Amazing Grace (5 page)

Spot whined to agree.

“You're right, wishing won't make it happen,” I told Spot. “The wish fairy must be on vacation.”

A few minutes later, Mom walked Johnny and me to our new school. Each grade had a separate room. Johnny was in first grade; I was in sixth. That meant Johnny was in one room and I was in another. Phooey. I wouldn't know one person in school. Double phooey. Johnny would be scared. Triple phooey. My brother was a big-time pest, but I didn't want him terrified the way I felt.

Mom introduced us to his teacher, Mrs. Short. “This is my daughter, Grace Ann, and my son, Johnny.”

Mrs. Short welcomed us and said she was glad to have Johnny in her class.

Mom hugged Johnny. We stood in the room a minute longer as Mom talked with his teacher. I snagged a lock of my hair and twisted it as I looked at my brother. His eyes searched the classroom, but he didn't seem scared or upset. How could he not be upset? How could he not have a hole in the bottom of his stomach? How could he not be shaking?

Mrs. Short reached for Johnny's hand and led him over to a group of students. They began talking with him, and he talked back with a big grin on his face, as if he actually liked being here, surrounded by strangers. My brother is as weird as they come.

Mom and I walked down to the sixth-grade classroom. Mrs. Martin, my teacher, introduced herself. She and Mom talked for a minute or two as my eyes swept across all the unfamiliar faces. I turned back around and saw that Mom had left.

A lump made a home in my throat like the one I had when Daddy left. I swallowed hard and told myself to be brave, the way Daddy wanted me to be. The stubborn lump hung in there, but the tears didn't spill over like I was afraid they would. My eyes sort of watered up is all.

Mrs. Martin introduced me to the class. The students stood, one by one, eyes pasted on me, and told me their names. My toes began to wiggle, but I willed them to stop. What I really wanted to do was run to a corner, ball up and hide. On top of that, I could not remember the name of one student.

The teacher led me to a desk and told me it was mine; then she opened a book and asked me to read for her. I knew most of the words, all but three. After I read, she handed me an arithmetic book.

“Turn to page seventy-five, please, Grace,” she said in a kind voice, as if she knew I was scared clear to the bone. I opened the book, and she pointed to a reading problem. I read the problem about a farmer who had a load of apples to divide into bushels and pecks.

“Show me how you would solve the problem,” Mrs. Martin said.

I opened my notebook, grabbed a pencil and worked the long division problem. When I finished, Mrs. Martin patted me on the shoulder and said, “Good work.” She asked me to work all the problems on the page, and she moved over two rows to work with another student.

As I tackled the next problem, the girl behind me whispered in my ear, “Teacher's pet.” I turned around to see who was talking to me and saw the biggest girl I had ever seen in sixth grade. She squinted her face into a bunched-up frown and whispered, “Showoff.”

I scooted back around in my seat. As I multiplied and divided numbers, a sharp pencil jabbed me in the shoulder. When I turned back around to see if the girl had jabbed me by accident, she stuck her tongue out at me. Like a bear, she was big and grumpy with sharp claws. I'd never actually seen a bear or heard one growl, but she reminded me of a grizzly, all the same. For certain, her pencils were as sharp as claws.

I didn't know what to do. Everyone in front of me was busy working. So were the students on both sides of me. The only two in the whole classroom not doing what they were supposed to were Miss Bear Claws and me. How could this day get any worse? I started working on the next problem. Before I was half finished, pain throbbed my right shoulder from another pencil jab. I tried to ignore her, but pain has a way of grabbing my attention.

Chapter 7

The Bully

At recess, I walked in line with the students to the playground and kept a safe distance from Miss Bear Claws. Standing on the top step, I looked around, hoping to see Mom, but she was nowhere in sight. Some kids ran to the swings, some ran to the basketball court and some jumped rope. I stood there and watched, feeling like a numbskull because I couldn't remember anyone's name.

I looked for Johnny. Where was that boy?

“Grace Ann!” I heard my name. I looked up and saw my brother. He was flying low on the sixth swing. I waved at Johnny and was thankful to see someone I knew, thankful he was okay. As much as I couldn't understand how he could enjoy this school, even more I was glad that one of us was having a good day.

“Come over here and push me,” Johnny called. The wide grin on his face made me smile for the first time all morning. I couldn't resist his request, so I walked over and pushed his swing.

“Higher,” he called, kicking his feet to help propel the swing.

Johnny looked back at me and said, “You want to swing, Gracie Girl? I'll push you.”

Sometimes, like once in a blue moon, Johnny wasn't such a pest. That was one of those blue-moon moments. I didn't tell him though. He'd never let me hear the last of it.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I answered.

I looked over near the side of the school building and saw Miss Bear Claws standing alone with her back to the playground. I kept watching as she stood there, all by her lonesome. No one walked near her. I sure wasn't about to.

A few minutes later, a boy rang the bell that signaled recess had ended. Back inside, I noticed a large shelf was home to lots of books, so I wandered over.
The Wizard of Oz, Mr. Popper's Penguins
and
Little House in the Big Woods
were there for the taking. I'd read each of those books and loved them. Then I saw another book, one that I'd heard about and had been itching to wrap my hands around.

Mrs. Martin walked up. “Do you see a book you'd like to read, Grace?”

“This one.” I pointed to
The Gremlins
. I signed my name on a sheet, wrote the date and the title and took the book to my desk. Mrs. Martin said I could take the book home with me and read it at night. That sounded like a great idea.

“I love that book,” a girl said as she walked up to me. “I'm Janie.”

“Grace Ann,” I said as Mrs. Martin asked all of us to return to our seats.

I placed my new treasure with my arithmetic and spelling books. As students scrambled to their seats, my eyes swept the room. Drawings, some not recognizable, others flaunting talent, decorated the windows. Stories written in pencil on lined paper hung on the walls. I liked the look of the classroom, the way every student's drawings, stories or best work found a place of honor. I wondered when I would see my work displayed for all to see.

I checked out the students. Eighteen of us claimed desks arranged in four straight rows. Five girls sat in desks in front of the windows. Five boys sat in the second row. My desk was next to last in the third row, made up of five girls. Three boys finished the count in the fourth row.

My tummy grumbled. I wasn't sure if it was from hunger or a bad case of the jitters. What if this bully behind me won't leave me alone?

Mrs. Martin interrupted my worrisome question when she asked everyone to line up in one big circle around the walls. “We're having our weekly spelling bee,” she explained. “If you misspell a word, you will return to your desk and have a seat.”

The first few words were simple.
Cart. Porch. Tiger
. Mrs. Martin picked up a different spelling book. I could see right off that the words were harder.
Picnic. Mixture. Contest
.

My turn was next.
Museum
.

“Museum,” I said as I listened to the way it sounded. “M-U-S-E-U-M.” Whew, I spelled it.

I didn't realize the bully was standing next to me until she whispered, “Showoff.”

“Correct,” Mrs. Martin announced. “Vickie, spell
spoken
.”

So that was the bully's name. Vickie.

“S-P-O-C-K-I-N,” Vickie called out the letters.

“I'm sorry, Vickie,” Mrs. Martin said. “That is incorrect.”

Vickie pulled a pencil out of her pocket and jabbed my arm with the just-sharpened tip as she left for her seat.

I rubbed my pencil-poked arm and took a good look at Vickie before she sat down. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in two pigtails, each one tied off with orange yarn. Miss Bear Claws probably doubled my weight and shot up at least four inches taller.

The next round I got
bureau
. I spelled it, but the words were getting harder. I was lucky with the last one. I had a bureau in my bedroom at Grandma's, and she taught me how to spell the word.

With so many kids back in their seats, my turn was coming around faster. “Grace, spell
antique
,” Mrs. Martin said.

“A-N-T-E-K-E.” I knew as soon as the letters trickled out of my mouth that I had misspelled the word.

“I'm sorry, Grace,” Mrs. Martin announced. “That is incorrect.”

I headed back to my seat. As I turned to sit, Vickie scooted her foot out and tripped me. I landed in my chair with a bounce.

Vickie leaned toward me and whispered, “Showoff.”

I spun around to ask Vickie why she tripped me. Before I could say anything, she flung her arm up, waved it hard enough to flag down a train and yelled out, “Mrs. Martin, I can't hear the spelling words. Grace keeps bothering me.”

I couldn't believe that girl. After jabbing, tripping and calling me names, she now had Mrs. Martin believing that I was the troublemaker.

Mrs. Martin said, “Grace, please face the front of the classroom.” I wanted to explain what had really happened, but Mrs. Martin called out, “Turbulence.”

Turbulence
wasn't my word to spell, but it sure fit how I was feeling—agitated.

Vickie whispered in my ear, “Don't mess with me.”

Vickie's threat was no problem since messing with her was the last thing I wanted to do. Her bothersome attitude and snarly frown didn't do much for her looks. Neither did her baggy pants that she had rolled up three or four cuffs. Nor her too-tight, dirty shirt. Or the black, lace-up cloth shoes that topped above her ankles, the kind that Johnny and Daddy wore.

A girl named Maxine won the spelling bee. Mrs. Martin gave her a certificate with a blue star. As soon as Maxine sat down, Mrs. Martin said we were going to work in pairs on our arithmetic lesson. I teamed with a girl named Carolyn.

Carolyn sat with me at my desk. Vickie moved back to work with someone else. As Vickie stood up, she jabbed me again with a pencil. This time, I'd had enough. I raised my hand to tell Mrs. Martin. Vickie saw me and whispered in my ear, “If you tell on me, you'll be sorry. So will your snotty little brother.”

Mrs. Martin asked, “Grace, did you want something?”

I glanced at Vickie. She snarled her upper lip.

“No, Ma'am,” I answered and lowered my arm.

Chapter 8

Life without Daddy

One afternoon as Johnny and I walked home from school, we stopped on a grassy spot and watched the tugboats on the Ohio River. Johnny waved at a pilot sitting up high in a green-and-white tugboat that was towing a barge loaded with logs. The man waved back. Then he scrubbed our eardrums with a mighty blast of the foghorn.

Johnny leaped straight up and squealed almost as loud as the foghorn. “Grace Ann, did you see the man wave at me?” he asked. “Did you hear the foghorn?”

“I'm not blind, Johnny,” I answered. “Or deaf.” I'd had a bad day. Vickie had the sharpest pencils in school, and she was an expert at using them as weapons, especially on me. On top of that, we hadn't heard from Daddy since he left. I thought about Daddy all the time and wondered if he could be injured. So I was in no mood for Johnny's good mood, and Johnny's good mood couldn't be soured by my tart mood. I walked on toward Grandma's.

“Wait up, Gracie Girl,” Johnny said. “I want to hear one more foghorn.” He waved at a red tugboat passing by. The pilot didn't wave back, but he blasted us with another ear-scrubbing whistle.