The Fabled Fifth Graders of Aesop Elementary School by Candace Fleming Page A

shrugged and scratched his head.
    “Impossible,” he deduced. “Improbable. My powers of deductive reasoning tell me this is completely illogical.”
    The guinea pigs smiled up at him.
       
MORAL: Many of life’s mysteries remain unexplained
.

ALL TANGLED UP IN MISS TURNER’S CHARMS
    MR. JUPITER LOVED SATURDAYS . Sometimes he went away for the weekend—kayaking in the Bermuda Triangle or attending a scientific conference like the one held the previous week at the Windpassing Institute for Exotic Gases. But on most weekends, he liked to stay home and relax.
    One sunny Saturday in April, he rose late, puttered about with his trilobite collection, played a few tunes on his didgeridoo, then sauntered downtown to the Taste of Greece for a bite of lunch. But as he stepped from the restaurant—a trace of stuffed fig leaves still lingering on his lips—he bumped into Miss Turner.
    “Paige!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to see you this afternoon. What a marvelous surprise!”
    Miss Turner grinned. “I was just at the jeweler’s having the pachycephalosaurus molar you brought me from your dinosaur dig added to my charm bracelet.” She held out her hand so Mr. Jupiter could see. “Isn’t it lovely?”
    “Almost as lovely as you,” he replied gallantly. Andbending low at the waist, he kissed her hand with a flourish.
SMOOCH!
    In a heartbeat, the straps of Mr. Jupiter’s pith helmet tangled in Miss Turner’s charms.
    “Harry,” said Miss Turner after a few moments. “You can let go now.”
    “No, Paige, I can’t,” he replied. “I’m stuck.”
    “Stuck?” she cried. She yanked her hand away.
    Oomph—Mr. Jupiter came along with it—smash—into the full book bag slung over the librarian’s shoulder.
    “And people wonder why I persist in wearing this helmet,” muttered Mr. Jupiter.
    Miss Turner didn’t hear him. In an effort to get free, she pushed against Mr. Jupiter’s shoulder.
    “Easy does it, Paige,” he croaked as the straps under his chin tightened. He fell to his knees.
    She shoved at his pith-helmeted forehead.
    “No … no … ack!” gagged Mr. Jupiter.
    She braced her knee against his chest and—
    “STOP!”
    Miss Turner lowered her knee. “Sorry, Harry.”
    Down the block at Bubba’s Yarn Barn, ErnestMoomaday looked out the front window and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t believe it,” he gasped.
    Neither did Rose Clutterdorf. She stood open-mouthed on the corner. “I’m flabbergasted,” she said, using one of last week’s vocabulary words.
    “Paige,” begged Mr. Jupiter, who was now a bit breathless from being bent over so long. “Please, please unlatch your bracelet.”
    “Of course! How silly of me!” exclaimed Miss Turner. She slapped her forehead, or at least tried to.
    Oomph—smash!
    “Sorry, Harry,” she said again. Awkwardly, with her free hand, she fumbled with the clasp, but—
    “It seems to be stuck,” she said.
    “Jeweler,” said Mr. Jupiter, whose face was turning blotchy from all the blood running to his head. “Jeweler.”
    “It’s just a few doors down,” said Miss Turner. “This way.” Carefully, she inched forward a few steps.
    Still bowing before her, Mr. Jupiter took a few careful steps backward.
    Miss Turner inched forward.
    Mr. Jupiter inched backward.
    Miss Turner giggled.
    “What’s so funny?” panted Mr. Jupiter.
    “It’s like we’re dancing!” the librarian exclaimed giddily. And she hummed, “Step-one, step-two …”
    Mr. Jupiter was feeling a bit light-headed himself. “Have you ever done the cha-cha-cha?” he asked. “I learned it during the season I appeared on
Dancing with the Sort-of-Celebrities
. Watch.” And with a wiggle of his hips, he counted off, “One-two-cha-cha-cha.”
    Miss Turner picked up the Latin beat. “Three-four-cha-cha-cha.”
    “You’re a fleet-footed dancer, Paige,” said Mr. Jupiter.
    “You should see my tango,” she replied.
    He laughed. “I’m looking forward to