The Spoon in the Bathroom Wall by Tony Johnston

normal way. They’re not babies or slobbering spaniels. Just roll along. They’ll catch up with you.”
    â€œAND I’VE CAUGHT UP TO
YOU
, LITTLE MISSY!”
    Crikers! Klunk!
    Â 
    â€œPretty hard not to,” remarked Ferlin. “She’s sitting stone still.”
    â€œDon’t get smart with me,” snapped Dr. Klunk. “Those Snapdragons blatted about the spoon. Just look what they’ve done!” He jabbed a fat finger at all the people crowding the corridor.
    â€œMarthur and her father didn’t peep,” Ferlin said.
    â€œAnyway, I’m having them arrested,” Klunk spluttered.
    â€œFor talking about a spoon? Since when is that a crime?”
    All this time the line was getting longer.
    â€œOH, FORGET IT!” Klunk yelled.
    â€œWhere are you going?” asked Marthur, worried about the law.
    â€œTo butt in line!”

XX

    Marthur Was sure that, one way or another, the slippery Klunk would get the spoon. Then he would be king. Or Rufus, maybe, if he had his way. Marthur and her father were going to jail. She couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t concentrate on Lesson Two.
    Ferlin looked right at her. “Marthur,” she said, “do you want to quit?”
    Marthur looked at Ferlin. She felt suddenly calm. She knew she could do this. Slowly she said, “No. No, I don’t want to quit. I’m going to be a teacher—no matter what.” She added, “Hold fast.”
    â€œGood girl!”
    Then Ferlin said, “Chalk, lie down! Marthur, you’re worn out. Go home. But tomorrow we romp through the rest.”
    â€œThe rest?”
    â€œThe rest of the lessons. You’re going to need them all—
soon
.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    Ferlin’s eyes glowed. “I just DO.”
    Â 
    Marthur felt strong. She could learn how to teach; she just knew it.
    She walked out of Ferlin’s room and into pandemonium. Every class had been canceled because of the spoon. Every kid (and every teacher) at Horace E. Bloggins School had poured into the halls, blathering about kings. Or they were shoving one another around in the ever-growing line, waiting to have a go at the fabulous spoon. (The minions had abandoned Rufus to take their best shot.)
    Marthur jostled her way through the milling masses, repeating all she knew about teaching; “You never know what you’re teaching.” “Don’t look down—no! Don’t
talk
down.”
    It was a lot to grasp. Could she ever learn it all? “Hold fast!” she exhorted herself. “Hold fast!”
    â€œHold up!” hissed a voice.
    A holdup!
Marthur thought. She nearly collapsed.
    It was Rufus. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. His face got red.
    â€œHuh?” said Marthur, stupefied.
    â€œI know what you did.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œThanks for trying to get me into your stupid special class with your stupid special teacher.”
    A lightbulb flashed on in Marthur’s brain. A BIG one.
Special teacher!
It was the second time he’d said that. That was it! Marthur blurted, “You could have a teacher of your own.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œMe. I could help you with school.”
    â€œI don’t need help,” Rufus snarled.
    â€œSo be a dope.”
    â€œWell, maybe I could use a
teensy
bit,” Rufus admitted slowly.
    â€œOkay,” said Marthur. “I’ll tutor you—if you leave me and my father alone.”
    â€œDeal—if you keep your trap shut about it.”
    Marthur stuck her hand out. “Shake,” she said.
    â€œNo way.” Rufus looked at her like she had cooties.
    â€œWhen do we start?” he asked.
    â€œTomorrow night,” said Marthur. “At my place. Bring your math book.”
    Â 
    For the time being Marthur could relax—as long as she helped Rufus. But as a teacher with only two lessons under her belt, she was pretty green. She was glad that the