places. Everyone has their usual spot, so I couldn’t really move around without taking someone else’s spot. I ended up sitting by myself at the far end of the fifth-grade lunch table. Max didn’t seem to notice. He was busy with all his new friends. The truth is I still wanted to sit with him. I just wanted him to get tired of his chess friends.

  Max was changing. I wasn’t changing at all. He had his chess club and his chess club friends. What did I have?

  I had Max. Sort of. That was it.

  4

  It was the kind of spring afternoon that feels like summer. Health and phys ed was the last class of the day. We were doing a unit on puberty and the reproductive system. The boys went with Mr. Cameron and the girls went with Miss Strothers. We watched a movie called The Mysteries of Puberty.

  The movie was made up of a bunch of random scenes with teenagers doing different things. After each scene the narrator explained what was really going on inside the teenagers’ brains. Sometimes, according to the film, we aren’t aware of why we behave the way we do. Most of that can be explained by puberty, when our hormones kick in when we’re twelve or thirteen. It makes our behavior change. Our bodies, too. I hope it never happens to me. It seems too weird. I’m pretty sure Mr. Cameron showed us the movie because it was easier than talking about it. It was less embarrassing — for him and for us.

  After class, Max was hanging out by the benches with some of his chess friends. They were all trying to solve their Rubik’s Cubes. Max was
showing off his new Deluxe Speed Cube. It wasn’t enough that he could solve his old Rubik’s Cube in less than two minutes. Max wanted to be faster than Jamal. Jamal’s record is thirty-seven seconds. Max claimed he needed the Deluxe Speed Cube if he was going to beat that.

  “At a certain point, Henry, it’s more about the quality of the equipment than the player’s skill,” he said. “The Speed Cube is designed to be fast.”

  I was waiting for him to be finished with his cubing so we could walk home together. That’s when I spotted my mom by the side doors. She was talking to one of the other parents.

  “Mom?” I called.

  “Hi, Henry!” she said, walking toward me.

  “What are you doing here?” I said.

  “I left work a little early so I could surprise you.”

  “How come?” I said.

  “I just wanted to surprise you.” She smiled.

  I wasn’t convinced. She hadn’t come to meet me after school since she started working. That was about a year ago, a few months after my baby brother was born. My mom works as a sales representative for Herbit, a company that makes herbal supplements. They make pills and liquids out of things like mint and dandelion and licorice and tree bark. Lots of people take pills made out of that kind of stuff. My mom’s job is to sell Herbit products to stores so the stores can sell it to their customers.

  “I was waiting to go home with Max,” I said. “But he’s busy showing off with his new Deluxe Speed Cube.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, I have a better idea. Let’s go down to Park Street and get ourselves some cake.”

  “What kind of cake?”

  “Henry and Mommy cake,” she giggled. I did a quick scan of the playground to make sure nobody was listening. I love my mom but there’s a certain way to talk to your kid in public. Still, I was glad my mom was there. That meant I didn’t have to keep watching Max show off.

  “I’m outta here, Max,” I called out, interrupting his Deluxe Speed Cube demonstration.

  He looked over and nodded, but he didn’t say anything.

  “So, what’s the special occasion?” I asked my mom as we walked down to Park Street.