Enhao Ren is a child author who is a child himself. He was born in Nanjing, China, and has a taste for adventure. He is the author of many of his personal adventure stories, and also likes to write fiction. Surprisingly, he went on a world trip that lasted for 2 years, which made him end up being in other countries for the total time longer than he had ever lived in his homeland. He lives in Scarsdale, New York now and lives with his mother and father.
My name is Ronalds Squeak-sq, and I am the youngest weasel in Utteramma Field. My brother, Carl, is the leader of Squeak Scouts. Squeak Scouts is another name for your “Boy/Girl Scouts.” Anyway, back to my family.
Squeaks to you all!
My name is Ronalds Squeak-sq, and I am the youngest weasel in Utteramma Field. My brother, Carl, is the leader of Squeak Scouts. Squeak Scouts is another name for your “Boy/Girl Scouts.” Anyway, back to my family.
My father is the Executive Director of Utteramma Field Electricity Institute (UFEI). The UFEI produces electricity to every weasel in town during the Weasel Uprising in 2123, when the Handemolen peeps are protecting every weasel in the world of the TSSA.
Eventually, we smart weasels learned to use human materials, so we used them on our own as well. Back in my family, my mom just took a job as a nurse in Utteramma Field Hospital (UFH). With no one in my family guarding me, I had to figure out a way to get a babysitter.
I dialed 167-999-9998 on the weaselphone in my house. A babysitter named Alexia came. Instead of making Mom mad, my mom was… well, actually proud of me. My dad, on the other hand, wasn’t so amused.
He usually is the most easy-to-get-angry weasel in town, but sometimes, if I finish my homework early, my dad will reward me with three-quarters of an hour of TV time.
This story is just the beginning of a story of what had happened to me and my family. Happy reading and exploring my inner self!
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“Ronalds, hurry up,” Carl whined, “or you will be late for your first day of nursery school.” Carl and I were eating breakfast on a chilly fall day. We had to block our entrance hole up with a huge plate to keep out the leaves from falling into our house.
Yup. A weasel like me is going to nursery school already. That’s because we weasels’ generations have been separated by three years. That’s why weasel schools don’t earn much money, though the teachers have to spend so much energy controlling 3-year-olds.
My dad, with a tough-looking face, glared at me with impatience, but didn’t even make a single squeak. I’ve got to hurry to school. Everyone in my family was impatiently waiting for me. Unusually, even my mom was glaring at me with impatience (that’s not common in my family).
Alright, diary, see you at school!
Here in my school, Weaselmentry Nursery School (or as I like to call it, the WNS {pronounced WHNNS}), everyone gathered up, and I gazed out the window. Earthworms tumbled in the mud. I guess my new teacher put the window there for a reason.
Finally, the bell rang.
“Alright, class,” the teacher announced, “my name is Mrs. Olaf. I am also the Phys Ed coach here. You have a very special teacher.”
Everyone oohed and ahhed. All except for me. I sat there, still as a statue. (Well, I had to admit I was still blinking.) After Mrs. Olaf calmed everyone down, she announced another thing: “This is also my first day here.” I opened my mouth to squeak, but nothing came out.
Despite my silence, I did manage to squeak up. “You — you just came?” I gasped. I paused to catch my breath. “Lie — like us?!”
“Sure, hon,” Mrs. Olaf replied, “I just moved into Utteramma Field.”
I guess school wasn’t so bad after all:* after all, I did have a teacher who had lots of things in common with me!
*Oops, I forgot to mention that I didn’t want to go to school earlier in this book! So sorry for interrupting the story. Go on reading, now.
Just then, a booming voice came from the hallway. Every classmate in my class had their fur standing on their tips. I can’t tell if they were sweating or not, but I was.
Everyone cheered during the 10-second-pause. Then, the strange voice continued.
We heard some cheering in the neighboring classes. The voice went on.
We smiled to ourselves.
Okay, so this is going to be a long announcement, so I will put it together in one piece.
“What’s a lockout drill?” I heard someone ask.
“It means ‘Lock everything,’ ” Mrs. Olaf replied, “because we can’t let eagles and other predators come and snatch us. Good question, Kiki.” Kiki. Now I know a new friend, I thought.
After 10 minutes of waiting, we finally could squeak. The thing is, we were actually working pretty hard as nursery schoolers. We learned shapes, size, how to count to five, and a bunch of other things, including word study (that one was the hardest).
After all that mind-cooking learning, it was finally time for recess. We had an extraordinary playground: lots of rides and also brainworking challenges and even steep slides. SO STEEP. It was going straight down!
I was deciding to meet Kiki when the bell rang that ended recess.
Everything was now harder, even harder than the word study. We learned to use a ruler to measure. We even met numbers up to 10!
On my way home, I thought about how far nursery school is taking me. It sounded so hard! HARD! By the time I got home, I was half panting, half shivering. And why? Because I was afraid to go back to school!
When Carl saw me shivering, he asked, “Hey, Pooper-Ronalds, are you cold?” I didn’t answer because 1) He would reply with a much meaner thing than “Pooper-Ronalds” and 2) He would ask me more stupid questions. (Why did I use the word “stupid”?!)
When my dad saw me shivering, he asked the same thing, only politely: “Ronalds, my boy, aren’t you cold? Let me give you a cup of warm water. Meanwhile, borrow my jacket.”
“No thanks,” I said, “I’m just afraid of school.”
Unfortunately, Carl heard me and teased me: “Ronalds is afraid of school! Ronalds is a loser!” Just then, a voice shot down from the stairs as fast as the fastest bullet.
“CARL!” Mom scolded. “Get over here right now. Time out for three hours!”
I was now quarter scared of school, quarter shivering, quarter sweating.* It was just too much to handle! I can’t believe my family is like this. Meanwhile, upstairs, I could hear my brother crying out, “Momma, don’t throw away my video games! NOOO!”
“I am too,” Mom said, “and I mean now.” What did that mean? I thought. This is what I do know: my mom locked the so-called “detention door” and trudged downstairs to the basement, where she threw away a video game console and a gadget.
*Sorry, that was just three quarters, not four. And also, HOW AM I GOING TO GET TO SCHOOL WITHOUT KNOWING MY FRACTIONS?!
After heading downstairs to see what the commotion was all about, my dad pushed open the detention door and locked it again. I was expecting for Dad to punish him with 4th grade homework, but instead went there just to give a good shout to Carl.
Although I was happy that Carl was now punished, I also feel kind of bad for him. I decided that we have a pretty breakable family. This is what I mean. I made a list below.
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Ingredients: a family
How to make: Imagine that all your family members have a Wi-Fi love transmitting heart. If someone’s heart breaks, the entire Wi-Fi is disconnected and everyone is in a bad mood. (My family is like that.) So, to always connect, let each other calm down during a Wi-Fi free period. That way, your family could reconnect.
Thanks for listening and making the recipe at home!
Whew, that was just too much writing! I’d better go and eat my lunch. After that, I’d take my afternoon nap. Good Noon, Diary!
Oh, hello again! Good morning!* Oh, right… I have to tell you what happened next! Silly me.
*Sorry again! I just remembered, it is the afternoon! And, also, HOW AM I GOING TO GO TO SCHOOL IF I DON’T KNOW HOW TO READ TIME?!
Unfortunately, during my afternoon nap, Carl video-taped me talking in my sleep. He then burst out laughing when I awoke. He then played the video over and over. It sounded something like this:
That video — IT! THAT’S IT! My brother is just too obnoxious. He is just too… bad. Sorry, can’t think of another word. To my most luckiest luck, though, Dad heard the video being played. But that wasn’t just the only thing that was lucky; Dad also scolded him because — well, I’ll use markers to draw this.
Uff, I try to cover my tiny but sensitive weasel ears to drain out Dad’s ear-splitting noise. I could even hear his sound loud and clear even when I plugged my ears with my dad’s earplugs. But a punishment for Carl for more than a year?! Even the bullied victim (me!) felt sad for the bully (Carl). I was also relieved to hear that it wasn’t me talking, it was Carl.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Not because of school, but because of Carl’s punishment.
At school the next morning, I just couldn’t concentrate on my work. I kept on thinking about Carl. When I was to read a sentence with a vocabulary word, I answered with a squeaky voice, a voice kind of like this:
Everyone stared at me. And also, do you even know what “Wah cuas Wah Aqash Chew” means?
Answer: “Wah Cuas Wah Aquash Chew” means “One plus one equals two.”
I started to sweat. In a bad way, that is (not in the way you sweat when you are relieved). No one figured out the answer, though. Only you did in the little script above.*
*I could write even smaller than the answer I wrote. I was forced to write at the minimum of one-millimeter type.
Also, school was getting worse. Way worse. But I didn’t know that an exception was coming to town…
It was Wednesday, and it was Writopia Day. We started our stories that we are supposed to send for the governor to read last week. Now, we were finishing up our stories. Today was the deadline and the day the governor was coming to our school for Writopia Day.
I was writing with so much concentration, I couldn’t even hear what Leo, the weasel sitting next to me, was saying to Lina, the weasel in front of my seat who usually blocks my view of the blackboard. I finished before anyone else did. Then, it hit me: the title was wrong:
I was actually meaning to write
Just as I was about to erase the mistake, Mrs. Olaf finally spoke up. “Class,” she said, “stop where you are. If you are not finished, you could finish tomorrow and the governor will read your piece tomorrow.”
I stood up and jogged to the door. No, more like rushing. My classmates came after me. Then, I saw a black car backing up into the parking lot outside. It must be the governor, I thought. I felt a shiver going down my spine.
As my class strolled into the auditorium, I quivered. I’m not a brave weasel. I’m often shy and I don’t squeak up very often. When my class was assigned to an area, I gulped. Will the governor award me first place? Second? Third? Last? I just couldn’t hold a breath more, and it felt as if my throat were plugged. Ulp!
Finally, the governor strolled onto the stage. He took a microphone. I plugged my ears. I don’t like loud sounds.
And then, it hit me. I had made a mistake on my cover. And now it was too late. I felt tears fill my eyes. Everything was blurry. In no more than five seconds, I was crying.
Finally, my teacher comforted me. I was one of the last weasels to hand in their work. I, with a trembling hand, handed in my work. I then tip-toed as fast as I could off the stage.
Finally, the governor started to read the books out loud. All of them were boring. But the worst part came when my book was being read. I felt guilty for some reason that I had written the book. My book was lamer than the others. But then, after what felt like a million hours, the most exciting part came: the selections. The awards. I squealed.
came from the governor’s microphone.
I held my breath.
Some drum-rolling was played behind the curtains of the stage.
What?! No way, I thought. I got first place? Impossible times a hundred.
Meanwhile, all of my friends were crowding around me like I was a hero or something like that. Yay, I had finally achieved fame! Now, it was just the right time to change my very-strict dad — read on to find out how I did it.
I made sure everything on my list was present:
I knew that I already had #1 on my list. #2 was pretty hard and took some practice to overcome. But I still checked off #2. #3 was just as hard as #2; it made me panic! Finally, #4 was automatically checked off because I really didn’t need a working brain except when I’m panicking. That’s why I erased it. Actually, I really don’t need #2 and #3, either. That’s why I had a really big space; I just erased too many things! I just needed my certificate and trophy, which was, in fact, already beside me.
Then, I slowly crept towards Dad’s door to his room (I don’t want to be tricked by Carl again for the third time this week.) Then, I nudged toward the door. It budged open.
“Hmm?” Dad said.
“I just wanted to say,” I replied. Ronalds, that was such a stupid answer, I thought to myself.
“What, Ronalds?” Dad asked. “I just wanted to say that I really don’t want you to be so not-thoughtful and careless,” I said, “and I have some things to cheer you up.” I handed him my certificate and trophy.
“Why, good job!” my dad said. I have never seen him be so excited.
And although I cured my dad, something was still not part of the plan…
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Ouch! Goes the Weasel
{Book #2: Ronalds’ Fourth Year}
Why, welcome back, everybody!
It is your old pal, Ronalds Squeak-sq. Remember what happened last week? Yes, that’s right. My brother Carl got in trouble for bullying me and was sentenced to be grounded for an entire year and two weeks. This week is now Carl’s second grounded week, and he still has 365 days to go.
Because of this, Carl can’t be the leader of Utteramma Field Squeak Scouts. Squeak Scouts is what you call “Boy Scouts” or “Girl Scouts.”
Back in my family talk, my father is the Executive Director of Utteramma Field Electricity Institute (UFEI). The UFEI produces electricity to every weasel in town during the Weasel Uprising in 2123, when the Handemolen peeps are protecting every weasel in the world of the TSSA.
Eventually, we smart weasels learned to use human materials, so we used them on our own as well. Back in my family, my mom just took a job as a nurse in Utteramma Field Hospital (UFH) a month ago. With no one in my family guarding me, I had to figure out a way to get a babysitter.
I dialed 167-999-9998 on the weaselphone in my house. A babysitter named Alexia came. Instead of making Mom mad, my mom was… well, actually proud of me. My dad, on the other hand, wasn’t so amused.
He usually is the most easy-to-get-angry weasel in town, but sometimes, if I finish my homework early, my dad will reward me with three quarters of an hour of TV time.
Oh, sorry. I forgot we were talking about what happened last week. Well, I got first prize at this year’s Writopia Day, which is a holiday in Utteramma Field for all schools. The governor comes and reads our stories. Then, he and his helpers nominate the first, second and third place winners.
After that crazy week, my dad had been pretty nice to me. But after the weekend, nothing went right anymore…
It all started when something covered in a huge cardboard box with wheels rolled into our door.
Carl trudged downstairs to peek at the commotion. “What the hell is that thing?” he asked in total disbelief. “Is it a monster? A dragon with wheels? An automobile?”
Well, I’ll definitely tell you this:
It really was. I shuddered. I don’t like creepy things. Just then, Dad galloped downstairs. Yes, he really galloped. “Well, well, well!” he said with pride, “our piano is here.”
“What’s a piano?” I asked. “A type of monster? No, thank you!”
“Don’t be silly,” Dad replied, “it is an instrument. An instrument is something that you use your hands or mouth to make the instrument make noise. The noise will sound very pleasant in a song. Here, I’ll teach you. I’m a real piano man.”
And you know what? A shiver ran down my spine faster than you could say, “Uh-oh.”
Yep, I really didn’t like the sound of that. My dad is the worst teacher ever. He always loses control of his feelings when something goes wrong. So, playing the piano with Dad’s way of education was rather hurtful.
Before I knew it, Dad was placing me on the piano chair. “Alright, buddy, sit still.”
“Yes, I will,” I squeaked, sitting up like a student really paying attention.
“Alright, could you find ‘Middle C’ for me?”
“Dad,” I said, “I don’t know where ‘Middle C’ is.”
That got my dad ready. “THE ‘MIDDLE C’ IS AT THE CENTER OF THE KEYBOARD!” he screamed. Then, I pressed the center of the keyboard. But it definitely wasn’t “Middle C.” “THAT’S ‘MIDDLE B’! MOVE MORE RIGHT!”
I moved right. I pressed the key, and I knew I got it. “That’s better,” said Dad, lowering his voice. “We use ‘Middle C’ as our guide,” Dad explained, “and ‘Middle C” is the first note, though there are notes at the bottom of it.” I didn’t get that.
The rest of the piano time was just junk. Dad kept on urging me to find “Middle C” without looking at the keyboard. My dad kept track of how many times I got it:
My eyes went blurry after I was told the score. You know what was happening. I was crying. In a split second, I felt a teardrop trickle down my cheeks. My cheek pouches, to be exact.
That night, I couldn’t sleep a wink. I was scared to practice the piano again. And because of that, I didn’t close my eyes until it was half past midnight.
Because I only slept like, the first hour of the next day, guess what? I overslept. When I arrived at school, my friends were already having their daily snack break. When I stepped into the classroom, everyone froze, and they did, literally. Then, they burst out laughing.
“Class, class, I don’t know why I am yelling,” Ms. Olaf, our class’ teacher and school phys-ed coach, screamed. Well, not literally screaming, but at the minimum, err… voice.* *Let’s go with that.**
**You see those two interacting single stars (*)? Well, I was supposed to put them here. I’m so sorry for the accident.
Everyone quieted down in an instant. Katie, the most beautiful girl in the school, put up an “L” sign with her paw. Though Katie may be beautiful, she is often very serious.
Recess was worse than ever. Many kids from older grades bullied me for being late. I hate being bullied. I hate it so much,
Yup. I hate experiencing something creepy. I like everything to be butterflies and lollipops.
Ahh… it just makes me dreamy when I see that font I wrote above. I love the handwriting for script type. (Although I printed it to glue in this notebook.) Oops, I forgot we were talking about something serious.
I was bullied so much, I cried for the first time in school. And it was very embarrassing. More and more kids came and said,
and
Oh, and did you see that period? Sorry, I’ll erase that. There. Until, something happened. Did you see that mark, at the “guy is” and the “bab”? That’s right, two teardrops. Maybe I was a crybaby after all.
I, once again, couldn’t sleep a wink. This time, because I was afraid of piano practice and going back to school, because of that feeling when, you know, when something that’s your best dream ever happens to go wrong and it becomes your lifetime nightmare?
I don’t know if you know the feeling or not, but let me tell you this: that was the case with me. And, unfortunately, I, once again, overslept. When I arrived at school, everyone was already in recess, playing after D/E/A/R* time which is after lunch.
*Everyone in your family should know D/E/A/R time. It stands for
Drop Everything And Read.
And, even more unfortunate, was that I was sleeping on my desk the entire time in class:
And, if that was not bad enough, I had drool all over my face and papers (I’ll show you my paper):
As you could see, our class is working on words ending with “E.” When I woke up, I was surprised to see myself on my booster seat. Guess what? I was in my car, being driven from school back home. “How was school today? I see you are very tired,” Mom cooed.
“Good,” I lied, “very good. We studied to find words ending in the letter ‘E.’” At least I got some truths in, I thought.
“Oh, really?” Mom asked in a voice that made her sound a bit excited. “May I see your piece of paper you worked on?”
I twitched around on my booster seat. I couldn’t show her that I had drooled on it. I didn’t want Mom to know that I was lying. I had to make an excuse. “Err… I lost it during lunch.”
That turned out to be a pretty dumb move, because the second Mom heard that, she made a U-turn that almost flung me out of the grasp of my seat belt. “Honey,” Mom cooed, “let me help find it for you.”
I thought for a moment and called out to her, “Mom! The custodians had already shoved it into the trash basket!” That did the trick. Mom came running back toward me. She then climbed into the driver’s seat and made another U-turn that almost made me throw up.
Back at my house, Carl was helping to wash the dishes from lunch. The second he saw me walk in, he shoved me with his dirty hands and called, “Ronalds Poopypants, Ronalds the Loser, and Ronalds the Crybaby is back!” His words ended after a big, long cackle.
Just then, Mom came skipping downstairs three at a time. Yup, she really did. She then ran over to Carl holding a piece of duct tape. What was that for? I thought. But before my eyes could even turn around, Mom was taping the duct tape onto Carl’s mouth. I giggled to myself.
Tonight was the best dinner I have ever had. Usually, Carl was the “root” of the commotion that usually takes place. But with his mouth duct-taped, no one even had to make a squeak.
Remember the super-good night at my house? Well, let me just say that school isn’t the same. It is surprisingly because Carl is not there. Yup, I don’t like anyone from my family being away from me for even a minute. And in this case, I have to be away from everyone in my family for an entire seven hours.
You might be wondering why I want Carl to be there, not anyone else. Well, that’s because Carl is the only weasel I know th________
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So sorry. I just don’t know why I just keep on falling asleep. Carl is definitely going to laugh at me for his entire life when he sees my notebook. The book you are reading right now.
Anyway, I’m just too tired to write more. I quit on this book and I’m working on a new one two years later. See you then!
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