Belle Teal by Ann Martin Page A

I tear across our yard and reach the road just as Bernette crests the top of our hill.
    Autumn is getting into full swing. Here and there I see bright spots of color in the trees. Today is misty with a raw wind. I huff out my breath, but the air isn’t cold enough to make a frosty puff yet. Still, I am a bit chilly. I look down at my boots. I should have worn socks with them. I can feel the wind blowing under my cotton skirt. I am not worried, though. Today, Gran is going to set to work on a plaid flannel dress for me.
    Bernette opens the door of the bus with a whoosh.
    â€œGood morning,” I call to her.
    â€œMorning, honey.”
    I clomp up the steps and try to ignore HRH, who’s wearing what looks like a brand-new cream-colored woolen dress. I can’t ignore the dress, though. It looks so toasty warm. HRH’s mother, she might have bought it in Paris. I wonder again what Mrs. Mathers is like. I still have not seen Vanessa’s house or anything. Mrs. Mathers is probably all lovely and goodsmelling, like Miss Casey. And will never have to wear a uniform with her name stitched on the pocket.
    I scan the back of the bus for Clarice.
    â€œShe’s not in attendance,” HRH says to me, all uppity-like.
    I pretend I don’t know what she’s talking about. “To who are you referring?” I reply, grabbing onto the back of a seat as Bernette wheels the bus around.
    â€œThe person to whom I am referring is your friend Clarice.”
    I shrug my shoulders. “So?” I head for the back of the bus. I don’t mind sitting alone. I have a fresh Nancy Drew book from the school library.
    As I pass by HRH Vanessa, she starts to whistle a tune. It takes me just a moment to realize what words go with that tune. I heard them over at Clarice’s. “Come and listen to a story ’bout a man named Jed, a poor mountaineer barely kept his family fed . . .”
    HRH is whistling the song from this new TV show, The Beverly Hillbillies. I think of the Clampetts, chugging around in their hillbilly car, making fools of themselves.
    I pretend I don’t get her joke. “Oh, did you watch the show too?” I say, all sweet-like to HRH.
    I walk toward the back and slide into a seat in front of Chas and Vernon. “Hey,” we all say to each other, and then I get busy with my book. I take little peeks up at the front of the bus, though, and I see that HRH keeps turning around to look at me. I just ignore her, which nearly drives her crazy. One thing, I am sure she doesn’t want anyone to think she watched The Beverly Hillbillies, which thanks to me now they probably do.
    I am a master at not giving HRH Vanessa Mathers the time of day.
    The bus pulls up in front of Coker Creek Elementary. I hold my breath, like Clarice and I have done the last several mornings. I crane my neck to see if the pickup truck is in front of school. It isn’t. I let out a big sigh of relief. Just a few cars, and a couple of mothers who walk their kindergartners to school.
    This makes six whole school days in a row that Big Boss hasn’t shown up at Coker Creek to curse and shout. Even after he got the job with the road crew he would show up once a week or so. But I think he has given up for good now.
    It appears that I am not the only one who thinks so. Lordy, I wish Clarice was here so I could share this particular piece of news with her: I am looking out the bus window and I am not seeing Big Boss, but I am seeing Darryl and Winnie and Terrence, who are walking along the path to the front door of our school. They are in a tight group with their arms linked together. And their parents are not with them. They have walked to school by themselves. They look terrified, and I wonder if I could be as brave as they are.
    Bernette opens the bus door and I make my way down the aisle. HRH, she is still sitting in her seat at the front. Why isn’t she getting off the bus? I wonder. She turns around