Reading Mr. Bubbles: Short Fiction about a Witchy Substitute Teacher and the Second Graders Who Knew Exactly What To Do

At the office where I work for a franchising organization, a colleague---who happens to have an 8-year-old daughter interested in graphic novels, fantasy stories, and library books---had asked about some of my published work. She mentioned her daughter is interested in reading what I've written. Sweet molasses! I felt warm and tingly, a lovely stickiness like a sugar-high that awakened my bones and spurred me into action.

My eyes flipped through the rolodex in my head, skipping past my work that touched on adult-themed topics about love, loss, loneliness, until I landed on a more appropriate story: Mr. Bubbles.

Yes. That's the one, as I remembered the narrative included a witchy substitute teacher the second graders rebelled against. A story published in my first collection of short fiction, Roxy's Not My Girl.

I pulled a PDF copy of the story from my files, when I first completed it, in its original formatting, and sent the digital document to my colleague. As wonderful as she is, she read it immediately, loved it, and couldn't wait to share it with her daughter and her daughter's bestie who both happen to to be named the same as two memorable characters in Mr. Bubbles.

Immediately I felt that familiar warmth and tingliness. And I couldn't help but think and believe that stories have a special way of connecting us and keeping us close together, no matter the difference in age or the distance from one landscape to another. It's a good feeling, that sweet molasses that comes from the heart.

Here's the story of Mr. Bubbles. I hope you enjoy it as much as my colleague and her daughter and her daughter's bestie.

Mr. Bubbles

by Renee Coloman

Sami understood quite well that proper behavior translated into extra bonus points. Especially during substitute-teacher days. And, with enough good check marks next to her name, she would earn the privilege of selecting a special prize posted on the classroom bulletin board, right next to her teacher’s big desk. Right in front of everyone.

With a sparkle in her smile, the ambitious second grader focused on the dangling ticket to win a googly-eyed goldfish – FREE! From Mermaid Katy’s Aquatic Pet Shop (fish bowl not included).

Of course, Sami wasn’t the first student to pull a ticket from the prize board. She wasn’t the second or third or tenth, either. Some days, she felt as if she’d never earn enough points to win a fancy fish. Or a tadpole. Not even a common guppy. But she was determined not to be the last in line. She decided to concentrate and cross her fingers and try extra hard.

In fact, she wanted to prove to her classmates once and for all that, yes, she could keep a fish alive. Yes, she did have a loving and caring heart that pumped actual blood through her veins and not lumps of coal. Sami wanted her classroom neighbors to know that she meant business, no matter what they said. No matter how many times the boys and girls snickered and often repeated the words of their beloved teacher: Pay attention, Sami! That distracting imagination of yours is NOT proper behavior. No points for you today!

Sure, the sassy girl often unleashed her imagination. She’s been caught more than once chewing gum and sticking the juicy wads between the pages of her teacher’s boring math book. “This way,” Sami had explained to everyone scowling, “Miss Morris can flip to the answers faster, and we can go to recess quicker. Dibs on dodgeball captain!”

Everyone knew, too, that Sami peeked inside other children’s lunch boxes and snuck away with their Oreo cookies and bags of tasty Cheetos. Sami had a problem with leaving crumbs on her face and trash under her chair.

But the inspired girl wouldn’t allow any of her tattletale classmates or her teacher’s frowny face from stopping her. Sami knew she had to win a pretty little fish, ever since the first day of class when she ignored her teacher’s blah-blah welcome speech and zeroed in on winning a good behavior ticket. 

Even now, she felt her bones tingle. The thought of owning a special pet vibrated from her toes to the tips of her fingers. In her very busy mind, she had already named the fascinating creature Mister Bubbles. She planned for her new best pal to sleep right next to her, swimming round and round in his fishbowl. Watching over sweet Sami. Talking to her in his special, bubbly way. Gurgle, gurgle. 

Nothing could stop Sami from bringing home Mister Bubbles. Not even her so-called bad behavior.

With her hands folded together on the top of her desk, and her shoulders nice and straight, Sami couldn’t wait to impress the substitute teacher scheduled to arrive this morning. Would it be Miss Albright? The lovely young lady from last month? 

Miss Albright taught the second graders how to post group selfies on Instagram and hashtag one another. Too bad Sami didn’t own a smart phone. But, later that night, she was smart enough to post pictures from her Kindle tablet and add the hashtags #peekaboo! #SamiSeesU!

Another thought raced through Sami’s mind. What if she came instead? The old witch with straws of hay instead of hair? Sami didn’t like it when her imagination scared her. She shut her eyes tight. She toughened up, like her mom and dad instructed her when tears dribbled down her cheeks. She could hear their voices, loud and clear. The world doesn’t like crybabies, said her parents. And neither do we.

Sami managed to suck in her fears and swallow hard. She opened her eyes, expecting to see the gentle face of Miss Albright. But the morning bell didn’t yet ring. Vice-principal Wizzle didn’t yet excuse himself from supervising the children who arrived early to class, thanks to the school’s No Tardy Rule and all the posted signs reminding the students You’re Not Great If You’re Late!

Inside the classroom, VP Wizzle sat at the teacher’s desk, holding up the morning newspaper. Sami wondered what he found so interesting that made him snore as loud as a bear. Curious, she wanted to knock the paper out of his hands and yell ding-dong! But that wouldn’t earn her extra bonus points. So, she sat still, practically frozen, and pretended to live in an igloo. 

Swish, swish. The sound of a broom caught Sami’s attention.

“Hell-ooo, students!”

It was her. That awful witchy substitute. Did she – gulp – do away with Miss Albright? Poison her with a tainted apple?

Sami couldn’t help but stare and glare. Luckily, she stopped her mouth from dropping open and shouting Begone, witch! Cast your spells elsewhere!  

Leaning a teeny bit to the left, Sami angled herself to try and hide behind Skylar and Phoenix sitting in front of her. She wanted to pull back Skylar’s two ponytails and use the tall girl as a shield, but Sami reminded herself about Mister Bubbles and decided to keep her hands to herself.

Besides, it was Phoenix who caused the most trouble for Sami. He turned and scrunched his nose and accused his neighbor of stinking the air with farts. Poor, Alexandra. Chocolate milk never failed to upset her tender tummy. But she drank it anyway. Every morning before the start of class. Including today.  

Since Alexandra had shared her chocolatey treat with Sami, the tough second grader joined forces with the lactose-intolerant girl. Sami turned up her imagination. Like a magic wand, she flicked a straw full of brown milk at the troublesome boy.

“That’ll teach you,” Sami smirked. “Don’t mess with girls like us.”

Oops. The second grader forgot about earning bonus points and bringing home Mister Bubbles.

Seeing the stains splattered across his favorite astronaut tee shirt, Phoenix started to cry, which caught the attention of her, the substitute teacher. 

Swish, swish. The old witch broomed her way closer to the four children. Closer to Sami, who still held the carton of chocolate milk and the dripping straw.

“She did it,” Phoenix blubbered, pointing his tattletale finger at Sami. “She ruined my new shirt.” 

The substitute teacher narrowed her beady eyes. She pushed aside her straw hair, over her bony shoulder. She leaned closer to Sami. “I remember you,” she said, curling her tight lips together. “You’re the naughty child.”

Sami scoffed, throwing a glance first at Phoenix. “The world doesn’t like crybabies, and I don’t like you.” Then, a second snarl at the awful teacher. Sami had no choice. She decided to go all in. “I remember you. You’re a witch! Aren’t you?”

The students in the classroom gasped. Never have they heard a second grader insult an adult, especially a schoolteacher. Phoenix and Skylar inched farther away from Sami. Whatever was wrong with that girl, they hoped it wasn’t contagious.

But nothing felt wrong to Sami, not when it came to the witch masquerading as a substitute teacher. Sami felt compelled to reveal the truth. In return, she knew the class would applaud her and that meant earning a ticket to bring Mister Bubbles home.

“You’ve got some nerve, dearie. Calling me names.”

“It’s the truth,” Sami blurted. “You’ve come to eat all the children. Like Hansel and Gretel! You’re gonna cook us like baked potatoes!”

The old bony woman frowned. Wrinkles mapped her forehead. She must be a thousand years old. Maybe older, depending on what kind of witch she was.

Sami lurched out of her chair, ready to run for her life. She spilled the last of the chocolate milk across her desk and onto Phoenix. “My new shoes!” he cried. “You did that on purpose!”

The substitute teacher snapped her wrist and clawed Sami’s shoulder, stopping her right where she stood. “Caught you! Well, dearie. I know exactly what to do with you.”

A toothy smile whisked across the old lady’s face. The kind of smile that meant trouble. Big trouble.

“Fetch me a chair,” the witch said to Phoenix. “You! Boy with stains on your shirt. Put the chair over there. In front of the blackboard.” 

Phoenix dropped his chin to his chest. He started to tremble. He started to cry. He didn’t feel good about the stains on his astronaut tee shirt and his new sneakers. What would his mother say? He didn’t want to wait until his birthday for another nice gift.

Lucky for the boy, Alexandra paid attention. She nudged Skylar and the two girls dragged a chair to the front of the class. Alexandra did her best to hold in her sloshing stomach until she could use the girls’ bathroom. She didn’t want an embarrassing moment, not with everyone watching.

Sami tried to escape from the witch’s grasp. She wiggled her shoulders and stepped from toe to toe. But the old substitute clawed with both hands and steered the unruly second grader to the punishment chair.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you, dearie? Well, I don’t think so. You’re a naughty child with a terrible imagination.” 

Quick as a tornado, the substitute teacher spun Sami around and plopped her in the chair facing the rest of the class. Sami felt a lump rise in her throat. She felt hot tears burning her eyes. 

“Now is your chance, dearie. Let’s play a little game, shall we? Let’s prove once and for all how smart you really are.”

Tears welled in Sami’s eyes. She slammed them shut. She crossed her arms in front of her. Toughen up, she whispered to herself. Nobody likes a crybaby.

“First question!” the substitute said. “What is my name?”

Hands popped up from the children in the classroom. They waited for the teacher to pick them. For the chance to earn special bonus points. The old woman nodded at the class and thanked the eager students for their desire to participate. 

“What a wonderful, well-behaved class,” the substitute said. Then, she scowled at Sami.

“Speak up, naughty child. Tell us how smart you are.”

Sami scrunched her face. She couldn’t be fooled. Witches don’t have names. Or do they? Broom-Hilda popped into her mind. Yeah, that must be it. 

“Time’s up!” the old woman said. “Who in class knows my name?”

More hands shot up in the air. At least thirteen, Sami counted. 

“Yes. You over there. Wearing the pretty sunflower dress,” said the substitute.

Brittney smiled and thanked the teacher for complimenting her favorite outfit. She said, “Your name is Misses Peachfork.”

“Correct! Let’s add a check mark next to your name, Brittney. A good check mark for paying attention and for being a good listener. My, my. Look at all the nice check marks next to your name.”

Brittney curtsied. “At home, I have five guppies that I won from the prize board. Their names are Flower, Tree, Birdy, Bee and Honey.”

Misses Peachfork nodded. “Very nice. Now, who’s next? What else do you know about me?”

The students in class sat up straighter and smiled wider.  They poked their hands high in the air, anxious to answer the next question. 

“Oh, but let’s not forget about our star student,” said the toothy old teacher. She patted Sami on her back. “Tell us how smart you think you are.”

Sami slumped in her chair. She squeezed one eye shut and held her arms tighter across her chest. Her other eye periscoped at the teacher’s beaky nose. “You have a mole,” Sami declared. “Wait. Two moles. A hairy one on your chin and another on the end of your lopsided nose.”

The entire classroom gasped. Twice in one day they heard Sami insult an adult. What could possibly be wrong with the crazy girl?

Misses Peachfork huffed. She sucked in a loud breath and blasted her scratchy voice at Sami. “Double-double-negative check marks by your name, dearie! And, you owe me fifty laps around the school playground. Due at recess.”

Stuck in the chair, the slumped girl shook her head. No, no, no! This can’t be right. What about the dodgeball game? Against the upper graders? 

Sami felt another lump rise in her throat. Her lower lip quivered. The voice of her parents echoed between her ears. Stop it right now. Stop your annoying crybaby crying.

“Would you like to try answering again, dearie?” 

The witch smirked and blazed her eyes straight into Sami’s droopy face. The second grader melted like wax. She practically slid off her chair but managed to prop herself up before spilling her deflated self all over the floor. 

“Well? Speak up! We haven’t got all day.”

“I-I don’t know,” Sami babbled, struggling to sit up nice and straight. She wiped her nose. She hated this game. She never wanted to play in the first place.

“Oh, dearie. Look students. Miss Smarty Pants isn’t so smart after all. I think she wants to give up. I think she’s a loser. The biggest loser in this very nice class.”

The substitute teacher clasped her hands together and held them below her chin.  She smiled, toothy and crooked. She sighed, deep and heavy, as if humiliating Sami tired the old witch. As if the lesson had been her greatest victory. Naturally, she expected her army of second graders to line up and stomp over Sami in a celebration dance.

But witches aren’t known for influencing children so easily. Neither are substitute teachers. Not when they make up new rules that don’t belong in the classroom.

Sitting politely, Phoenix seemed to have forgotten about his stained tee shirt and his ruined sneakers. He raised his hand and said, “Misses Peachfork? I think . . . Sami . . . should get another chance.”

Next to him, Alexandra ignored the fact that her tummy rumbled and churned. She nodded with extra enthusiasm and, without bothering to raise her hand, she blurted, “Sami is my best friend.”

The girl wearing the pretty sunflower dress stood up from her seat – without permission, of course. She walked with her head steady and her arms by her side. She crisscrossed in front of Misses Peachfork, aimed a soft smile at Sami and wrapped her delicate arms around the disheartened student. “You can have one of my guppies,” she said. “They’re very friendly, and they don’t eat much.”

One after another, more students left their seats and crossed in front of the astounded substitute teacher. This was not what Misses Peachfork expected. Not at all. She watched, with her jaw hanging practically to her chest, as Skylar, the tallest student in the group, sashayed past, swinging her ponytails close to the substitute’s crooked nose. 

Skylar hunched and hugged Sami and said, “I’ll run laps with you. At recess. For as long as it takes.” 

Misses Peachfork covered her ears. She refused to hear another word. She didn’t appreciate this kind of behavior – students rebelling against her authority. She tightened her lips and cracked her bony knuckles. “Sit down! All of you, naughty children. Sit down right this minute. Double-double-negative check marks for all of you!”

Clustered around Sami, the pack of thirteen students didn’t pay any attention to the teacher’s tantrum. They kept their focus on Sami, patting her on the back. Reassuring her that she belonged. That their classroom was her classroom, too. 

The remaining group of students rose up from their seats like a tidal wave. They moved as one unit, walking to the bulletin board behind Sami. A flurry of arms and hands plucked at the prize tickets pinned to the board. They grabbed all the notes and coupons for a free fish from Mermaid Katie’s Aquatic Pet Shop and ripped the colorful paper into confetti, tossing the fluttering papers in the air. Misses Peachfork gasped and squealed as the tickets rained down upon her; a victory parade she didn’t command.

“This is terrible, awful behavior! You naughty children have gone completely wild.” 

The old witch turned and pointed a blaming finger at Sami. “It’s all your fault. You started this mess, you despicable child!”

Phoenix shuffled his way between Misses Peachfork and Sami, who sat wide-eyed and quiet in the punishment chair. Facing the substitute teacher, he tucked one arm into his tee shirt and then the other. He flipped his shirt around, so the front became the back and the back the front. He poked both arms out again. “See how easy? The chocolate milk stains are gone.”

Sami read something special in the satisfied smile that Phoenix gave her. She couldn’t help but smile back. She swallowed, not wanting anyone to see how she felt at that moment. Not wanting to let the good tears come out. She wanted to keep that good feeling deep inside.

From the corner of his eye, Phoenix could see that Misses Peachfork didn’t understand. Maybe she wasn’t as smart as she thought. Maybe she was the loser in their classroom. He decided to help the substitute teacher. He pointed to the exit sign above the classroom door. Misses Peachfork still didn’t understand.

“Sami’s right. You are a witch,” he said. “You don’t belong here. Begone!”

That’s when Sami opened her heart and let the tears come flowing out. She’d never felt so relieved. Mister Bubbles would have been proud.

Mr. Bubbles is a short story included in Roxy's Not My Girl by Renee Coloman