Gary Paulsen - Mudshark

This is the principal . I am pleased to report that each and every classroom is fully stocked with erasers. The faculty restroom is safe for human use. That being said, would the custodian please report to the faculty restroom with a plunger and a mop? Today's hot lunch offering is cheese pizza, applesauce, green beans, chocolate pudding and two-percent milk. Our own Betty Crimper has taken first place in the Interscholastic Science Fair that was held this past weekendway to go, Betty! Please direct your attention to the new electronic blackboards in the library; we will shortly be replacingthe crayfish tanks in each classroom with these boards. I know that we are all sorry to hear that due to the custodian's allergy attacks, our library mascot, that weird the parrot, has had to find another home. We are pleased, though, that Mrs. Downside has taken him in. Last of all, would Lyle Williams report immediately to the principal's office?

Mr. Wagner closed his door and looked at Mudshark with desperation and said, You did so well on the eraser business

Mudshark waited.

I wonder if you could help me with another problem.

Mudshark nodded.

We can't seem to locate Mr. Patterson. As near as we can figure, he's lost somewhere in the west wing, where he was last heard rumbling around up in the ductwork, hunting for the gerbil. He must be coming out, because somebody has been eating the sandwiches we put out each night, but we can't pin him down long enough to get him to emerge and start teaching again. I don't suppose you would mind looking into it, would you? Please? We must get our eighth-grade English teacher back in the classroom and out of the ductwork.

Well, Mudshark thought as he headed for the west wing, this should be interesting.

This is the principal . Would the custodian please report to the faculty restroom with a plunger no, wait a shovelanda plunger? And has anybody seen the gerbil from room two oh six?

The Mudshark was cool.

Not because he said he was cool or knew he was or thought it. Not because he tried or even cared.

He just was.

Kind of tall, kind of thin, with a long face, brown eyes and hair and a quick smile that jumped out and went back. When he walked down a hall he didn't just walk, he seemed to move as a part of the hall. He'd suddenly appear out of nowhere, as if he'd always been there.

Wasn't there.

Then there.

His real name was Lyle Williams and for most of his twelve-year-old life people had just called him Lyle.

But one day, when he'd been playing Death Balla kind of soccer mixed with football and wrestling and rugby and mudfighting, a citywide, generations-old obsession that had been banned from school property because of, according to the principal, Certain Insurance Restrictions and Prohibitions Owing to Alarming Health Risks Stemming from the Inhalation and Ingestion of Copious Amounts of Mudhe'd been tripped. Everyone thought he was down for the count, flat on his back, covered in mud. Just then, a runner-kicker-wrestler-mudfighter came too close to him, streaking down-field with the ball, and one of Lyle's hands snaked out and caught the runner by an ankle.

So fast, it was like a mudshark, Billy Crisper said later. He always watched the animal channel. Mudsharks lie in the mud and when something comes by, they grab it so fast that even high-speed cameras can't catch it. I didn't even see his hand move, I didn't see so much as a blur.

After that game, no one called him Lyle.

Mudshark's agility had been honed at home, courtesy of his triplet baby sistersKara, Sara and Tara. Once they started crawling, his father said that all heck broke loose, because nothing moves faster than a tiny, determined toddler heading toward a breakable or swallowable object. If Mudshark had only had one little sister or maybe even two, his reflexes wouldn't have been so keen, but living under the same roof as three mobile units at one time had increased his range of motion and speed exponentially.

One night after dinner when they were about seven months old, the babies had been placed on a blanket on the floor and were playing with soft toys. Mudshark was doing his homework at the desk in the corner of the family room and his parents were watching the news and, frankly, dozing on the couch.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mudshark saw a pink flash.

His head whipped around. Two babies were sitting on the blanket, looking toward the door to the hallway. Two, but not three. His parents were half asleep and he didn't want to disturb them. As he leapt silently to his feet and took a step toward the door, he saw two pink streaks darting past him in the same direction. Mudshark reached out and grabbed both babies by the back of their overalls as they crawled after their more adventurous sister. He scooped them up and tucked one under each arm in one fell swoop, heading out of the room toward the rogue baby.

Down the hall toward the kitchen, he saw a little rosebud-covered bottom (a quick glance at the faces he had clutched under his arms told him that Tara had made the first break) rounding the corner to the guest room. He took long strides toward her, Kara and Sara cooing at the jouncy ride. When he got to the guest room, he stared down at Tara, who had found one of the dog's squeezy toys and was happily gumming it