6
“School was amazing today!” Maude told her dad and brother when she got home that Monday afternoon. Walt was stirring soup on the stove. Michael-John was on the couch, reading the definition of the word vainglorious, which is an adjective meaning boastful.
“Miss Kinde cares so much about Three B that she stood up to Principal Fish!” Maude kissed Rudolph Valentino, patted Onion the Great Number Eleven between her ears, and picked up her Frizzle chicken, Rosalie, and spun her around.
“She seems like a lovely person,” Walt said quietly.
Maude stopped spinning and made a face. “Lovely” was a little too close to “love” for her. Who needs all this stupid love stuff? “Anyway, because Miss Kinde stood up for our rights, Three B isn’t going to have any practice exams for two whole weeks!”
“Sounds wonderful.” Walt spooned soup into a bowl. “I’m glad your day was good, Maude. Mine was terribly disappointing.”
“We’re going to do a creative endeavor! A play. I’ll probably be the director!”
“The great William Shakespeare said, ‘All the world’s a stage,’” Walt said. “Eat some soup, Maude. There’s so much left.”
Maude put her chicken on the table and sat down. “Our play is called Banana Pants. It’s going to be about a kid who finds some pants. That’s all we know so far. Norbert hasn’t decided if the pants will be good or evil yet.”
Walt sighed.
“I think they’ll be yellow,” Maude crooned to Rosalie.
Walt sighed again, deeply.
“Why was your day so rotten?” Maude finally asked.
“Unfortunately, at today’s conference, I discovered that my latest beetle discovery had already been discovered.”
“Bummer,” said Maude.
“I was so close . . . and yet so very far away.”
“Do I have to have soup?” Maude asked. “How much is left?”
“A scad,” Michael-John called from the couch. “Scad is a noun. It means a large quantity.”
“Ugh,” Maude said.
“Scad can also be a kind of fish,” Michael-John added. “We should be happy that Dad didn’t make a scad of scad soup. Eat some, Maude. I ate six bowls today and didn’t make a dent.”
“I’m so tired of soup. Can I have a hard-boiled egg?” Before Maude was best friends with Miranda, she’d eaten hard-boiled eggs all the time. But once she learned how much Miranda hated them, she’d stopped bringing them to school.
“We don’t have any,” Walt said. “Since Miranda is so sensitive to the smell.”
“But she’s not here. She can’t smell an egg in a castle that’s one point two miles away.”
“Yes, but she’s here so often, I’ve stopped making them,” Walt said.
“A mighty powerful princess,” Michael-John said. “To keep you away from your hard-boiled eggs.”
Maude tried to remember how many hard-boiled eggs she’d eaten since she and Miranda had become best friends. Not one! Maybe Miranda had more power than Maude realized. She was a princess, after all.
So why can’t she write just one letter? Chemical Apple or Principal Fish would notice a letter from a princess! And maybe they would finally do something. Miss Kinde was right. It was important that evil corporations hear from other people, not just from Maude. An idea began to form in Maude’s brain. She pushed Rosalie out of the way and tore a clean page out of her notebook.
“Maude?” Walt asked. “Your soup is getting cold.”
But Maude didn’t answer. She was writing another letter.
