Odds on Oliver by Constance C. Greene

1
    C ARROT H ILL
    â€œAll right, boys and girls.” Ms. Mabel, the head of Carrot Hill Nursery School, clapped her hands. “Anyone who has to use the bathroom, hold up two fingers, please.”
    â€œHow will that help?” Oliver said.
    Arthur laughed. Oliver held up two fingers and waved them around. Then he bopped Arthur on the head to show he wanted to be friends.
    Everyone giggled.
    â€œWe are here to learn, class,” Ms. Mabel said. “To write our names and to be responsible people. To go down the slide and to draw.” She paused and looked around the room. “A show of hands, please. How many of you have a pet?”
    Arthur held up his hand and said, “I have a pet fish. She sleeps in her tank and sometimes she lets me pet her.”
    Oliver held up his hand.
    â€œAll right, Oliver,” Ms. Mabel said patiently. “Tell us about your pet.”
    â€œI have a dog and her name is Edna. Her hair is the same color as mine,” Oliver said. “When I’m five, I’m going to be a hero.”
    The class rustled like leaves in the fall. Somebody burped.
    Oliver burped back.
    â€œYes, well, Edna is a lovely name,” Ms. Mabel said. “My mother’s name was Edna.”
    Oliver bopped Arthur on the head again.
    â€œOrder, please, boys and girls.” Ms. Mabel frowned. “We are here to learn to shake hands and to look the person we’re shaking hands with straight in the eye.”
    â€œBoys don’t shake hands,” Oliver said.
    â€œThat’s what you think,” Ms. Mabel said.
    A girl with pigtails held up her hand. “I have a pet pig named Pig,” the girl said. Oliver pulled one of her pigtails and the girl bopped Oliver on the head to get even.
    That was pretty much how the first day at Carrot Hill Nursery School went.
    After that things went downhill fast. One wet and windy Wednesday, Ms. Mabel reached the end of her rope. She had had it. Plus, she had a terrible head cold and felt something awful.
    When Oliver and Arthur started in with the bops again, Ms. Mabel knew what she had to do.
    â€œI hab ward you ab ward you to stop the bopping,” Ms. Mabel said. “Wod of you bust go. We bust hab order in Carrot Hill. We will draw straws. The wod who gets the short straw bust go.”
    Oliver got the short straw.
    â€œOliver bust go,” said Ms. Mabel sadly, for she liked all the boys and girls at Carrot Hill.
    â€œGo where?” Oliver said.
    â€œOud.” Ms. Mabel pointed to the door.
    â€œBut I just got here,” Oliver said. Nevertheless he packed his backpack and never looked back.
    â€œWhere did I go wrong?” Oliver’s mother cried. “He’s only four and already he’s a dropout. What’s to become of him? Poor little Oliver.”
    â€œPoor little Oliver my foot,” said Oliver’s dad. “He’s no dropout, he’s a kickout. Give the kid a break. He’s young, he’ll learn. I’ll lay odds on Oliver any day in the week.”
    â€œBut he was in the top ten percentile!” Oliver’s mother cried. “Brainwise, that is. Which would look very, very good on his resumé.”
    â€œWhat does odds mean?” Oliver asked.
    â€œIt means I’ll put my money on you anytime, Ol,” said his dad. “It means you’re a winner in my estimation.”
    Oliver listened carefully. Two words caught his attention. One was money and the other was winner .
    His mouth stretched as wide as any Halloween pumpkin’s and his spiky orange hair fairly crackled and his freckles seemed to march across his nose like a trail of ants in search of the sugar bowl.
    â€œOdds on me!” Oliver shouted, full of joy. “Odds on me!”

2
    T HE B LUE B URD
    Oliver’s mom and dad ran the Blue Burd restaurant down on North Main Street. When the sign painter goofed and spelled bird B-U-R-D Oliver’s dad had jumped up and down in frustration