First Star I See. Jaye Andras Caffrey
was in first grade when Dad moved out and Peevers moved in. Until that year, we lived in a big two-story brick house on Pecan Street in New Orleans. There, Mark (who was only three at the time) and I each had our own room, and we even had this big playroom for our toys. Peevers lived in the house with us, but could go in and out the doggy door leading to our big backyard, which was surrounded by a brick wall that was fun to balance on when Mom wasn’t looking.
All in all, it had been a pretty rotten year for our family. Right before Christmas that year, Mom was laid off from her job at Hansen’s Antique Shop. She decided to go back to finish her college degree, but even after she had graduated, she couldn’t find a job. So Mom, Mark, and I moved to Milton Street, to a little wooden house that needed lots of repairs. There, my brother and I had to share a bedroom, and we had no playroom. A rusty chain-link fence surrounded the backyard. Using the excuse that our new house was too small, Mom insisted from day one that Peevers spend less time in the house and more time in the fenced area.
But Peevers just hated that yard. As soon as we put her back there and closed the gate, she dug a hole under the fence and made her escape. After trying lots of tricks to keep Peevers penned in, Mom sort of gave up.
Peevers took advantage of her new freedom to become Milton Street’s most notorious criminal—a real toy thief. She regularly stalked the kids playing outside with their toys, waiting for a chance to strike.
Here’s how she did it. First, she picked some poor unsuspecting victim like William Clementson from down the block. William would be innocently playing with his action figures in the dirt in front of his house, happily unaware of approaching danger. Peevers would go slinking through the hydrangea bushes until she was just a few paw-widths away. Then she rushed the poor kid, jumping around, licking his hand, and pretending she wanted to play. No kid could resist her… but it was a trap!
As soon as William put his toy down to pet Peevers, it was no-more-Miss-Nice-Dog. She pounced. With the toy clenched in her jaws, she took off like a furry rocket. William followed, screaming, straight to our backyard where Peevers had started to bury her loot.
To break Peevers of this habit, Mom tried everything, including the occasional thwack with the Times-Picayune newspaper. But the dog seemed determined to create her own little toy cemetery in our backyard. Not even the Sunday paper could stop her!
I was thinking so hard about Peevers that I forgot I was waiting to see the assistant principal. When Mr. Rodriguez’s door opened suddenly, I jumped. A fifth-grade boy emerged with a black eye and a torn shirt. His good eye looked red as if he’d been crying. I knew how he felt. The tear ducts in my eyes started to sting as I wondered what my own punishment would be.
3 Captain Stone Griffith Joins the Crew
“Ms. Landry, Shawn’s parents will arrive in a moment to pick him up. He’s had a rough day.” Mr. Rodriguez patted Shawn on the back, adding, “Sit here, son.” Turning to where I sat, the assistant principal noticed me for the first time. “Hi, Paige, come on in.”
On shaky legs, I followed him into his small, crowded office. I liked it right away. Even though I still felt very nervous, I tried to remember what it looked like so I could tell Breanna.
There was a basketball hoop over the window, which was covered with cartoon-character curtains. Pinned to the bulletin board behind his desk were dozens of cartoon strips cut from newspapers. In addition to many books, the bookshelves held trophies, little statues, and photographs. On the ceiling was a black poster, covered with what seemed like zillions of tiny silver dots.
But I found myself fascinated with a stand holding a long, dark tube that poked stiffly through the curtains.
“Do you like my telescope?” asked Mr. Rodriguez, noticing my gaze.
“Yes, sir,” I said, sitting on the edge of the chair he offered. “But why do you have it in here? Do you use it to spy on kids on the playground?” Instantly, I felt bad about having said that. Mr. Rodriguez seemed friendly enough. Why had I insulted him?
But he laughed. “Well, I could. That’s a pretty good idea.” He sat down behind his desk. “I just like to watch the stars at night when I work late. I have another one at home.”
I suddenly remembered that I had been called to his office for something serious. “Are you going to call my mother?” I asked, jumping right to the point.
“Actually,” said Mr. Rodriguez, “I’ve already called her.” I must have looked upset because he said, “Cheer up. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I haven’t? Then why am I here?”
“Well, this may sound silly but… Ms. Bourgeois wanted me to ask you about the little green Martians in her purse. What is she talking about, Paige?” Mr. Rodriguez leaned forward with his chin in his hand, studying my face.
I giggled with relief and tried to explain. When I finished, I peeked at Mr. Rodriguez through my bangs to see if he understood.
He smiled and said, “I get the picture. So, Paige, you didn’t think you saw real Martians, right?”
“No, of course not! I was just imagining, that’s all. Did Ms. Bourgeois think I meant real Martians?”
“Well… I’m not sure. She did say you daydream a lot. Is that true?”
“Kind of. It isn’t like I plan to just start imagining stuff, except when I am playing. Otherwise, it happens by itself. I just forget what I am supposed to be doing. That’s when I get in trouble.”
“You know, Paige, it’s very important to pay attention in class. Your teacher is worried about you. She says you’re very smart and not working up to your potential.”
“Worried about me? No way. She hates me. She’s always frowning at me like this when she looks at me”—I made a face to show him what I meant— “and she constantly says stuff like ‘Paige, are you with us?’ and ‘Paige, you will not find the answer to the question outside the window’ and ‘Paige, for the hundredth time, pay attention, please!’” I did such a good impression of Ms. Bourgeois’ old-lady voice and mad face that Mr. Rodriguez smiled. “Nope. She hates me,” I sighed.
“Oh, no,” said Mr. Rodriguez firmly, “you’re wrong about that. She likes you a lot, and she wants you to pay attention and finish your work. She thinks you’re not trying because she believes you can do the assignments when you try. She’s concerned that you’re not focusing on your work consistently, not applying yourself.”
I sighed, slouching in my seat a little. “That’s what my dad says, too—that I just don’t apply myself. I wish I could figure out how to, but I don’t even know what it means.” I looked at the assistant principal, not sure that even I understood how the things in my life always got messed up.
“Do you ever imagine stuff, Mr. Rodriguez?” I asked.
“Sure. Sometimes, when I get stuck for an idea, I even do it on purpose. I just lean back here and look up at the map of the stars.” Mr. Rodriguez pointed to the ceiling.“That’s when I do some of my best thinking.”
I looked at the poster and realized that it was a map.
“Actually, it’s good to be able to daydream,” said Mr. Rodriguez. “The trick is knowing when and where to do it. It’s not a good idea to let your thoughts wander too much in school. Do you have any special place at home where you can daydream?”
“Yes,” I said, picturing