Remembering Mrs. Rossi (9780763670900) (8 page)

“I won’t make noise,” promises Annie.

“I know. But you might have germs.”

Germs! Annie sincerely hopes she doesn’t have germs of any kind. Of course, if anyone would know about this sort of thing, it would be Helen. Just yesterday, she was plain old Helen. But now, Annie realizes, she seems to know all kinds of important things. And if she says Annie has germs, well, she probably
does
!

“I better go,” Helen says from the other side of the door. “In case James wakes up. He likes if I’m there when he opens his eyes.”

“Do you want to come down to the beach?” Annie smiles. “My father could take us swimming.”

“Maybe later.” Helen turns to go. “I’m a big sister now,” (as if Annie needs reminding), “and you know what
that
means. I have responsibilities.”

“I have
responsibilities,
” Annie tells Al in a tone of voice that sounds very wise. They are sitting on the Rossi’s front porch, the two of them, in the hammock. Annie is looking at pictures, trying to decide which ones to put in her summer scrapbook. When she comes to a picture of Helen doing a cartwheel on the beach, Annie chooses
not
to put it in her scrapbook. “We don’t like Helen,” she whispers cheerfully to Al.

Suddenly, the sun disappears behind a cloud. Professor Rossi is still on the beach and still going
scribble, scribble, scribble
in that old brown notebook. But now he looks up and waves to Annie. Annie waves back. “Hello!” she calls across the sand. “I bet you want to go swimming!”

Her father waves again. A wave that means,
Not just yet, Annie. I’m doing something
important . . .
Anyway, that ocean is looking a little too choppy right now for swimming. . . .

Grownups! The most boring people in the world certainly are grownups.
Scribble, scribble, scribble,
all summer long. And they won’t even let you see their boring old notebooks — they won’t even let you peek — grownups and their big-deal secrets! “Some things I write are not for sharing, Annie. At least, not yet.” Well,
fine.
Because it just so happens,
she
has secrets, too. Good ones! Annie rolls and rocks the hammock and starts to count her secrets:

Secret #1: Once, I threw my vitamin pill in the garbage and nobody found out!

Secret #2: I have a secret bag of cookies! Under my bed, shhh!!

Secret #3: Sometimes I pretend Mommy is coming! She’s coming on the train to Pineapple Street, and I meet her at the station for a big surprise!!

Secret #4: Helen Cooper is a
brat.

Secret #5: I wish I didn’t have to go to room 245 for fourth grade. In seventeen days it’s the first day of school, and I wish I didn’t have Mrs. Bailey for fourth grade. I only want Miss Meadows. I love, love, love third grade.

Annie’s thoughts turn over and over . . . to the last day of third grade . . . and her report card . . . and the back of her report card, where Miss Meadows wrote all those nice things about Annie, words she knows by heart.

Just before the final bell, Miss Meadows put her address on the board. “Keep in touch, boys and girls. Write me a letter! Even a short one! I would love to hear from you this summer.” Suddenly it was three o’clock and just like that, third grade was over. The kids in room 107 screamed and cheered. Annie screamed and cheered, too, but she was only pretending to be happy about the last day of third grade. Miss Meadows gave everyone a hug on the way out the door. When it was her turn, Annie tried to say,
Have a nice summer, Miss Meadows.
But when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. She simply couldn’t say goodbye to Miss Meadows.

Annie had every intention of writing a really
catchy
letter to Miss Meadows on the first day of summer vacation. Unfortunately, she didn’t get around to it that day, or the next, or the one after that. By the end of the first week of summer vacation, she still had not written her letter. Annie and her father took the train — just the two of them this year instead of three — away from the hot city and opened the cottage on Pineapple Street. The sea was beautiful and cool, but Annie missed looking for seashells on the beach with her mother.

She did write two letters, though. One to Jean-Marie. (Jean-Marie did not write back.) And one to Mrs. Peterman. (Mrs. Peterman did write back.) Weeks passed. From time to time, Annie thought about writing that letter to Miss Meadows.
Dear Miss Meadows,
she would write.
I miss you so much and I love you so much because you are nice and my mother was nice and I wish . . .
but the thought of writing all that made her too sad . . . and Annie was trying her best not to be sad. Anyway, there was always something else to do. There was swimming to do; or finding new books at the library; or talking to Sam, her favorite lifeguard; or playing with Al and Helen; or having an ice cream in town with her father. Then one day, just last week, and for no particular reason, Annie sat down on the beach and wrote a letter to Miss Meadows. She wrote carefully, in her best penmanship. Later she read it out loud as she walked to the post office with her father, and they both agreed it was a very catchy letter.

Annie drapes one leg over the side of the hammock. (She needs to slow down the rocking in order to think and calculate.) A whole week — plus two days — since she mailed her letter. That’s
nine
days, and Miss Meadows
still
hasn’t written back! “What in the world is taking so long?” she mumbles to Al.

Al barks something to Annie.

“What’d you say, Al? You think there’s a letter from Miss Meadows? Waiting at the post office
now
?”

Al barks again.

“That’s what I thought you said!” Annie tumbles off the hammock.

Al tumbles, too, and they charge down the beach to Annie’s father. “Can we go to the post office?” she calls as she runs. “Miss Meadows wrote me a letter, and I can’t wait to read it!”

“Yes, yes. Good idea.” He is crossing something out with his fat red pen. “We’ll go a little later, Annie, right after lunch.”

“Well, I might go
now.
” Annie watches Al romp in the choppy sea, stirring up the sea.

“What was that, Annie?”

“I might walk to town.” Annie knows perfectly well she isn’t allowed to walk to town without a grownup, but it’s fun saying, “I might walk to town,” to certain people who don’t pay attention when you talk.

“You know perfectly well you aren’t allowed to walk to town without a grownup.” Her father sounds just slightly irritated. “We’ll go after lunch,” he repeats.

“Helen is allowed to go to town without a grownup.”

“Is that so?” Professor Rossi frowns. “Well, I don’t happen to approve,” he says. “Nonetheless, Helen’s parents make the rules for Helen, and
I
make the rules for you.”

“You have too many rules.”

Just then Al runs out of the water. He runs straight for them, barking at her father as usual. Professor Rossi, as usual, pays him no mind.

Al continues to bark.

“Make him stop, Annie.”

“He’s just trying to be friendly,” Annie points out.

“What he’s
trying
to do is annoy me.”

“If you were just a teeny bit friendly,” Annie says, “he wouldn’t have to bark so much.”

Professor Rossi drums his fingers on his notebook. Then he picks up a stick and throws it, hard, toward the water, calling, “There you go, Al! See?” he says to Annie. “I’m friendly.”

“You’re only trying to get rid of him,” Annie says, as Al comes galloping back with the stick in his mouth. “That’s a little bit
rude,
Daddy.”

“He’s a
dog,
Annie! You can’t be rude to a dog.” (Sadly, Professor Rossi doesn’t understand anything at all about dogs.) “Now, could you and Al
kindly
amuse yourselves? Just a little longer, Annie. I’m trying to write something here.”

“Are you getting ready for the first day of school, is that what you’re doing?”

“No, Annie.”

“Are you writing a letter?”

“No, Annie.”

“Are you making a list of your favorite foods? I
love
making lists like that . . . and I always put
ice cream
at the top of my list . . .”

“Annie,
please
!”

“It’s not fair! You never tell me anything, and I always tell you everything I write . . . and I bet what you’re writing is
boring
!” Annie turns on her heels, squeaking both feet in the hot sand. “Come on, Al. Let’s have
fun
with that baby.”

For the second time this morning, Annie and Al peer through the Coopers’ screen door. This time, though, Annie has brought along her father’s camera, and she is holding it behind her back.

“Anybody home?” she calls into the dark house. “It’s Annie and Al!”

“Hi.” For the second time this morning, Helen appears on the other side of the door. “I just gave James a bath.”

“All by yourself?” Annie can’t believe the good luck some people have.

Al begins to scratch at the door and whimper.

“My mother helped,” Helen says. “But just a little.”

Annie tries her best not to think about the fact that certain people have a mother in the house and certain other people do not. But it’s hard when certain people go around saying “my mother this” and “my mother that” every minute of the day.

“Anyway,
I
did most of the work,” Helen is saying. “I’m an excellent baby bather.”

“Anyway,
I
have a surprise,” Annie says to the baby bather.

“Is it candy?” Helen whispers.

“You’ll see.” Annie hopes she looks terribly mysterious through the screen. “But first, we have to come in.”

Helen opens the door a crack. “Is it cupcakes?” Helen slips outside before Al can slip inside. There’s a dog biscuit in her hand, and she gives it to Al.

“No,” Annie says. “This is even better than cupcakes. I’m going to take a picture of James!” And just to make sure her surprise is a big hit with Helen, she adds, “Then I’ll take a picture of
you
with James, and I’ll put it in my scrapbook.”

Helen walks to the edge of the porch and sits down. Annie sits beside her, and Al squeezes in the middle, chomping noisily on his biscuit. Helen puts her arm around Al. She kisses the top of his head. (Al pretends not to care about the kiss, and Annie knows why: he is mad at Helen for not letting him play with the baby.)

“I could take the picture
now
if you want. I have time,” Annie says.

Helen shrugs the kind of shrug that means,
Who cares?

“Maybe you should go get James,” Annie suggests, “now that he’s nice and clean.”

Helen shrugs again.
Who cares?

Annie sighs loudly. Helen is
so
annoying . . . and what is
she
being so grumpy about?
She’s
the lucky one, the one with the brand-new baby brother in the house! Well, maybe it’s all that
havoc
her father was talking about. Yes, it could be Helen just needs to hear something funny, and then she’ll quit pouting . . . and then she’ll get James, and Annie can take a picture. “Okay, this is funny,” Annie says hopefully. “See, I really thought James was going to be a
girl
!”

“Me, too,” Helen says sadly. “I thought her name would be Jenny.”

“Well, I never knew a
boy
baby could be that cute,” Annie admits.

“Cute?”
Helen shakes her head. “He’s not so cute when he’s crying.”

“All babies cry.” Annie hopes she sounds older than 8¾.

“Not as much as this one.”

“I wish I had a baby . . . a baby sister.”
And she wouldn’t cry . . . and my mother and I would give her a bath. . . .

Helen looks off in the distance, then up at the sky. “My parents like him better,” she says to the sky.

Annie gasps. “Are you
sure
?”

Helen nods. She is sure. “Look, Annie!” Helen points to the ocean. “It’s really rough now. I hope there’s a big storm,” she says. “I love a big storm, don’t you?”

“And thunder and lightning!” As a matter of fact, Annie doesn’t care for big storms at all, and even the little ones scare her sometimes. But it is important to side with Helen — now that her parents don’t like her so much anymore.