Pigboy Read Free

stopped.
    â€œOkay,” she said. “C’mon, you guys. Keep up.”
    Everyone did what they were told. That was pretty strange. Ms. Creaser was just a substitute teacher. Usually, the class went crazy when we had substitutes—but everyone listened to her. I don’t know why. She wasn’t big and mean and possibly insane like that Mr. Laffoley we had once. He managed to keep everyone under control but only because we were terrified. Even Shane shut up.
    Ms. Creaser was actually kind of little. Not short really—but thin. Half the class was bigger than her. She sure couldn’t force anyone into doing what she said. She didn’t need to. There was just something aboutthe way she said stuff. People listened.
    We followed her to the barn.
    Other than the cows, it was deserted too. It was dark inside except for this stream of sunlight that came in through the grubby windows. You could see those little dust things dancing around in the light. Just looking at them made my nose itch. I hoped those wads of Kleenex would stop the sneezing or I was in big trouble.
    Ms. Creaser stepped into the barn like it was haunted or something.
    She called out, “Mr. van Wart?... Hello?...Mr. van Wart?”
    Nothing.
    Nothing except, of course, for Shane laughing.
    Ms. Creaser came storming out of the barn.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” she said.
    â€œFunny?” he went. “I’m not laughing. I’m
concerned
. I’m just worried about Mr. van...
WART
.” He screwed up his face and said “Wart” like he was going to throwup—then he started to laugh again. People snickered, but nobody came right out and laughed with him.
    You should have seen the look on Ms. Creaser’s face. She went right up to him. She didn’t care that he was about a foot taller and a hundred pounds bigger than she was.
    â€œYou listen to me,” she said. “You might be too immature to understand this, but I’m telling you anyway. Mr. van Wart is Dutch. His name is Dutch. It doesn’t mean the same thing in English as it does in Dutch. He is also our host. If you make one more of your silly jokes or so much as crack a smile when I introduce him, you will be very, very sorry. Have I made myself clear?”
    Shane had a smirk on his face, but he didn’t say anything. He just nodded.
    Ms. Creaser turned to the rest of us. “Mr. van Wart might have a thick accent. If you have trouble understanding him, I’ll try and step in. Got it? Okay—now, best behavior,” she said.
    She went around behind the barn.
    She was going, “Mr. van Wart! Mr. van Wart!”
    These big, fat, spotted pigs all started grunting and snorting like they were answering her. Shane knew better than to come right out and laugh, but I knew he loved it. I knew he loved the idea of hogs making gross noises and rolling around in their own manure. I’d hear all about it the next day for sure. There was no way he was going to let me forget it.
    â€œHe’s not here,” Ms. Creaser said and led everyone away from the pigs. She gave me this lame smile. I think she was kind of embarrassed for me. You know, that whole hog thing.
    She looked around. “I don’t see him in the field either,” she said. “If he’s not in that log building over there, we may have to find something else to do today...”
    There was a big whoop of excitement over that. She waved everyone quiet and started calling for Mr. van Wart again. A couple of seconds later, the door to thelog house opened. Everyone groaned. It wasn’t just me. Ms. Creaser swung around, ready to clobber us. We shut up. She turned back.
    â€œMr. van Wart?” she said.
    He locked the door behind him, then he said, “Who are you?”
    He looked kind of mad—and he didn’t look much like a farmer either. I expected some old guy in a straw hat and overalls. He had the overalls, but he wasn’t old. He