Myron crumbled a cracker on the windowsill next to his desk, then looked away. He knew Oddty came only when nobody was looking and ate the crumbs. Myron watched him out of the corner of his eye. He was a black bird with a pink breast. Myron had named him "Oddly." Myron had named him Oddty. Is that your dumb bird again?" asked Kathy No, said Myron. "Oddly is not my bird. I don't
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own him. He doesn't live in a cage. Oddly is free!"
"You're a birdbrain," said Kathy.
Myron watched Oddly fly away. It made him sad and glad at the same time. He wished he could fly away across the sky with Oddly.
Oddly probably thinks I live in a cage, he realized. Whenever he sees me, I'm sitting in this same desk. He probably thinks this desk is my cage!
So Myron got out of his chair and sat on the floor.
"Myron, what are you doing out of your seat?" asked Mrs. Jewls.
"I want to sit on the floor," said Myron.
Several kids laughed.
"Get back in your seat," ordered Mrs. Jewls.
Myron reluctantly returned to his desk.
I do live in a cage, he thought. I'm not allowed out. I have to stay in my cage until the bell rings. Then I have to go down the stairs. Then when it rings again, I have to go up the stairs. Then when it rings again, I have to go down the stairs. Then when it rings again, I have to go up the stairs. I'm never free.
The bell rang.
Myron went down the stairs.
It was so crowded with kids rushing to recess that he couldn't stop if he wanted. It was as if someone had lifted his cage and was carrying him down the stairs.
The bell rang again.
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Myron went up the stairs.
At lunch the bell rang again.
Myron went down the stairs.
After lunch the bell rang again.
Myron stood at the bottom of the staircase and looked up. "No!" he declared. "I won't go. I have to be free!"
As all the other kids rushed past him, he eased his way around to the back of the stairs. As everybody else went up, Myron went down . . .
to the basement.
He nervously walked down the old creaky staircase. He didn't know what he'd find, or what would find him. He had heard that dead rats were living down there, or worse, maybe even Mrs. Gorf!
Mrs. Gorf was the meanest teacher Myron had ever had. She used to be the teacher on the thirtieth story, before Mrs. Jewls took over. But nobody believed that Mrs. Gorf was really gone. Everyone said she was still lurking somewhere inside Wayside School.
He stepped off the last step, at the very bottom of Wayside School. It was too dark to see. Somewhere he heard a drip that echoed all around the cold and damp room.
With his arms outstretched, he stepped across the gritty floor. His hand struck against a large, fat pipe
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above his head. The pipe felt like it was covered with a thousand spiderwebs. Still, Myron kept his finger on the pipe as he walked, so he wouldn't get lost. As long as he stayed with the pipe, he knew he'd be able to find his way back to the stairs.
Something crawled across his hand. He shook it off, then continued walking.
He thought he heard footsteps behind him. He stopped walking. The sound of the footsteps continued for a second, then stopped.
He started again, then stopped. The footsteps stopped a few seconds later.
He wasn't alone.
It was too dark for Myron to see who was following him, but he realized that meant that the person couldn't see him either. Whoever was coming after him had to have been following along the pipe, too.
So Myron left the safety of the pipe and headed blindly across the basement.
The footsteps continued behind him.
He stopped.
The footsteps stopped too.
He bent down, then untied and took off his right sneaker. He threw it toward the other side of the basement. He heard it hit on the floor, then the footsteps started after it.
Very quietly, he took off his other sneaker and threw it in the same direction.
He never heard his shoe hit the ground.
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The footsteps started after him again.
He started to run, but slipped in his socked feet on a spot of slime. His hands hit loud and hard as he fell on the cold floor.
The footsteps came hurriedly toward him.
He held his breath and tried to be as quiet as possible.
A light turned on above his head.
He screamed.
"I believe this is yours," said a bald man. He was holding Myron's left sneaker.
Next to him were two men with black mustaches. One of the men held a black attache case.
Myron shook his head. "That's not my shoe," he said. "I never saw it before."
The bald man glanced at Myron's shoeless feet.
"What's your name?" asked the man with the attache case.
"Myron," said Myron. He regretted it as soon as he had said it. He wished he had made up a fake name.
The man opened his attache case and took out a notebook. "Myron," he repeated, as he thumbed through the notebook. "You're supposed to be in Mrs. Jewls's class, at the desk next to the window, in front of Sharie."
"What are you doing out of your cage-I mean, seat?" asked the other man with a mustache.
"I just wanted to be free," chirped Myron. "Please
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don't hurt me. If you let me go back to Mrs. Jewls's room, 111 never come down here again."
"Well, do you want to be free, or do you want to be safe?" asked the bald man.
"Huh?" asked Myron.
"You can't have it both ways," said the bald man.
"Do you want to be safe?" asked one of the men with a mustache. "Do you want to sit in the same chair every day, and go up and down the stairs every time the bell rings?"
"You 11 have go to school five days a week," said the other man with a mustache. "And you'll have to go to bed at the same time every day."
"But first you'll have to brush your teeth," said the other man with a mustache.
"And you won't be allowed to watch TV until you finish your homework," said the other man with a mustache.
"You'll have to go inside when it rains," said the other man with a mustache.
"But first you'll have to wipe your feet," said the other man with a mustache.
"Or you can be free," said the bald man.
The man took a pencil and a piece of paper out of his attache case. "So do you want to be safe, or do you want to be free?"
Myron looked at the three men. "I want to be free," he said bravely.
The man with the attache case wrote something
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on the piece of paper and gave it to Myron. "Sign here," he said.
Myron couldn't read the piece of paper. It was written in some kind of foreign language. He signed his name.
The man took the paper and pencil from Myron and put them back into his attache case. "Okay, you're free," he said.
"Good luck, Myron," said the bald man. "Here, I think you 11 need this." He gave Myron his left sneaker, then reached up and pulled the chain. The light turned off.
Myron found himself alone in the darkness. He put his shoe back on, then hopped across the basement floor. He had no idea how to get back.
At last his hand hit against a pipe. But he still didn't know which way to follow it, left or right. He didn't even know if it was the right pipe. He turned left and continued hopping, keeping his finger on the pipe.
He was just about ready to turn around and try the other way when he nearly fell over the bottom stair.
He hopped up the stairs, and continued hopping all the way up to Mrs. Jewls's room.
He was tired, sore, and dirty.
"You're late, Myron," said Mrs. Jewls. "Go write your name under DISCIPLINE, then return to your seat for the arithmetic test."
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But Myron didn't feel like taking an arithmetic test. And he definitely didn't want to write his name on the board.
So he sat on the floor.
And there was nothing Mrs. Jewls could do about it.
He was free.
After school Mrs. Jewls found Myron's other sneaker in the teachers' lounge, in the refrigerator.