Free Trouble According to Humphrey by Betty G. Birney

picked up speed just as it entered the tunnel. It was dark, but I didn’t mind this time. In fact, I would have been happy to stay in the tunnel forever, as long as I could avoid that bridge. All too soon, it was light again and the train began its climb.
    As soon as it hit the straight bridge, it picked up speed again. I tried not to look down, but I couldn’t help taking a peek. Lake Patel was right below me, looking dangerously wet. At least Paul and Art and Mr. Patel were there to catch me—I hoped! All of a sudden, the train dropped and headed down the incline. I closed my eyes tightly. The speed of the train created a strong wind in my fur. When I opened my eyes, the train had almost reached the bottom of the incline and it hadn’t tumbled off the tracks! I was safe.
    The train veered around another curve, around theback of Lake Patel. Whee! This was one fun ride! Suddenly, the train began to slow DOWN-DOWN-DOWN.
    “Coming into the station,” Paul announced.
    “Don’t stop now!” I squeaked. “One more time around!”
    “I think he likes it,” said Art. Boy, he was really paying attention now! So around I went, not once, not twice, but three more times. It was thrilling, chilling and I was perfectly willing to keep going around forever. But Art’s dad said it was time to stop or I might get sick.
    I must admit, when the train stopped, I felt a little strange. Once I was back in my sleeping hut, my head stopped spinning and I began to write in my notebook, trying to find the words to describe my wild ride.
    A train
    Makes your brain
    Click and clack
    Around the track.
    And even when the train is slowing
,
    Your brain just keeps on GO-GO-GOING.
    My brain kept going round and round that track all night. The next morning, when we got back to school, I couldn’t wait to tell Og about my exciting adventure. But as soon as I saw Miranda come into class, I was squeakless because of that hurt look in her eyes every time she glanced at my cage.
    The look that had my brain hurting.
    The look that made me remember the Trouble all over again.

    My mind was a million miles away until it was time for math and Paul came into the room. I realized that while Art and Paul had studied hard for the test, I had not.
    The test was HARD-HARD-HARD! My friends wrote and stared at their papers and stared at the ceiling, erasing and sighing. Seth sat amazingly still, glancing over at my cage now and then. Miranda did more erasing than writing, which was strange for her. Paul wrote quickly while Art seemed to struggle. He kept running his fingers through his hair, but his eyes were right on his paper.
    Art was paying attention. But did he understand the math?
    At last, Mrs. Brisbane called time and collected the papers. When Paul got up to leave, he whispered something to Art. Art nodded his head.
    “I will mark these during lunch,” said Mrs. Brisbane. “I know you’re all anxious to get your grades.”
    When it was finally time for lunch my friends raced out of the room.
    I, on the other paw, stayed inside, watching our teacher grade the papers and feeling about as worried as a hamster can feel.
    Mrs. Brisbane worked quickly. Sometimes she smiled. Sometimes she frowned and made a lot of marks on the paper. Sometimes she shook her head.
    I was gnawing my toes, wondering what grades my classmates were getting, especially Art.
    When lunch was over and my friends were all settled, Mrs. Brisbane said, “Class, I’m not quite finished. If you’ll take out your social studies books and read the chapter on how communities are organized, starting on page seventy-five, I’ll keep on grading. All right with you?”
    Mandy sighed loudly. Mrs. Brisbane ignored her.
    “How many more do you have to grade?” Heidi asked.
    “Heidi … what are you supposed to do before you talk?”
    Heidi raised her hand.
    “Thank you. I think I’ll be finished by the time you’ve all read the chapter.”
    I don’t have a social studies book, so I