The Magical Ms. Plum by Bonny Becker

Author:Bonny Becker [Becker, Bonny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ages 8 and up
ISBN: 9780375894909
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2009-09-08T07:00:00+00:00

“Look what I got!” shouted Brad, coming over the slope, skidding, and almost falling in the snow.

Chompers chattered excitedly and grabbed Brad’s ear to hang on.

This would be like the most amazing thing the fifth-grade boys had ever seen.

Only they couldn’t see it.

“What?” said Michael. “A new hat? Big deal.”

“Run!” shouted Ron, heaving a snowball at Brad and almost hitting Chompers.

“Hey, watch it!”

No one ever wanted to challenge Ron. He was the number one pitcher on the baseball team and led Ultimate Frisbee, too.

Even so, Brad crushed some snow into a ball and heaved it at Ron. Just as the snowball left his hand, Chompers leapt onto it.

Brad stared, his mouth slack, as his monkey rode the snowball right smack into Ron’s chest. Then Chompers was coming back toward him atop Ron’s snowball—coming straight at Brad’s face. But just before the snowball reached him, the monkey pushed off, sending the snowball harmlessly to Brad’s left and launching himself back onto Brad’s shoulder.

Chompers was chattering with joy. His eyes wild, his fur blown up like he’d touched a light socket.

So Brad, dodging snowballs, quickly scooped up another snowball and sent it flying.

Chompers rode with it. Amazingly, he even rose to his feet like a surfer on a surfboard.

And suddenly Brad could feel just what the monkey was feeling. He could feel the icy, crusty ball of snow wobbling under his toes. He could feel the wind whipping at his cheeks. He could feel how Chompers leaned this way and that, steering the snowball right into Ron’s face!

Bull’s-eye!

Ron clawed off the snow, revenge in his eyes. Brad started backpedaling as fast as he could. Ron rocketed a snowball straight at him.

But Brad knew that the monkey would push it away and Ron’s best throw would never hit him.

Now Ron was furious, and he waved away the other boys. This was just between him and Brad.

Five throws and it was over.

Throw number one: Brad to Ron. Result: A face full of snow for Ron.

Throw number two: Ron to Brad. A perfect missile of packed snow that at the last second swerved over Brad’s shoulder.

Throw number three: Brad to Ron. A high throw that looked like it would miss by a mile but instead veered this way and that (was there a wind up there?) and splatted onto Ron’s astonished face. Result: A lot of fifth-grade boys laughing their heads off.

Throw number four: Ron to Brad. Another missile. A heat-seeking missile. A Brad-seeking missile. A sizzling fastball that seemed to gradually slow, landing softly about three feet from Brad and then rolling to a stop at his feet.

Throw number five: Brad to Ron. A good, hard throw. And no matter how much Ron ducked and dodged, the thing seemed to follow. And for the fourth time Ron had to wipe cold, wet snow from his eyes.

Ron turned and walked up the playground slope.

“I’m done,” he said.

The rest of the fifth-grade boys clustered around Brad, walking with him back to the upper play yard, laughing and yelling about the best snowball fight in history.

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