The Life and Times of Andy Richards

Andy Richards was jolted back to consciousness by the sound of his jangling alarm clock. A hand reached out from under the bed covers as the offending sound split the stillness of the dark bedroom. Andy groped blindly across the surface of the nightstand, brushing past a pair of glasses and a paperback book toward the source of offending noise.

“Just five more minutes,” Andy muttered to himself, still mostly asleep. As he continued to grope his way toward the jangling alarm clock. Eventually, he found the snooze button and pushed it. Silence descended. Andy emerged from under the covers, and sat up in bed. He yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then groped in the semi-darkness a second time. His hand closed over something circular. He put on his glasses and clicked on the lamp on his nightstand, wincing slightly as the room was illuminated.

In the dim light cast by the lamp, Andy was just able to read the calendar stuck to the wall next to the bed. A date was circled in red pencil. He had written start of school in neat printing. A surge of excitement upon rush through Andy. Oh, yeah, he thought to himself.

He pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He slipped his bare feet into a pair of slippers and got out of bed, he crossed the room in a few strides, pulled open the door, and stepped out into the hall. Andy let the door swing shut behind him. It closed with a soft thump. He made his way down the hall past the linen closet, past the door to his twin brothers’ bedroom and his parents’s room. He stopped in from of the bathroom door and entered the bathroom.

The space within was decorated in soft pastel colours. On one side of the room, stood a wash basin with a large rectangular mirror. On the opposite wall, a towel rack bore several thick, fluffy-looking bath towels. A toilet stood beside the washbasin, while the far end of the room was dominated by a bathtub with a shower.

Andy walked past the sink and stopped in front of the toilet. He lifted the lid and unbuttoned the fly of his pyjama trousers, and proceeded to empty his bladder. When he had finished and put himself away, he pulled on the toilet’s handle. It gurgled loudly as it swirled its contents away and out of sight.

He turned back toward the mirror and the washbasin. A stool sat on the floor in front of the sink. He stepped up on to it and stared at himself in the mirror, A nine year-old aardvark with an average physique stared back at him. Andy pulled off his pyjama top and reached across the counter for the bar of soap and a face cloth. Hot water splashed into the basin. Andy held the face cloth under the hot water, letting it flow over his hands. When the face cloth was thoroughly soaked, Andy wrung it out and began to rub the bar of soap against the wash cloth, which was draped over Andy’s left hand.

After a minute or two, Andy had built up a thick lather and proceeded to scrub down his chest, back and under his armpits. He was just in the act of squeezing some toothpaste on to his toothbrush when there was a knock on the bathroom door.

“Andy?” It was the voice of one of Andy’s twin brothers, Elliot. “Are you almost finished in there? Mom says to hurry ups or you’re going to miss the bus.”

“OK, Elliot,” replied Andy. “I’ll be right down.” He quickly finished brushing his teeth, spit out his mouthful of toothpaste, pulled on his pyjama top and suppressed a slight grimace. Andy’s chest and back had not yet had time to dry and the dampness in Andy’s fur soaked through his clothes. Andy didn’t like the feeling of wet clothes on his body.

Andy left the bathroom and returned to his bedroom. He clicked on the overhead light. Books, toys and clothes were scattered all over the room. Andy’s still unmade bed stood along one wall. Above it, hung a poster bearing the image of an aardvark in a tuxedo battling robots announced its hero as Ace Danger: International Aardvark of Action. Early morning sunlight lanced into the room through two large windows that looked out on to the front yard and the street. A computer sat on a desk between them surrounded by scattered papers and the stubs of well chewed pencils. Opposite the desk and the computer stood a tall crest of drawers. A baseball glove sat amid a haphazard collection of trophies. Andy’s baseball team, the Oakmont Owls, had won their division championship this summer only to lose the provincial finals in game five agains the Hamilton Hawks. Just thinking about it made Andy smart a little, even a month later. On the other side of Andy’s bedroom door was a low dresser full of clothes. A baseball bat was propped casually in a corner. The wall opposite the bed was occupied by a large closet.

Without further ado, Andy pulled off his pyjamas and unceremoniously dumped them into his laundry hamper. He approached the low dresser and opened drawers, one after the other, rummaging through their contents, pulling out socks and clean underwear. He pulled on a clean pair of briefs and turned his attention toward the closet, from which he retrieved a pair of jeans and a sweater.

Once he was dressed, Andy went down stairs and entered the kitchen amid the clamour of voices and the clatter of cutlery. The rest of his family sat around the breakfast table. Andy’s mother looked up as her youngest son came into the room.

“Morning Mom,” said Andy cheerfully.

She got up from the table, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Her long pointed ears twitched slightly. “Andy, come and sit down and have some breakfast. You’ve only got a few minutes before the school bus comes. “

“OK, Mom.” He let himself be guided around the table to his usual seat in between Elliot and Jason. They were both twelve, but that was where the similarities ended. Elliot was quiet, nerdy and withdrawn. He generally didn’t say very much, but once he got going on Star Trek, it was almost impossible to get him to stop. Jason was outgoing and athletic. He was the captain of the Oakmont Sharks. The Oakmont Sharks were the Oakmont Middle School’s competitive swim team. Andy could swim, but not nearly as well as Jason, who practically seemed to turn into a fish in the water.

Andy pulled out his chair. He had barely settled into his seat when he felt something warm and heavy on his thigh. He looked down and at the large square face of a black Labrador retriever who was staring up at him with a well-practiced pitiful look on his face. Andy chuckled to himself. “Morning, Buddy,” he said. He gave Buddy an affectionate scratch behind the ears. A staccato thudding emanated from under the table as Buddy happily beat his tail against the floor.

Andy removed his hand from the top of Buddy’s head and pulled a plate and several pieces of toast toward himself, along with the butter and a jar of strawberry jam. He smeared butter and jam on his toast, doing his best to ignore Buddy’s piteous gaze and occasional nudges, as Buddy had long ago learned to recognize an easy mark, because twice Andy’s hand disappeared below the table and a piece of toast disappeared into Buddy’s slobbering maw, never to be seen again.

Andy was halfway through his second glass of orange juice when his father said to the room at large, “Come on kids, the bus is almost here. You had better get going or you’ll be late.” At these words, everyone dropped what they were doing and the kitchen was filled with the discordant scraping of chairs against the floor.

Andy quickly swallowed the last of his orange juice and followed Elliot and Jason out of the kitchen. There was a scrum in the hall as they all bid each other goodbye and put on their shoes. Andy slid his feet into a pair of sneakers, slung his backpack over his shoulders and accepted a kiss from his mother. He made his way to the front door,

Andy followed his brothers out of the house and on to the front porch. It was a crisp September morningThe two-storey house was set well back from the street. The house was partially obscured by large maple tree. It’s foliage was faintly tinged with the red and gold of autumn. A large expanse of green lawn ran down from the front of the house to the sidewalk. A pair of cars sat in the driveway next to the lawn. Andy made his way down the front walk to the sidewalk in front of the house and pushed open the gate at the end of it. The hinges squeaked as it swung shut behind him. Jason’s voice echoed off of the surrounding houses as he called to someone across the street.

“Hi Bobby.”

“Hi, Jason. Have a good summer?”

“Yeah, it was great.”

Andy turned and walked in the opposite direction from his brothers. Almost as an after thought, Jason tossed a casual, “Bye Andy,” over his shoulder as he made his way up the street.

“Bye Jason,” called Andy after his retreating back. Andy turned back in the direction of the bus stop. He had taken no more than two or three steps when someone called his name.

“Hey, Andy!”

Andy turned his head, looking around to see where the shout had come from.

“Andy!”

Andy turned toward the sound of his voice. A boy was standing the opposite side of the street, waving at him. Andy beamed and waved back. He turned and jogged across the street, covering the distance in a dozen or so strides and hopped onto the curb where the other boy stood waiting. “Hi Barney,” said Andy.

Barney Pendleton was a bear the same age as Andy who lived three streets away. He was a solidly built boy with a barrel chest, thick, dark brown fur and beady black eyes. Andy and Barney had been friends since kindergarten. Andy hadn’t seen Barney all summer. He had been camping with his fathers in northern Ontario. His father, Nathan Pendleton was a geologist. He spent his summers doing field work in the northern bush. This summer Dr. Pendleton had decided that Barney was old enough to go with him. Barney had a keen interest in rocks and had leapt at the chance. Barney’s other father played the clarinet for the Toronto Symphony.

“So how was your summer?” asked Andy and Barney at the same time. The two boys laughed.

“You first,” said Andy.

Barney shook his head. “No,” he said, “you go first. I want to hear all about baseball.” Barney was even less athletically inclined that Andy was, but he loved baseball. He had a natural head for numbers and could conjure up baseball stats in ways that made Andy jealous.

“Well, OK,” replied Andy. He spoke for the next fifteen minutes, during which time Barney listened without saying anything. They had almost arrived at the bust stop by the time Andy finished his story. “So anyway we probably would have won, except for the fact that Bobby Sundergard broke his ankle sliding into third base.”

Barney winced in sympathy at these words. He had broken his ankle when he was six after tripping over a garden rake and had spent six weeks confined to his room. “Has anyone signed his cast yet?” asked Barney.

Andy nodded. “Of course. The whole team.” The two boys came to a stop on the edge of a gaggle of kids and parents of various sizes and descriptions.. The air was filled with the low hum of a dozen different conversations as kids and parents got caught up on each others’ summer news.

“So tell me about your summer,” said Andy.

“It was super,” said Barney, a note of excitement in his voice. “Dad was doing research for his next paper.”

“What’s this one about?”

Barney screwed up his face with effort, trying to remember. “I think it was ‘the geology of how glacial flow affects the landscape,’ or something like that, but we had a great time. We saw the Northern Lights and he taught me how to fish.” Barney’s face changed again, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Maybe you could come with us next time. You’d love it.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Andy, “sounds like you had fun.”

Barney opened his mouth to say something else when Andy noticed movement in the corner of his eye.

“Hi Andy.”

Andy turned and found himself staring a rabbit with soft grey fur and backpack dangled loosely from one shoulder. A thick mane of chestnut hair fell down to her shoulders. She was wearing a simple blue dress that fell to just below her knees. Andy felt a slight flush that he couldn’t account for creep into his cheeks. Andy had to work at pushing the sensation away. “Hi Clara,” he said. “How was…” he thought for a second or two, searching his memory, Something told him that she had gone to camp this summer. Didn’t she go to ballet camp? Andy thought. He was pretty sure that she had “How was ballet camp?” He asked.

“Wonderful,” replied Clara. “I learned how to perform a jete and I was the lead dancer for our end of summer production, Passion of the Stars.” Clara was thin and willowy which gave her a slightly ethereal aura; She lived with her sister and her father, who was a car mechanic. Clara had never known her mother, she had died when Clara was three years old.

“So what did you do this summer, Andy?” Clara asked.

Andy felt his cheeks flush at the mere thought that Clara was interested in what he had done over the summer break. “Oh, you know,” he began, adopting a casual tone of voice, as if losing the provincial championship was no big deal, because of Bobby Sundergard’s broken ankle. In actuality, Andy had been named MVP. He suddenly realized that he had forgotten to mention that to Barney. “Not much, just played baseball. It was pretty quiet.”

Before any of them could say anything else, the air was split by the sound of a diesel engine. As if of one mind, the entire assemblage of kids and parents turned toward the source of the noise. Andy, Barney and Clara followed suit.

The bright yellow school bus rolled to a stop amid the hiss of air brakes. The door groaned open and a flurry of goodbyes was lost amid the low grumbling of the school bus’s engine. Andy, Barney and Clara joined the flow of kids toward the door.

They reached the door, fell into line and waited their turn to board the school bus. Clara stepped off of the curb and climbed up the two or three steps and onto the bus. Barney clambered up after her. Andy placed his hand on the grab bar and was poised to step off the curb when another boy cut in front of him. “Hey!” Andy said indignantly. “I was next Mike.” The other boy was a solidly built bulldog with white and brown fur. Mike Duncan paused and turned to look down at Andy. “Not any more you aren’t.”

Andy scowled at Mike’s retreating back, his good mood at having seen his friends again after summer vacation, having apparently evaporated. He opened his mouth to utter a retort, but someone prodded him in the back before he could say anything.

“Can you please move? You’re blocking the door.”

Andy looked over his shoulder. He found himself staring an otter in a hoodie. “Huh?” Andy said, slightly confused. Then his brain clicked into gear and he remembered where he was. “Oh, right,” he said, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Sorry.” Andy turned and clambered up the steps onto the school bus.

# # #

The bus pulled into the parking lot of Oakmont Elementary School twenty minutes later. Andy, Barney and Clara got up and filed off the bus with the other kids.

“So what was that about?” Barney asked.

“What was what about?” Andy replied. He had spent the entire bus ride trying to forget about his encounter with Mike Duncan. He had almost succeeded until Barney’s question brought it all back.

Andy scowled again and Barney and Clara traded a look. “Mike said something to you,” said Clara, “and you looked upset. What did he say?”

Andy took in a breath, held it for ten seconds then let it out slowly. “That was Mike just being a jerk.He cut in front of me on the school bus and wouldn’t apologize.”

“Come on,” said Barney, “let’s go inside.”

Oakmont Elementary School was a two-storey structure constructed of tan brick. A broad expanse of green lawn stretched across the front of the school. A tall flag pole stood in front. The Canadian flag snapped in the breeze. Andy, Barney and Clara joined the flow of kids and teachers across the lawn, up the steps, through a set of wide double doors and into the school’s main entrance.

The shouts of kids and the voices of teachers trying to corral their charges echoed off the walls. Andy Barney and Clara walked past the door to the library, which was just inside the front door, and toward the principal’s office, which was half way down the hall toward the gym. They reached the edge of a scrum of kids who were staring avidly at a list of names tacked to a large bulletin board next to Mr. Findley’s office.

They threaded their way through the crowd and came to a stop in front of the list of names. Andy ran his index finger down the list, searching for his own name. After a couple of minutes of searching, he found what he was looking for.

Richards, A…Rm. 304…Mr. Chandler…locker 406

Next to him, Barney had been scrutinizing the list of names. He was leaning in so closely that his nose was almost touching the paper as searched for his classroom assignment and locker number. After a second or two, his face brightened and he turned to Andy. “I have Mr. Chandler again this year well.”

“Great,” Andy replied. “We can sit next to each other again.”

The two boys turned to Clara. Andy and Barney both wore the same expectant look on their faces. They had all had Mr. Chandler last year. Clara paused for a moment before answering. “Well,” she began slowly, “I’m in Mrs., Chao’s class this year. She pointed to the list of names.

Frankenhiemer, C…Mrs. Chao…Rm. 322…locker 106

Andy’s face fell. “Oh,”

“Well,” asked Barney after a minute or two of silence, “where’s your locker?”

“I have locker 106,” said Clara. “Where’s your?”

“I have locker 374,” Barney replied. He glanced at Andy. “Where’s yours?”

“406,:” replied Andy. He thought for a second and then nodded at Barney. “You’re not far from me. My locker is down toward the gym.”

Barney nodded. “I think mine is across from the boys’ bathroom.” His face pulled into a frown and he looked at Clara. “Where’s yours?”

Clara wore a doleful look. “My locker is on the first floor-“

“-near the library,” Andy finished.

“How are we going to see each other?” Barney asked.

“I don’t know,” said Andy. Even as he spoke, a part of him suddenly felt as if he and Barney were standing on one side of an enormous chasm, and Clara was standing on the other side. He imagine himself shouting at her at the top of his lungs, but she couldn’t hear him.

“There’s still before and after school,” said Barney, interrupting Andy’s train of thought. “And recess.”

“Right,” said Andy, “and weekends.”

A shadow fell over them. They all turned as one and found themselves looking up at the tall, striped form of Principal Findley.

“What are you three still doing here?” asked Principal Findley.

“Hi, Principal Findley,” said Andy. “We were just looking for our classroom assignments.”

“Well you had better hurry up,” said the zebra. “The bell is about to ring.” He pointed at his watch. “You don’t want to be marked absent on your first day of school, do you?”

The three of them shook their heads. “No, Principal Findley,” replied Barney.

“Well you had better get going, hadn’t you?”

Andy, Barney and Clara all looked at each other.

“Well…” began Andy.

“Uhhh…” said Barney.

“I’ll look for you at recess,” said Clara.

“Yeah,” said Andy. “Sounds good.”

Barney tugged on Andy’s arm. “Let’s go,” he said.

Andy and Barney turned and made their way down the hallway. Barney pushed open a heavy door and Andy followed him through it. It swung shut with a loud bang that made Andy’s eardrums throb violently in the confined space of the stairwell. The echo of their footsteps was lost in the fading reverberations of the closing door as they thudded up the stairs.

Andy and Barney reached the top and pushed open the door then half sprinted down the hall to Room 406, arriving slightly out of breath.The two boys tumbled into the classroom just as the bell rang with a loud clamour.

A squat platypus dressed in a jacket and trousers stood at the front of room, a neatly knotted tie around his neck. He was only a little taller than Andy.

“Hi, Mr. Chandler,” said Andy.

“Sorry we were almost late,” said Barney.

Mr. Chandler’s face was an inscrutable mask and Andy suddenly remembered that Mr. Chandler could be very difficult to read.

“Hello boys,” replied Mr. Chandler. “Please take your seats.” He gestured to the only two unoccupied desks, .Andy and Barney took their seats, one behind the other, No sooner had they sat down, then Principle Findley’s voice crackled out of the PA system. “Please stand for morning exercises.” The classroom was filled with the scraping of chairs as everybody stood.

They all droned through O Canada. The last notes of the national anthem died away and Principle Findley came on the PA again. “Hello Oakmont Elementary,” he said. “Welcome back from summer vacation. We have another exciting year of learning and growing together to look forward to. As it’s the first day of school there are no extracurricular announcements as yet. I only want to wish you good luck with your studies.” The PA box issued a squelch of static as Principle Findley signed off then went silent.

The class turned its attention back to Mr. Chandler. He adjusted his glasses. “Good morning class.”

As if of one voice, the classroom full of students said, “Good morning, Mr. Chandler.”

Mr. Chandler glanced around the room and continued speaking . “I see some new faces, as well as some familiar ones,” he said. “To those of you who are new to my class, welcome. To those of you who are returning, welcome back. To all of you, welcome to the fourth grade. I know we’re all going to have a lot of fun this year, but before we can get to all the learning, we first need to take attendance.” The pen in his hand clicked loudly. He looked down at his class list and began to read off the names, one by one. “Nathan Andover.”

A gangly moose in the back row said, “present.”

Tick.

“David Parsons.”

“Present,” said a dog with long drooping ears.

Tick,.

“Charlie Cartwright.”

“Present,” said a white rabbit.

Tick.

“Laura Sunderguard.”

“Present,” said a black cat.

Mr. Chandler spent the next ten minutes reading everyone’s names. When he was finished taking attendance, Mr. Chandler turned and walked back toward his desk. He deposited the clipboard and the pen on it. They landed on the desk with a clatter. Most of the surface of the desk was occupied by a large ink blotter. A cup full of pens and pencils stood to one side. Next to it was a pencil sharpener. On the floor next to the desk was a metal wastepaper basket.

Mr. Chandler went over to a bookcase standing in the corner between the window, which looked out over the playground, and the blackboard. The bookcase sagged under the weight of school books various of sizes and descriptions. Mr. Chandler took several stacks of paperback books down from the shelf before facing the class. “Who would like to be my assistant and hand these out.” He had hardly finished speaking when a forest of hands went up. “Barney,” he said, “please come here and hand these out.”

The hands went down and Barney skipped skipped to the front of the class. He took the books from Mr. Chandler, and made his way up and down the rows, depositing one on everybody’s desk.

In the meantime, Mr. Chandler continued talking, “Our first order of business is to lay out some ground rules and expectations. Those of you who were in my third grade class last year can guess what I am going to say next.” He paused momentarily to adjust his spectacles, which were balanced on his bill. “I only have one rule in my class: do your best. If you have a question, don’t understand something or find a task too difficult, don’t hesitate to tell me and I will help you as best I can.” He paused and silence fell over the classroom. “Does anyone have any questions?” Nobody did. “Please open your readers to page fifteen.”

# # #

When the bell rang for morning recess, Andy felt as though his head was swimming. He liked Mr. Chandler, but he had apparently forgotten that Mr. Chandler asked a lot of his students, despite what he had said at the beginning of the day. That morning, in addition to English, they had also had grammar, in which Mr. Chandler had introduced them to nouns and pronouns. Mr. Chandler had also wasted no time in assigning them a book report, which they hadn’t had to do last year. Andy’s first thought had been to write his book report on one of his favourite Ace Danger novels, he had almost the entire set, but this thought had been dashed almost immediately by Mr. Chandler.

“You may write your book report on any book you choose. However,” he had held up a cautionary finger, “you may not read a book you have read before, or a book based on a TV show, movie or video game. You have one week to select a book. If you have not selected a book for your book report by next week, I will select one for you.”

Andy and Barney followed the flow of kids and teachers out of the school through the doors and into the recess yard. “There she is,” said Barney, pointing.

On the far side of the playground, Andy spotted a figure in a lavender dress next to the jungle gym. He gave Barney a nudge. “C’mon,” he said, “I wonder how Clara is doing with Mrs. Chao.”

“Let’s find out,” replied Barney.

The two boys set off at a jog across the schoolyard. They were slightly out of breath when they got to the jungle gym a couple of minutes later.

“Hi Clara,” said Andy, sucking in a breath.

Clara pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Hi Andy. How was Mr. Chandler?”

“I don’t know if its my imagination,” Andy began, “but I think grade four is going to be a lot harder than grade three.”

Barney came to a stop beside Andy and nodded. “Yeah. He’s already assigned us a book report.”

Clara’s eyebrows went up in slight surprise. “Already? He didn’t do anything like that last year.”

“No,” replied Andy. “He didn’t, but anyway, what’s Mrs. Chao like?”

Clara shrugged. “Not bad so far,” she replied. She looked as if she as just remembering something. “We do have to write an essay though.”

“On what?” asked Andy.

“On how we spent our summer vacation.”

Andy and Barney felt a sudden simultaneous twinge of jealousy, Clara’s homework was much easier than theirs. In addition to their book report, Mr. Chandler had also assigned them grammar homework and a page of vocabulary exercises.

“Maybe we should trade teachers,” Andy suggested, only half jokingly.

Clara gave Andy a sympathetic look. “I don’t think it works that way.”

Andy opened his mouth, but before he could say anything else, the clanging of the bell echoed across the school yard, signalling the end of morning recess.

Andy, Barney and Clara reached the entrance to the school and parted ways. Andy and Barney went back upstairs to Mr. Chandler’s room. Clara turned the corner and went back down the hall Mrs. Chao’s.

They spent the hour between recess and lunch on math. Why does it have to be math? Andy asked himself, as Mr. Chandler passed out the math books.

“Please turn to page fifteen,” said Mr. Chandler, cutting across Andy’s thoughts. Along with everyone else, Andy turned to the indicated page and looked at its contents. Multiplication? he thought. We learned multiplication last year. Andy shrugged mentally. Maybe this won’t be so bad, he thought. They spent the rest of the morning revising last year’s work. Andy had to resist the urge to keep sneaking glances at the clock. The time seemed to pass at an almost glacial pace.

Finally, the lunch bell rang at 11:45 and Andy closed his math book with a sigh of gratitude.

The classroom echoed with the dissonant scraping of chairs against the linoleum floor. By the time Andy made his way through the classroom door, the hallway was packed with people. With some difficulty he shouldered his way through the throng to his locker. He spun the dial several times in quick succession. The combination lock opened with a metallic click. He pulled the locker door, opened his backpack and pulled out his lunch bag. Andy zipped his bag shut, locked his locker again then turned and joined the throng of kids headed for the cafeteria,

Andy arrived the cafeteria a few minutes later. A wall of windows stretched from one end of the room to the other, letting in the bright morning sunlight. The room was full of the mingled aromas of hot food wafting out of open serving window and the chatter of children. Andy paused momentarily and surveyed the room.

“Hey, Andy!” A voice cut across the low din of the cafeteria and Andy turned at the sound of his name. Barney and Clara were sitting in a corner by the window with a boy Andy didn’t recognize. He made his way over to them. The boy had slightly shaggy dark brown fur, and the stubs of antlers stuck out from his forehead.

“Hi guys,” said Andy. “Mind if I join you.”

“Sure,” said Barney.

Andy sat down next to him.

“Andy, this is Joey Watkins,” said Clara. “He’s a boy in my class.” Clara nodded her head at Andy in return. “This is my friend, Andy Richards.”

“Hi Joey,” said Andy. He reached across the table and held out a hand, which Joey shook.

“Hi Andy,” said Joey.

Andy eyed Joey’s T-shirt. Ace Danger was tied up and sitting on top of a large pile of dynamite, while his arch nemesis, the Question Master, brandished a detonator and cackled evilly. “Are you an Ace Danger fan?” Andy asked.

Joey looked down at his T-shirt. “What, this?” He replied with a shrug. “My dad got me this.” Joey took a bite of his sandwich. He washed it down with a swig from his pop can and continued. “He works for a special effects company. He worked on the last Ace Danger movie. Only the crew got these.”

Andy and Barney goggled at each other at these words.

“Wow!” said Barney, slightly in awe.

“What does your dad do?” asked Joey around another bite of his sandwich.

Barney flushed then said, “Well, you know, nothing cool like your dad. My dads are a geologist and a clarinet player.”

“Really?” asked Joey, a note of genuine interest in his voice. “Your dad plays the clarinet? What kind of music does he play?”

“Mostly classical,” replied Barney, “He plays for the Toronto Symphony Orchestra.”

“Neat,” said Joey. He washed down his mouthful of food with another sip from his can of pop. “I really like classical music. My Aunt Debbie used to play for the Toronto Orchestra. She was First Violin, but that was a long time ago.” Joey took a final sip from his can of pop and turned his attention to Andy. “What do your parents do?”

Andy flushed a little at the question. His parents didn’t do anything even remotely as interesting as working on making the Ace Danger movies. “My dad’s an accountant, and my mom’s a nurse,” he mumbled quickly. Andy felt unaccountably embarrassed as he spoke, There’s nothing wrong with being an accountant he told himself firmly, but even as he said it he had to actively work at pushing away the feeling that accounting wasn’t as cool as making special effects.

Andy, Clara, Barney and Joey sat chatting amiably for the rest of the lunch hour. The bell rang and the four of them got to their feet along with everyone else. Amid the stamp of feet and the voices of chattering kids, Andy and Barney went one way and Clara and Joey turned to go the other way with a chorus of “goodbyes” and “see you laters.”

“It was nice to meet you,” called Joey over his shoulder.

“It was nice to meet you too,” said Barney at Joey’s retreating back.

Andy glanced at his watch and tugged on Barney’s elbow. “C’mon,” he said. “We should get going or we’re going to be late.”

“Right,” said Barney.

The two boys threaded their way through the throng of kids and extricated themselves from the flow. They pushed open the door to the second floor stairwell. They mounted the steps to the second floor and hurried down the hallway Mr. Chandler’s classroom, arriving slightly out of breath just before the bell rang.

Andy pushed open the door and Barney followed him inside. Mr. Chandler looked up as they entered the classroom. “Boys,” he said, “thank you for being on time. We’re still waiting for about half the class.”

Andy turned and looked at the classroom. Half the seats were empty. There wasn’t much for Andy and Barney to do but sit down. Andy slid into his seat and waited as his missing classmates trickled in one after another. For want of anything better to do, Andy amused himself by idling flipping through the copy of The Rabling he had been given that morning. “In a hole in the ground there lived a rabling,” he read. He flipped randomly through the pages, stopping here and there to read random passages. Rablings, dwarves, a wizard, goblins, he thought excitedly, and a quest to slay a dragon. Andy had read all of the Henry Pattersdale books. Henry Pattersdale was about a young rabbit who lived in a secret castle and was learning how to be a wizard. I think I’m going to like this book, Andy though to himself. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Mr. Chandler pushing back his chair.

“Now that we’re all here,” he said, “I’d like to remind you all to please be on time when returning from lunch or recess in the future.”

“Yes, Mr. Chandler,” droned the class.

Mr, Chandler turned toward the bookshelf in the corner between the blackboard and the windows. He pulled down a tottering stack of hardcover textbooks and began to hand them out.

Andy looked down at the book that Mr. Chandler had handed him as it landed on his desk with a soft thump. Geography, Andy thought. He felt his lunch settling in his stomach. The sensation made him feel slightly drowsy. Math and geography were Andy’s least favourite subjects.

Mr. Chandler stood with his back to the class, writing on the blackboard. “Geography.” As he spoke, he underlined the word twice. He lowered his piece of chalk and turned to face the class. “Who can tell me what geography is?” He paused. Nobody spoke or raised their hand. He survey the room Andy knew what was coming next and tried to make himself smaller in his chair so that he wouldn’t be called on. “Mr. Andover,” said Mr. Chandler, “can you tell us what geography is?”

Several second of silence descended on the room as Nathan mentally cast about, searching for an answer to Mr. Chandler’s question. “Isn’t geography hills and lakes and valleys and stuff like that?”

Mr. Chandler was writing on the blackboard again. “Hills and lakes and valleys,” he said as he wrote. “Can anyone tell me what Nathan means by that.”

David Parsons put up his hand.

“Yes, David.”

“I think what Nathan means is different kinds of land,” said David.

Mr. Chandler was writing again. “Very good.” He paused. “Anybody else?”

Charlie Cartwright put up his hand and Mr. Chandler nodded at him. “Is it where land comes from?”

“It is,” replied Mr. Chandler. He resumed writing on the blackboard. “Geography,” he said, “is the study of landforms, how they are shaped, the natural forces that shape them and how those forces in turn shape the plants and animals that use the land.” Mr. Chandler faced the class once more. “Take out your notebooks and write this down.” As if of one mind, all the kids reached under theirs desks and pulled out their workbooks. While they were doing this, Mr. Chandler continued to write on the blackboard in neat block printing. When the sound of movement behind him subsided he turned back to face the class and gestured with his piece of chalk at the blackboard. He survey the room again. “Who would like to read this for me?”

Several hands went up.

“Andy,” said Mr. Chandler, “can you please read what’s written on the blackboard?”

Andy coughed and subconsciously adjusted his glasses. “Geography is the study of landforms, the processes that form them and their relations with people and ecosystems.”

“Very good,” said Mr. Chandler. “Now open your textbooks and turn to page twelve.”

The class did as it was told. “Laura,” said Mr. Chandler, “please read the first paragraph.”

They spent the rest of the lesson taking turns reading from their geography book. Periodically, Mr. Chandler would stop and ask them questions. “Nathan, can you tell me the name of the world’s largest island?”

Nathan thought for a second. “Is it Greenland?”

“Correct. Charlie, can you name the longest river in Africa?”

“The Congo,” said Charlie.

“That is incorrect,” replied Mr. Chandler. “The longest river in Africa is the Nile. Andy, please name Canada’s three territories.”

“The Yukon, the Northwest Territory and Nunavut,” said Andy.

“Very good.”

By the end of the lesson, Andy felt as if geography facts were leaking out of his ears. He wondered how he would remember them all. On top of that Mr. Chandler had given them geography homework. “Please read pages twenty three to thirty four and answer questions one through eight. This is to be returned to me by the end of the week.”

“Yes, Mr. Chandler,” said the class.

Andy felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He glanced briefly at the front of the room. Mr. Chandler was erasing their geography lesson from the blackboard and had his back to the class. Andy turned around to find Barney leaning over his desk with his arm outstretched.

“So we have a book report, a page of math questions and now geography homework?” Barney said, “Grade four will be over before we get through all of that.”

“If you’re quite finished with your conversation,” said Mr. Chandler, before Andy could open his mouth to reply, “please pay attention Barney we are moving on to art.”

Andy turned around to face the front of the room again. Art, thought Andy, finally something easy. He glanced at the clock hanging over the blackboard. It was almost two PM. Only an hour left. He rummaged through the contents of his desk until he found his art supplies.

“Those of you who were in my class last year,” began Mr. Chandler, “may remember that we undertook a number of craft projects. However this year, will be different. Instead of making animals out of toilet paper rolls and banjos out of paper plates, this year we will learn how properly create and understand art.” Mr. Chandler looked at Charlie and then at Andy in turn. “Will you please pull down the blinds and turn off the lights.”

Charlie and Andy carried out their assigned tasks. Andy turned toward the windows that looked out over the school’s front lawn. The chains rattled as he tugged on them, lowering the blinds until they were only just above the window sill. Behind him, he heard Mr.Chandler say, “Yes, thank you Charlie. That’s enough. You can sit down now.”

Andy finished the pulling down the blinds and returned to his seat. Half of the lights were off and the room was in semi-darkness. A projection screen obscured the blackboard. Mr. Chandler stood next to it, holding a tablet in his hands. He tapped the screen and the projector glowed to life. An image appeared, consisting of a swirl of every colour imaginable. “Can anyone tell me what this is?” Asked Mr. Chandler.

Laura put up her hand. “It looks like a rainbow,” she said.

“Yes, it does rather look like a rainbow, doesn’t it,” said Mr. Chandler. “This is called the colour wheel. Can anyone name any of the colours on the wheel?”

Half a dozen hands went up.

“Red,” said Andy.

“Blue,” said David.

“Yellow,” said Nathan.

“All correct,” said Mr. Chandler. “Can any of you tell me what kind of colours those are?”

Once again, several hands shot up. “Those are called primary colours,” said an otter in a hoodie.

“Correct, Oliver,” said Mr. Chandler. He gestured to the projection screen again. “What happens if we mix colours?”

Several hands shot into the air.

“Mixing two colours together makes new colours,” Natalie said.

“It does, Ms. Westcott,” said Mr. Chandler. Natalie’s tail wagged and she looked pleased with herself. “Can anyone tell me what these colours are called?”

“Secondary colours?” Andy guess, putting up his hand.

“You’re close, Andy,” said Mr. Chandler. “These are called intermediate colours.” He walked over to a filing cabinet in the corner by the classroom door. Mr. Chandler opened a drawer and pulled out a sheaf of paper. He went up and down the rows handing a piece of paper to everyone in the class. Andy took one when it was his turn. He glanced at it. The page contained a blank circle divided into segments like a pizza. Words across the top read: THE COLOUR WHEEL. Next to each segment of the wheel was a blank space. Andy wondered what he was supposed to do.

No sooner had Andy thought this, than Mr. Chandler’s voice cut across his thoughts, answering his question. “You have in front of you a blank colour wheel,” he said. “An understanding of the colour wheel will help you gain a basic understanding of how colours relate to each other, which is necessary for a basic understanding of art.” Mr. Chandler tapped something on his tablet. The image on the projection screen changed. The image on the screen looked like the image on Andy’s piece of paper, except that it was full of a rainbow of colours. Mr. Chandler was still speaking. “You need an understanding of colour because you will be building a portfolio of artwork for our art show at the end of the year.” He paused to allow this to sink in. “I would like you to think about what themes or images interest you because you will be using those as inspiration for your artwork. For the rest of the period, please colour in and label your colour wheels. You may leave them on my desk when you’re finished.”

The rest of the period was spent in silence as they set about completing the task Mr. Chandler had set them. Andy had finished two thirds of his colour wheel when the dismissal bell rang. He gathered his schoolbooks into his arms, stood up along with everyone else and made for the door. Andy followed in the wake of the other kids and made his way out into the hall. The walls echoed with the stamp of feet and the babble of voices as kids spilled of their classrooms and into the corridor. Andy went one way and Barney went the other as the two boys made for their lockers. Balancing his load of schoolbooks and homework on one arm, Andy pulled open his locker and took out his backpack. He stuffed his books into his bag and shut his locker. Andy caught up with Barney at the door to stairwell leading down to the first floor.

“What a day,” said Barney as they made their way down the stairs.

“I know,” replied Andy. He felt as though his brain had turned to mush. He had so many things to do, he wondered how he was going to find time to do them all.

They reached the bottom of the stairwell and went through the doors to join the flow of kids and teachers toward the school’s main entrance. Clara joined them halfway down the hall.

“Hi guys,” she said.

“Hi Clara,” said Andy. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Super,” she replied. “Do you want to come over to my house and we can hang out?”

Andy and Barney shook their heads in unison. “We can’t,” replied Andy.

“We have homework,” said Barney.

“Ok,” said Clara, “maybe on the weekend then.”

“What did Mrs. Chao do with you?” Andy asked. It was only the first day and grade four felt as if it was going to much, much harder than grade three.

Clara shrugged. “We did hardly anything/ We took turns introducing ourselves and talked about what we did this summer. She gave some assignments that we have to do for the end of next week, but that was about it. We didn’t do very much.”

Hidden in the hubbub of hallway, Andy thought he heard Barney mutter under his breath, “Lucky.”

The flow of students and teachers carried them out of the school and into the parking lot. A row of buses stood next the curb, filling the air with the rumble of their engines. Teachers stood at regular intervals, guiding students to the appropriate bus.

“Name?” asked graceful looking gazelle that Andy didn’t recognize.

“Andy Richards.”

“Barney Pendleton.”

“Clara Frankenheimer.”

“Hmmm….” The teacher began rifling through the sheaf of pages on the clipboard in her hand. “Frankenheimer, bus 27.” She pointed toward the end of the line. “Down that way.

“OK.” Clara turned to leave. “Bye, Andy. Bye, Barney, see you tomorrow.”

“Bye Clara,” they said.

The teacher was still rifling through the pages on her clipboard. “Richards, Pendleton, bus 39. That way.” She pointed in the other direction. “Toward the head of the line.”

“Thank you,” said Andy. He set off toward the far end of the school with Barney trailing behind him. Eventually, they found bus 39 and joined the line of kids waiting to get on board. They filed onto bus, found seats and sat down. The doors closed, bus jerked into motion and rumbled out of the school parking lot. Andy leaned back against the seat and sighed. The first day of fourth grade felt as if it had been the longest day of his life, and it was finally over.