I hand my parent permission slip to Lacey, who collects them for the class trip. My mom’s name is scrawled on the bottom.

When I asked Mom for a signature last night, her face turned red and she glared at the slip. “The night before? What sort of school are they running? I’m calling your teacher. This is unacceptable.”

I made up a story about how Ms. Bryce’s phone is broken and that she also has laryngitis and we didn’t have permission slips earlier because the school printer blew up.

It wasn’t my best story, but it did the job. Mom signed the slip.

I didn’t think it would matter, anyway. I figured Samantha wouldn’t find a substitute teacher and then our secret wouldn’t be a secret anymore.

But what do you know? I was wrong. Samantha brought an adult, just like she promised. He’s old and wispy thin. He says his name is Mr. Chips, but I don’t think that’s his real name. He’s wearing a brown tweed jacket with patches on the elbows, a pink bow tie, and a monocle in his left eye.

I’ve never seen a monocle up close before. He looks like an English professor from some old movie. He removes his eyewear and holds it up, admiring it. His voice booms, as if he’s talking over a loud crowd, although no one else is talking. “All teachers need monocles, don’t you agree? Doesn’t it make me look academic?”

“Um, not really?” says Samantha.

Mr. Chips shrugs and puts the monocle in his inside jacket pocket.

He’s full of energy. He waves his arms as if he’s performing onstage while saying odd things like, “Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t!” I think he’s quoting Shakespeare. I recognize one or two lines from Hamlet, the play that I’m trying to read. But Shakespeare’s words don’t make any more sense to me when I hear them than when I read them.

Mr. Chips starts talking about how he’s some great actor and about some old actress he used to love, but it’s confusing. All of us in class keep nodding our heads and throwing him pretend smiles.

Samantha looks like she wants to hide under a desk. If we get through today, it will be a miracle.

Finally, there’s a knock on the door. Mrs. Frank, the school secretary, enters the room and tells us that our bus is waiting for us to board it.

She waves to Adam and asks, “Have you eaten any homework or detention slips today?”

Adam shakes his head, blushes, and says, “Not yet.” I have no idea what they are talking about.

Mrs. Frank collects the permission slips from Lacey, counting them out, and then, satisfied, leads us out the door. We follow her, single file, down the hallway and to the bus that’s parked outside.

I’m last in line and Mr. Chips is at the front, but I can hear him clearly. He rambles on and on during the entire walk with a long monologue that begins, “To be, or not to be: that is the question.”

I recognize the quote. It’s a famous speech from Hamlet.

Finally, we exit the school doors. The bus is waiting right out front for us, with its motor running. As we gather around the doors to go inside, a deep voice calls from behind us. “Wait!”

It’s Principal Klein.

We were so close to getting on the bus, too! But seeing our principal standing next to me reminds me of how much trouble we can get into for keeping this humongous secret.

This is going to be very bad.

Principal Klein approaches Mr. Chips. Our principal is a big man, and next to the ultra-thin Mr. Chips, he looks like a balloon. “Who are you?” he asks our pretend teacher, his big hands rubbing against his chin.

Samantha is next to them. Before Mr. Chips can answer the principal’s question, Samantha says, “That’s Mr. Chips. Our, uh, chaperone.”

Principal Klein scans our group. “Ummm. But where’s Ms. Bryce?”

Without missing a beat, the entire class answers, “The bathroom.”

Principal Klein hesitates for a moment. His brow furrows. I think he’s about to accuse our entire class of keeping a secret and that Mr. Chips is a fake.

But then our phony teacher rests his hand on Principal Klein’s shoulder and says, “Dear sir, do not worry. I, Mr. Chips, teacher extraordinaire, am honored to shepherd these sheep. O! this learning, what a thing it is. What responsibility to captivate their minds! And … and …”

“Yes?” asks Principal Klein.

Mr. Chips looks at Samantha. “Um, um …” Then he whispers to her, “Line, please.”

“Just tell him you’re in charge until Ms. Bryce gets back,” Samantha whispers back, just loud enough for me to hear.

“And I’m in charge!” exclaims Mr. Chips to our principal. As he says this, he removes the monocle from his pocket, puts it to his eye, and peers at our principal. “See? Don’t I look academic?”

Samantha’s face turns bright red. But Mr. Chips merely smiles. There’s a moment of hesitation from our principal, a moment where I am convinced we’re busted. But then our principal pats Mr. Chips on the back and says, “Great! Thanks for helping today. Have a wonderful trip.”

He turns around and heads back into school.

And that’s that.

My feet are still quivering as the bus doors open and we march up the steps. But I look at Mr. Chips. He is a great actor. I may not have followed half of what he was saying, but he almost had me convinced he was a real teacher, too.

I’m the last in line for the bus. I sit by myself in the empty front seat right behind the bus driver. I take a deep breath, anxious for the bus to start moving.

“Are we all here?” asks the driver. He doesn’t know Mr. Chips isn’t our regular teacher.

“Yes, we are,” says Samantha.

“Then exit, stage left!” Mr. Chips declares.

And we’re off!