All About Sam Part 3

From the kitchen, he could hear his mom's footsteps as she walked from the stove to the refrigerator to the sink. His mom was certainly moving.

He didn't know about Dad. But it was almost the time when Dad would be getting home from atwork, so probably Dad was moving, too.

But Sam was absolutely motionless. So Anastasia was wrong.

"I'm not moving," Sam whispered. He whispered it so that not even his lips would be moving.

Anastasia tied both of his sneakers. She sighed. "Yes, you are," she said mournfully. "You have no choice." She adjusted his overalls, lifted him, and stood him on the floor.

Sam was very still. He tried not even to breathe. "I'm still not moving," he whispered.

"Mom!" Anastasia called toward the kitchen. "Sam's on my side! Sam says that he is absolutely not moving!"

His mother appeared in the doorway. "We'll discuss it later," she said. "Sam? You want to help me frost some cupcakes?"

"Sure," Sam said. He began to breathe again. He ran toward the kitchen. "Now I am moving," he called to his sister. "I like moving."

Anastasia glared at him. "Traitor," she said.

Sam loved moving day. Men with tattoos on their arms came in and out of the apartment. Sam had never before seen anyone with tattoos.

One man had a fish, another man had a dragon, and the third had an anchor.

Sam decided that when he grew up, he would be a moving man, so that he could have tattoos. When no one was looking, he took a blue marker and made himself the beginning of a tattoo on one arm. Possibly it was the beginning of a dragon.

The moving men carried everything to their truck. They carried the living room couch. When they picked up the couch, their tattoos bulged.

"Oh, no!" said Sam's mom, after the moving men picked up the couch. "That's disgusting!"

Sam looked where she was pointing. He didn't think it was disgusting at all. He thought it was wonderful.

A whole lot of lost stuff appeared on the rug where the couch had been. There were three socks, each covered with gray dust. There was the plastic pretzel that Sam remembered from when he was a baby just getting teeth. There was some green paper, crumpled up. Anastasia grabbed it.

"A dollar!" she said. "Finders keepers!"

That was okay. Sam found four pennies.

"What's this?" Mrs. Krupnik asked, with a look on her face that meant "yuck." She poked something with the toe of her sandal.

"I dunno," Anastasia said. "It's something gross."

Sam knew what it was. But he didn't tell them. It was part of a lunch that he hadn't wanted to eat, once, quite a long time ago. Tuna fish sandwich. When he had stuffed it under the couch, he had thought it would disappear forever.

He began to remember all the other things he had hidden in other places. A vitamin pill under the was.h.i.+ng machine. A partly chewed cuc.u.mber. He had poked that under the radiator in Dad's study.

And broccoli. Sam hated broccoli. Every time they had broccoli for dinner, Sam waited until no one was looking, and he hid his broccoli in his lap or his pocket. Then, later, he tucked it under the corner of the living room rug and squashed it down carefully with his foot. There was a whole year's supply of broccoli there by now. A mountain of broccoli, all squashed. Sam had always thought that he would never get to see it again. He had thought that it had disappeared forever.

Now, on moving day, he waited. The living room rug was one of the very last things. Sam had to wait while the movers did everything else: the beds, the desks, the tables and chairs.

Finally, after all the furniture was in the truck, they returned to the living room. One of thema"the one with the blue-and-red dragon tattooa"leaned down to begin to roll the end of the rug.

But Mrs. Krupnik stopped him. "No," she said. "Not the rug."

Sam looked at her in surprise. He wanted very much to see what had happened to his broccoli, especially now that he had seen how his tuna fish sandwich had turned an interesting shade of blue.

"We're leaving the rug here," his mom told the moving man. The man shrugged and dropped the edge of the rug back down on the floor.

"Why?" Sam asked. "Why can't we take the rug?"

"Dad and I bought a new rug for the living room in the new house," his mom said. "We'll leave this one for the people who move in here. They can decide what to do with it."

"Why? Why don't we keep it?"

His mom frowned. She kicked at the rug with her toe. "It's gotten old," she said. "I used to like this rug. The color is so nice. But somehow, it's lost its shape. It doesn't lie flat the way it should. We'll just leave it as a surprise for the next people," she told Sam. "Maybe they'll be really happy to have a free rug."

And broccoli, Sam thought. Lots of free broccoli, too.

The new house was very, very different from the old apartment.

It was much, much bigger.

There were three floors instead of just one. Front stairs and back stairs.

There were lots of rooms. Three bathrooms instead of just one. More closets than Sam could count.

He got lost, looking around. It was scary. He had to stand very still and listen until he could hear the sound of the moving men carrying furniture. Then he had to go down a hall, through a room, and down some stairs to find people.

"Hi, Sam," Anastasia said. "Where were you?"

He couldn't answer because he didn't know where he had been.

"Lost," he whispered and took Anastasia's hand.

She laughed. "I'll show you where your bedroom will be," she said. "Come on."

She took him back up the stairs, down a hall, and into a big empty room with blue wallpaper. A closet door was open, and he could see the huge empty closet, exactly the kind of closet that monsters would live in, Sam was sure.

"Here," Anastasia said. "This will be your room, and you're going to have a real bed, like a big boy, instead of a crib."

Sam put his thumb into his mouth. The room was very, very big. "Not my crib with the clowns painted on it?" he asked in a small voice.

"Nope. You're too big for that now."

"Will your bed be here, too?" he asked his sister, talking carefully around his thumb.

"Nope. My room's on the third floor. I'll show you in a minute. Look here, down the hall. Here's where Mom and Dad will be."

Sam peeked in. He could see that their big bed was already set up. But there was enough room. His bed would fit right beside it. He tugged on Anastasia's jeans.

"I want my bed here, too," he said.

She knelt beside him. "Don't you want your own room?" she asked.

"No," said Sam.

Mrs. Krupnik appeared in the doorway. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Don't you like your room, Sam?"

"No," Sam said.

"Don't you like our new house?"

"No," Sam said.

Mrs. Krupnik sighed. "Anastasia," she said, "I can see that the Terrible Twos are still with us."

Sam looked around nervously. He listened. He could hear a door slam downstairs. He could hear the moving men b.u.mping around with furniture. He could hear his dad's voice, telling them where to put things.

But he couldn't see or hear the Terrible Twos anywhere.

Anastasia pried open the lid of a large cardboard box. "It's going to take us all summer to unpack, Mom," she said. "Look, Sam! It's your trucks!"

Sam looked. His sister lifted out his blue tow truck and put it on the floor. Next came his bright yellow tractor.

"Is my steam shovel there?" he asked. "And my crane? And my front-end loader?"

Anastasia nodded. "All here. Hey, Sam, I have an idea. Let's dump out all the trucks, and then we'll put the big empty box on its side, to make a garagea"down the hall, in your rooma"and then we can drive the trucks down to their garage, one by one."

"Yeah!" Sam said. "Let's!"

Anastasia set up the cardboard garage in the big blue bedroom down the hall. Then she, and Sam, and Mrs. Krupnik all got onto their hands and knees.

"Rrrrrrrrrr," they all said, and began pus.h.i.+ng trucks across the bare floors and down the long hall.

Sam's father came up the stairs and stood there watching.

"You can do the fire engine if you want, Dad," Sam said.

So Dr. Krupnik got onto his hands and knees and made a siren noise as he pushed the red fire engine slowly down the hall.

A moving man came to the top of the stairs and watched, wiping the sweat from his forehead, as the Krupnik family crawled in a line along the hall floor.

"Can I do one?" the moving man asked.

"Take the dump truck," Sam directed, and the moving man began to crawl and say "Rrrrrrrrrr," also.

Another moving man came up the stairs, looked, laughed, and then got down on his hands and knees with the police rescue vehicle.

The third moving man appeared, looking puzzled, with a can of Pepsi in his hand. He stared at them for a moment. Then he shrugged, put the Pepsi down on the top step, and got himself a truck. He chose the big gray steam shovel. He made it say "Clankety-clank" as he drove it down the hall at the end of the procession.

There were seven people now, crawling slowly down the hall, pus.h.i.+ng trucks and making engine and siren noises.

Finally they were all in Sam's big new bedroom: Sam, and his mom and dad, and Anastasia, and all three moving men, sitting on the floor surrounded by trucks.

"Well," said one of the moving men, the one with the tattoo dragon, "next we'll set up your bed, Sam. Right here against this wall be okay?"

Sam looked at the wall where the man was pointing. A few minutes ago the room had looked scary. It had looked too big and too empty and too far away from all the people in his family.

But now, all of a sudden, it looked okay. Now his trucks were lined up on the floor, waiting to drive into the cardboard box garage. Now there was another, unopened box under the window, and he knew what was in it: his blocks. Soon they would bring up his bookcase and the box that held all of his books.

Sam nodded. "Okay," he said to the moving man with the dragon. "You can put my bed right there."

The three moving men got to their feet and headed for the stairs.

"It's not a crib!" Sam called after them, just in case they might have the wrong idea, might think he was still a baby. "It's a bed! A real one!"

6.

"Sam," said his mom one day after they were settled in the new house, "we're going to do something exciting today. We're going to visit your school. Next month you're going to start school, and today we'll go there to visit."

Sam looked up from his trucks with surprise. "Will I go to Anastasia's school?" he asked.

He wasn't sure he wanted to. Anastasia's school was going to be called junior high, and his sister had confessed to him, "Sam, I am terrified about going to junior high."

But his mother said no. Sam would not be going to junior high.

"Will I go to Daddy's school?" Sam asked.

Daddy's school was not called junior high. Daddy's school was called a very complicated name: Harvarduniversity. Daddy had gone to Harvarduniversity a million years ago, when he was young and didn't have a beard. And later he had gone to another school called Yaleuniversity, and later he had gone to another school called Columbiauniversity; and now that he was an old guy with a beard, he was back at Harvarduniversity again. Sam had been there to visit Daddy at his office. Daddy's office door had his name on it.

"Can I go to Harvarduniversity? Can I have my name on my door?" Sam asked. "Like Daddy?"

But his mom laughed and said no. Sam would not be going to Harvarduniversity.

She tied Sam's shoe. "Sam," she said, "your shoes are always untied. I think I'll get you some of those sneakers that have fasteners made out ofa"what is that stuff called, the stuff that sticks together?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know," he said.

"Xerox?" asked his mother. "No, that's not it." She gave him a cookie. "You're going to nursery school," she told him.

Sam picked the raisins out of his cookie, to save them till last, and thought about that. Nursery school.