I’m warning you. I’m about to say two mean and nasty words.

If I say them at school, kids shudder and run away. If I say them at home, my sister Karen says I should be punished for talking dirty.

Are you ready?

Here are the words:

Mrs. Cakel.

She’s my teacher and she’s super mean and nasty.

She makes lunch checks. She won’t let us have soda, hard candies, white bread, salty potato chips, cherries, and pomegranate juice.

“I want to keep you healthy,” she said, “and I want to keep your clothes from getting horrible red stains.”

She won’t let Annie Abrams wear her favorite yellow headband.

“It’s not becoming,” she told Annie.

There are so many rules in our class that my friend Calvin Waffle tells me, “It’s lucky she lets us breathe.” But, he doesn’t tell that to Mrs. Cakel. You can’t tell her anything.

Everyone is afraid of Mrs. Cakel.

At open school night, you know, when the teachers tell parents what’s wrong with their kids, she told my mother not to slouch, to sit up straight. She told her not to mumble. And do you know what? Mom sat up and spoke up.

Dad was there too.

“I didn’t talk to your teacher. I didn’t ask her anything,” Dad told me later. “I was afraid to.”

Once our principal Mr. Telfer walked into our class and he was chewing gum. It was a medicated gum to help him stop smoking. Mrs. Cakel held a garbage can under his chin and made him spit it out. She did that in front of all of us.

And he’s the principal!

It’s Monday morning. We had lots of homework this weekend and now Mrs. Cakel is checking it. I take mine out of my book bag.

Jason’s Lawn Care? Spring clean-up???

This is not my homework. It’s the bill from the gardener.

I think about this morning. I had Sugar Flakes for breakfast and they tasted like toothpaste. I hadn’t rinsed enough, so I went back to the bathroom, only Karen was in there. I think she does her homework in the bathroom, or something that takes a long time.

I waited.

I finally rinsed and rushed to eat the flakes that no longer tasted like toothpaste, but they were super soggy. I grabbed what I thought was my homework and my lunch and hurried to go to school.

My lunch!

I reach in my desk, take out my lunch bag, and look inside. Lipstick? Mineral body lotion? Face powder? Eyeliner? What is this stuff? Where’s my sandwich, pretzels, and apple? I bet right now Mom is sending my homework to the gardener and putting my sandwich in the medicine cabinet.

Here comes Mrs. Cakel.

She’ll get bug-eyed when I tell her I don’t have my homework. She’ll make me copy all the “H” and “W” words in the dictionary. She’ll make me stay in class during lunch and do my homework, and the worst part is, she’ll be in the room with me. How could I eat while looking at her? I’ll lose my appetite.

Oh! I don’t have a lunch. All I have is lotion and powder.

She stands by my desk.

“I did my homework,” I say, “but I left it at home.”

“Bring it in tomorrow,” she says and walks to Greg. He sits behind me.

Huh!

Who said that?

It gets worse, or better. I’m not sure if it’s good or bad when Mrs. Cakel is nice. I’m not sure it’s Mrs. Cakel.

She is teaching us about the American Revolution, you know, when George Washington and the Continental Army fought the British.

She asks my friend Calvin Waffle, “Who fired the first shots at Lexington and Concord?”

“Not me,” Calvin answers. “I don’t even have a gun.”

That’s it, I think. She’s really going to explode.

I hold my hands over my ears. But she doesn’t yell. She just calls on Douglas.

“The British fired the first shots,” Douglas answers. “They had lots of guns and fancy red uniforms.”

I must be in some alternate universe. Up is down. Big is small. Vinegar is sweet and so is Mrs. Cakel.

I’m a righty, so I try doodling with my left hand. It comes out as just scribble. It’s not me! I’m not the one in an alternate universe. Mrs. Cakel is.

The bell rings. It’s time for lunch. I buy a container of milk. Then I tell Calvin, Annie, and Douglas about my lunch bagful of lotions and powder and they each give me something to eat.

Annie gives me celery sticks. Douglas gives me some of his pressed fruit roll. And Calvin gives me half of his marshmallow-spread banana sandwich on whole wheat bread. “It tastes better on soft white bread,” Calvin says, “but that’s against the rules.”

My mouth is a sticky mess of marshmallow and fruit roll.

“Shmothang shis wrling,” I say.

I wash down some of my weird lunch with milk and try again.

“Something is wrong,” I say. “Something is bothering Mrs. Cakel.”

“I like her this way,” Douglas says, “all sweet and lovey. She’s like a kindergarten teacher.”

I shake my head.

“No,” I say. “We’ve got to find out what’s bothering her. We’ve got to get back our mean and nasty Mrs. Cakel.”