Mr. Sunny Is Funny!

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Authors: Dan Gutman

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My Weird School Daze #2
Mr. Sunny Is Funny!
Dan Gutman

Pictures by

Jim Paillot

To Emma

 

My name is A.J. and I hate school.

But I don't care about school anymore. You know why? Because last week I graduated from second grade at Ella Mentry School. And third grade doesn't start until September.

You know what that means?

That's right! It's summertime! I don't have to worry about school for THREE WHOLE MONTHS!

Yippee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Before school ended my teacher, Mrs. Daisy, told us to write about our favorite season. We had to read our essays in front of everybody.

“My favorite season is spring,” wrote Andrea Young, this annoying girl with curly brown hair. “The sun is out. Flowers are blooming. Birds are chirping. Butterflies flit to and fro. It fills me with joy and happiness.”

I hate Andrea.

What is her problem? Everybody knows the best season of all is summer. That's the first rule of being a kid! Summer blows the doors off the other seasons.

You know why summer is so great? Because you don't have to sit still all day. You don't have to pledge the allegiance or have circle time or learn the Word of the Day. You don't have to line up in ABC order and walk in single file. Teachers don't yell at you, and you can't be sent to the principal's office. There's no disgusting cafeteria food to eat. You don't have to read books. No homework! You don't have to learn stuff.

My brain hurts from so much thinking all year long. In second grade I thought my head was gonna explode from thinking too much.

During the school year, you have to go to bed early and get up early. In the summer you can stay up late and get up late. The sun stays out until nine o'clock at night. How does it know to do that? I guess the sun likes summer, too.

Summer is like three months of recess! You can have water balloon fights, eat saltwater taffy, and play football on the beach. And you don't have to wear a coat or gloves. You can wear flip-flops and shorts with holes in them. Ice cream
tastes better. And you don't have to take as many showers because you can go swimming. I love swimming. I'm a great swimmer. In the summer you can swim all day.

Plus, in the summer when you get sunburned, you can peel off your skin!

What's cooler than peeling off your own skin?

But here's the number one reason why summer is the best season: I don't have to see Andrea Young for THREE WHOLE MONTHS!

Yippee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Three months is 12 weeks. That's 12 whole weeks with no Andrea!

I got a calculator for Christmas, and I figured it out. Twelve weeks times 7 days in a week is 84 days.

That's 84 days with no Andrea!

And 84 days times 24 hours in a day is 2,016 hours.

That's 2,016 hours with no Andrea!

And 2,016 hours times 60 minutes in an hour is 120,960 minutes.

That's 120,960 minutes with no Andrea!

And 120,960 minutes times 60 seconds in a minute is 7,257,600 seconds.
*

That's more than 7 million seconds with no Andrea!

Yippee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And I'm going to enjoy every one of them.

This summer, my parents rented a beach house. We were gonna share it with my cousins, but they couldn't come. So we'll have a big beach house all to ourselves!

The day after school ended, we packed up the car and drove a million hundred miles to the ocean.

“I can't wait to hit the beach,” I said, looking out the car window.

I had to sit in the back with my sister, Amy, who is going into sixth grade. She's annoying, but not as annoying as Andrea.

“You'd better watch out for the sand monster, A.J.,” my sister said.

Sand monster? I never heard of a sand monster.

“There's no such thing as a sand monster,” I said.

“Oh, yes there is,” Amy told me. “He's a zombie who lives under the sand. He comes out when you least expect it. And he only eats boys.”

I bet Amy was yanking my chain. But I
decided to keep my eyes open for man-eating zombie sand monsters just to be on the safe side.

We stopped at a Chinese restaurant
because there wasn't any food at the beach house. Chinese food is cool because they give you chopsticks. So while you're waiting for the slowpoke grown-ups to finish eating, you can drum on the table or put the chopsticks in your nose and pretend to be a walrus.

Finally, we reached the beach house. It was too late to go swimming, but my parents said I could check out the beach while they unpacked our stuff.

The ocean smelled good. There was a sign on the boardwalk that said
SAND CASTLE CONTEST THIS WEEK
. Up in the sky, somebody was parasailing. Do you know what parasailing is? A parachute is
strapped to your back, and a boat pulls you with a rope. Parasailing is cool. I'm gonna try it when I get bigger.

The beach was almost empty, except for one thing—a backhoe. Do you know what a backhoe is? It's this yellow machine that digs up stuff.

The backhoe was scooping up sand and dumping it onto a big pile. I went over to watch because machines are cool.

A teenager was driving the backhoe. He had blond hair and a whistle around his neck.

“Yo, dude!” he said as he turned off the motor. “My name is Evan, but everybody calls me Mr. Sunny. What's your name?”

“My name is Arlo, but everybody calls me A.J.,” I said. “What are you doing?”

“Building a sand castle,” Mr. Sunny said. “I'm gonna enter the contest.”

“It looks like a big pile of sand to me.”

“Oh, wait until it's done, man,” Mr. Sunny said. “Right now my castle is hidden within this sand, waiting to be born. Sand is my life, dude.”

Guys who say “man” and “dude” are cool. Mr. Sunny seemed pretty nice, even if he did like sand a little too much.

“Is this your summer job?” I asked. “You build sand castles?”

“No, dude,” Mr. Sunny said. “I'm the lifeguard here. Will I see you out in the water tomorrow?”

“You bet!” I said. “I'm a great swimmer.”

It was getting late. I said good-bye to Mr. Sunny and headed back to the beach house.

“I have great news, A.J.!” my mom yelled from the porch. “I just got off the phone. One of your friends from school is going to be sharing the house with us!”

“Yippee!” I said. “Who is it? Ryan? Michael? Neil?”

“No,” my mother replied. “It's Andrea Young.”

WHAT?????????!!!!!!!!!!!

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