By Mary Rodgers

"I wish I was him," I remarked gloomily to my old friend from school, Duck Levine.

"Who?" said Duck, gazing at a gaggle of Soonawissakiddies, wondering, no doubt, which brawny no-brain I could possibly be envying.

I nodded in the direction of the men's room, where Dad had just disappeared. "My father," I said. "I would give anything to be him right now."

Well, you are not going to believe me, nobody in their right minds could possibly believe me, but the next thing I knew, I was in the men's room. In the body of my father.

Standing at a urinal, looking down at . . .

OH WOW!!!

And then- No, wait. Before I go any further, I'd better give you some hard-nosed facts:

I am Benjamin "Ape Face" Andrews, aged twelve. The Ape Face is courtesy of my older sister, Annabel. She named me that when I was five days old, just out of the hospital. She was six and a half (years), and pretty ticked off at my mother for bringing home a brother who looked like a rhesus monkey minus the hair when what she had in mind was a sister who looked like a Barbie doll. I've been trying to make it up to her ever since, but it's only been in the last couple of years she's begun to find me even tolerable. I certainly hope it lasts, because I admire her a lot, I really do.

We live in New York (the we being me, my sister, my mother, my father, and Max the basset)-on 72nd and Central Park West. No, not the Dakota; across the street from the Dakota. Funny, whenever you tell people you live on 72nd and C.P.W., they always ask expectantly, "Oh, the Dakota?" and then when you say, "No, the Majestic, across the street," they say, "Oh." That's all. Just "Oh." Thud. YouÕd think we lived in a slum dwelling or something, which the Majestic far from is.

I go to the Barden School, where I do pretty well. To be honest about it, except for being only a so-so athlete, I do very well . . . year after year my reports come home with grades in the high 90's and enthusiastic comments about my "extraordinary verbal ability" and about how I am "conscientious," "cooperative," "considerate of others," "a genuine pleasure to teach" . . . everybody thinks I'm perfect, it seems. Well, not quite everybody. There was one teacher, my third-grade homeroom teacher, Miss Moon (who moved the end of that year to Beverly Hills, California). She wrote, "Although Ben has maintained his usual high standard of academic excellence, I must admit to being somewhat disappointed in his performance in other areas. For an exceptionally bright child, he displays a perplexing tendency to 'lay back'-to accept unquestioningly the word of authority, whether it be in the schoolroom or the playground. It is my hope that if Ben is encouraged both at school and at home to become more outspokenly assertive, he may ultimately be able to realize his enormous potential as a leader in the Barden community. At the present time, however, he is entirely too agreeable for his own good."

You should have heard my father. He had a fit. "You just try being disagreeable and see where that gets you!" he said, eyebrows raised.

"Tee-hee," went Annabel. She knew where it got her. Time after time. As a matter of fact, Annabel was probably largely responsible for my being the way I was. Watching her get into trouble provided great incentive for staying out of it. If you're someone like me, anyway. (More about that later.)

Dad went on with his fit. "What kind of crazy teacher is she?" he grumbled to my mother. "If she keeps up, you know what we'll have on our hands? A rebel without a cause!"

"Not bloody likely," snorted Annabel.

Mom laughed and patted my cheek. "I doubt it, Willy. It's rather late in the game for this little leopard to change his spots."

"Spots where?" I said, anxiously checking my shirt for signs of ketchup. What a jerk I was in those days.

"I guess Mr. Clean doesn't know his Kipling," guffawed Annabel. I wanted to poke her one. Instead, I smiled and changed the subject.

"Don't worry, Dad. I'm going right on being agreeable no matter what Miss Moon says."

"At least that makes one of you," said Dad with a smirk in Annabel's direction. Undaunted, she smirked back and then stuck her tongue out at him. She's got guts!

Dad turned to me again. "Tell me something, Ben . . ."

Now what? Nervously, I balanced my right foot on the inside of my left knee. "Stop standing stork," snapped Dad, "and tell me what you really think of this Miss Moon."

From his tone of voice, I knew what I was supposed to think of her. Down went my foot. "Oh," I said with a shrug, "she's all right, I guess."

Do you know, to this day I can't believe I said that. "She's all right, I guess"?? ALL RIGHT?! Miss Moon wasn't all right, Miss Moon was wonderful and I adored her.

If you liked chapter one of Summer Switch, find out more about the book.

Go back to the index of first chapters of new books for Fall 1999.