The Worst Mascot Ever Read online

  Contents

  * * *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Armadillo Blues

  Lizzy’s Terrific, Amazing, Stupendous, Fabulous Idea . . . Almost!

  Zombie Eyeballs

  “Wow Me”

  Problem on the Playground

  At the Library

  Meeting with the Big Boss

  Suri Leads the Revolt

  The Campaign

  Lizzy Gets a Little Help

  Imagine

  Enter the Dragon

  Miss Zips’s “Wow Me” Tips

  Sample Chapter from EVERYBODY NEEDS A BUDDY

  Buy the Book

  Read More from the Big Idea Gang Series

  About the Author

  Connect with HMH on Social Media

  Text copyright © 2019 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company

  Illustrations copyright © 2019 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

  hmhbooks.com

  Cover illustration © 2019 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

  Cover illustration by Stephen Gilpin

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Names: Preller, James, author. | Gilpin, Stephen, illustrator.

  Title: Worst mascot ever / by James Preller ; illustrated by Stephen Gilpin. | Description: Boston ; New York : Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, [2019] | Series: The Big Idea Gang | Summary: Four friends inaugurate their Big Idea Gang by starting a campaign to convince their principal and school to get a new mascot. | Identifiers: LCCN 2017061520 | ISBN 9781328857187 (hardback) | ISBN 9781328915115 (paperback)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Mascots—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction. | Persuasion (Psychology)—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | JUVENILE FICTION / Humorous Stories. | JUVENILE FICTION / Readers / Chapter Books. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Friendship.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.P915 Wo 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017061520

  eISBN 978-1-328-53073-8

  v1.0119

  This book is dedicated to Mr. Met.

  —J. P.

  — CHAPTER 1 —

  Armadillo Blues

  The trouble began when a giant purple armadillo ran onto the field behind Clay Elementary School.

  Well, “ran” isn’t exactly the right word.

  No, not “jogged” either.

  The armadillo stumbled.

  It bumbled.

  It huffed and puffed.

  It gasped.

  And finally paused, panting, to face a gathered crowd of students. The armadillo bellowed into a megaphone, “ARE YOU READY—​FOR—​gasp, wheeze—​THE FUN RUN?”

  Pointing his right front claw, the armadillo led the charge. He ran forward, but his tail snagged on a tree root. Rip! Whoops! No more tail! Cotton stuffing floated into the air, carried by the wind.

  Shivering in the cold November afternoon, students of Clay Elementary watched in wonder. They stood huddled together like a colony of penguins. The boys and girls were not dressed for the chilly weather. Most wore running shorts, T-shirts, and sneakers. A few pulled on wool hats and gloves. It was time for the annual Fun Run for Fitness.

  “I’m freezing!” Connor O’Malley complained. His teeth chattered. “I can’t feel my toes.” He turned to his twin sister, Lizzy. “Are my lips turning blue? I actually think my face has frozen solid. I might freeze to death.”

  Lizzy poked her brother’s cheek with a finger. “It feels like a hockey puck.” She grinned. “I think you’ll survive.”

  “Hey, why aren’t you cold?” Connor asked.

  “I came prepared. I stuffed heat packs into my socks,” Lizzy said. “Just call me Toasty Toes.”

  “Oh no!” Kym Park interjected. “Look now.”

  All eyes turned to watch as the school’s purple mascot, Arnold the Armadillo, slipped and tripped and sprawled belly-first into an icy mud puddle.

  “Whoa, belly flop,” Connor said.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the armadillo has landed,” Deon Gibson observed.

  Connor and Deon bumped fists.

  Every student at Clay Elementary knew that Principal Tuxbury was in there. Deon shook his head. “Worst . . . mascot . . . ever.”

  Lizzy frowned. “The costume does seem a little droopy.”

  “I’ll say,” Connor agreed.

  “It’s a sad, sorry armadillo,” Deon added.

  “I wonder why we have an armadillo for a mascot,” Lizzy mused. “We live in Connecticut. I don’t think there are any armadillos in Connecticut. Are there?”

  “We have possums,” Deon said. “That’s kind of the same. Isn’t it?”

  Lizzy frowned.

  Kym had other concerns. “I hope Principal Tuxbury isn’t hurt.” She was right to fret. Groans echoed from inside the armadillo’s plush-and-chicken-wire head. Ms. Baez, the school nurse, rushed to the fallen mascot. She began yanking on the armadillo’s head.

  “It’s stuck. Nurse Baez needs help,” Kym said.

  “Let’s go!” Connor roared.

  In moments, students and teachers formed a long chain—​all yanking and tugging on the fallen armadillo’s head.

  “Oof, huzzuh, gork!” Muffled cries came from inside the mascot.

  The head remained fixed to the body of the costume. It would not budge. Principal Tuxbury was trapped.

  “Should we call the fire department?” Kym asked. No one replied to Kym’s question. Because no one heard it. The screaming was too loud.

  “Heave!” beseeched Nurse Baez.

  “Ho!” the students cried.

  “HEAVE!”

  “HO!”

  And finally, with one mighty tug, the head ripped off. It flew up into the sky. The long line of tuggers toppled to the ground, heels kicking the air.

  The grubby mascot sat up. The headless costume now exposed the bald, round, unhappy head of Principal Larry Tuxbury. He looked around, dazed and confused.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Tuxbury?” Nurse Baez asked. “Perhaps you should lie down on a cot.”

  “Never again,” he muttered. “You’ll never, ever get me into that ridiculous suit again!”

  From that day forward, it would always be remembered as the best Fun Run ever.

  It was the day the armadillo died.

  — CHAPTER 2 —

  Lizzy’s Terrific, Amazing, Stupendous, Fabulous Idea . . . Almost!

  The next morning students trickled into room 312. They hung up their jackets. They pulled homework folders from their backpacks. They stuffed lunch boxes in their cubbies. It was a mellow time of day, full of yawns and quiet conversation. The room was arranged in four-desk clusters, called tables. At that time of day, students were free to move around as they wished—​until Principal Tuxbury’s morning announcements.

  The boys and girls called their teacher “Miss Zips.” That’s because her name was Isadora Zipsokowski, a name few managed to pronounce without spraining their tongues. Miss Zips was six feet tall in flat shoes. She usually wore her hair in a tight, black bun. There were often pencils sticking out of it. Miss Zips had the whitest, straightest teeth anyone had ever seen. All the kids agreed she could be an actress for a toothpaste commercial.

  Miss Zips was crazy about reading. Her classroom was filled with books—​in stacks, on shelves, in bins, and jammed into boxes labeled WINTER! or HALLOWEEN! or GRAPHIC NOVE
LS! and so on.

  Once a student named Bartimus Finkle complained, “Our room is a mess. Too many books.”

  Miss Zips’s eyes narrowed. She replied, “Better get used to it, Bartimus. Books are my favorite furniture.”

  On this morning, Miss Zipsokowski sat at her desk nibbling a blueberry muffin. She chatted with Mr. Sanders, the classroom aide. He was famous for his big, gray, bushy eyebrows. Deon had quipped, “It’s like he has a squirrel’s tail stapled above each eyelid.”

  Lizzy and Kym visited with Connor and Deon, who sat at the same table.

  “Kym and I have a great, amazing idea,” Lizzy announced. She wore stretch pants, a green fleece, and slip-on glitter shoes.

  “Uh-oh,” Connor groaned. He turned to Deon. “You know what happened last time Lizzy had an idea?”

  “What?” Deon asked.

  “More homework!” Connor replied.

  “Not true!” Lizzy protested.

  “Is true,” Connor answered.

  “Not!” Lizzy said.

  “It is true,” Connor confided to Deon. “Last year, Lizzy actually suggested that our teacher give us homework on weekends.”

  “I didn’t want more homework,” Lizzy said. “I just thought he could spread it out more evenly.”

  “Like a peanut butter sandwich,” Connor said, rolling his eyes.

  “Exactly,” Lizzy said. “Nobody wants the peanut butter in clumps and lumps. It’s the same with homework!”

  This debate went on for a few minutes. The twins batted the words “is” and “not” back and forth like shuttlecocks over a badminton net. Their voices grew louder. Finally Deon groaned, “Guys, you’ve gotta stop. My ears are bleeding.”

  Kym said in a soft voice, “We never got to tell you our idea.”

  Deon opened his mouth. But before he could protest, Miss Zips was at his elbow. “What’s going on, guys?”

  “We were trying to tell them our terrific, amazing, stupendous idea,” Lizzy said.

  “So why the raised voices?” Miss Zips looked to Connor and Deon.

  Connor didn’t answer. He stared at his desktop.

  Deon fiddled with a pencil.

  Miss Zips turned to Lizzy and Kym. “I can’t speak for the boys. But I’m excited to hear your terrific, amazing, stupendous idea.”

  “We want a new school mascot,” Kym and Lizzy announced.

  “Oh,” Miss Zips said. “You don’t like Arnold the Armadillo?”

  “No,” Kym said.

  “Not even a little bit,” Lizzy added.

  “It’s the worst,” Deon agreed.

  Miss Zips glanced at the wall clock. “So what’s your idea for a new mascot?”

  “Our idea?” Lizzy echoed.

  Her ears began to twitch.

  “Yes. You’ve made your claim, now you need to support it. What did you have in mind? And also, who would you need to convince in order to make this change happen?” Miss Zips wondered.

  Lizzy looked at Kym.

  Kym looked at Connor.

  Connor looked at Deon.

  For the next half a minute, everyone’s head spun around like a weather vane on a windy day. Round and round they went. Kym finally admitted, “We don’t have a clue.”

  “Hmm,” Miss Zips replied. “You’ve got some thinking to do. I’d start by focusing on the new mascot.”

  “Good morning, Clay Elementary!” a voice blared over the loudspeaker. Mouths zipped shut. It was time to stand, hand to heart, and face the flag.

  — CHAPTER 3 —

  Zombie Eyeballs

  After school, Lizzy, Connor, and Kym met at Deon’s house. They agreed that his house was the best choice, because it had the yummiest snacks. Mr. Gibson was a photographer who often traveled for business. Mrs. Gibson worked from home. Nobody knew exactly what she did. It seemed to involve a lot of sighing and tapping on the computer keyboard.

  “Probably a writer,” Connor speculated. “Writers sigh a lot.”

  In the basement, the four friends munched on grapes, Pop-Tarts, and goldfish. “Miss Zips is right,” Kym said. “We need a big idea.”

  “We already have one. We’re going to dump Arnold the Armadillo,” Deon said, rubbing his hands together. “My work is done here.”

  Lizzy shook her head. “Not so fast, Deon. How do we do it? We’re not in charge of the school.”

  “I wish,” Connor said. “If I were boss, I’d ban homework forever. And Wednesdays.”

  “Wednesdays? The whole day?” Kym asked.

  “Wednesday are terrible,” Connor said. “Trust me. Nothing good ever happened on a Wednesday.”

  “Nice dream, Connor,” Lizzy said. “But I think we should start by coming up with a cool new mascot. Has anyone got any ideas?”

  Kym suggested that maybe the mascot should be named after the state animal. They looked it up on the home computer.

  Connor read over Kym’s shoulder, “A sperm whale?”

  The gang decided that “Let’s go, Sperm Whales!” wasn’t very catchy.

  “What about the state bird?” Lizzy asked.

  “It’s the robin,” Kym said.

  “Boring!” Deon pronounced.

  “What about the state fish?” Connor asked.

  Kym rolled her eyes. “It’s the shad.”

  “Nope, not on my watch,” Deon piped up. “No way. We are not going to be the Clay Elementary Shad. I’m sorry, that’s just not happening.”

  Everyone laughed. The shad was nobody’s idea of a great school mascot.

  Deon was growing bored. He hated to be trapped indoors on a sunny day. He popped a grape into his mouth and snapped down on it. “I like to pretend they’re zombie eyeballs,” he explained to Connor, who understood perfectly.

  “That’s an idea for our mascot,” Connor exclaimed. “Zombies!” He wandered around the room on stiff legs, moaning and groaning.

  “Gross.” Lizzy frowned.

  Kym twisted around in her chair. In a soft voice she offered, “Everybody likes hamsters. What do you guys think?”

  Deon hissed and gave two thumbs down.

  “I don’t hear any ideas coming from you, Deon,” Kym snapped.

  “The Bulldogs,” Deon replied.

  There was a long pause.

  No one said a word.

  “Bulldogs are cute,” Lizzy finally said.

  “I like their pushed-in faces,” Kym said.

  “And they’re tough,” Connor added.

  “The Clay Elementary Bulldogs,” Kym murmured, nodding her head. “Deon, I think you’ve done it.”

  “Genius,” Connor agreed, rising to his feet. “Now let’s go outside. I’m tired of eating zombie eyeballs. Besides, I saw a big pile of leaves on the front lawn. Let’s jump in ’em.”

  “What about ticks?” Kym worried.

  “For a mascot?” Deon asked.

  Kym rolled her eyes. “No, ticks in the leaves! They carry diseases.” But Connor was already halfway up the stairs. He wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t the worrying type.

  — CHAPTER 4 —

  “Wow Me”

  Lizzy decided that morning snack was the perfect time to ask Miss Zips for help. Boys and girls ate at their desks. But afterward, they could roam around, practice dance routines on the rug, pull out a book, get a head start on homework, talk quietly, whatever.

  “Notebooks away,” Miss Zips announced. “Get ready for snack.”

  All at once, the activity in the room shifted. Everybody got busy eating crackers, applesauce, cookies, cheese puffs, pretzel sticks, carrots, potato chips, and strawberries.

  Mr. Sanders went over to help organize Bobby Mumford, who was humming to himself while carelessly dropping Cheetos on the rug.

  “Now’s our chance,” Lizzy said, elbowing Kym.

  They told Miss Zips that her sweater was a pretty color. Then they told her about their idea for a bulldog mascot. Then Lizzy asked, “What do we do now?”

  Miss Zips thought for a moment. “You
’ll surely need to speak to Principal Tuxbury. You should make an appointment with the secretary, Ms. Woon.”

  “Can you do it for us?” Lizzy asked.

  Miss Zips didn’t say yes right away. Not a good sign. “You know what?” she said. “I think it might be more helpful . . . if I make you do it yourselves.”

  “But we’re just kids,” Kym said.

  Miss Zips waved away the thought. “Oh, don’t be silly. You’ve got a big idea. Now you’ve got to sell it. Remember, you have to support your claim.”

  Lizzy and Kym sagged. They didn’t know the first thing about selling ideas. The phone rang and Miss Zips went to answer it. Before picking up the receiver, she said to the girls, “Let me think about this. I won’t leave you high and dry.”

  “What does that mean?” Lizzy asked Kym.

  “It means there’s hope,” Kym said.

  Ten minutes later, Miss Zips signaled the end of snack break. She slid her fancy black chair with roller wheels to the front of the room. “Come, gather round,” she said. “Bring your clipboards.” Miss Zips loved to teach with her students huddled together on the reading rug.

  The students all had their own clipboards. This way they could take notes while sitting crisscross-applesauce. She said, “Be thoughtful about who you sit with. Are we all settled? That’s good.” She rested her hands in her lap. “Ah, that was a nice little break, wasn’t it? I was speaking to Lizzy and Kym earlier today, and they have a really big idea.” She looked to Lizzy. “Would you like to tell the class about it?”

  Lizzy explained their big idea.

  It was time for a new school mascot.

  The bulldog!

  The kids in room 312 were thrilled. “I never liked that armadillo,” confided Amir Kazemi.

  “Why not?” asked Rosa Morales.

  “He once stepped on my foot. It really hurt,” Amir said, remembering the pain.