Lucy Doesn't Wear Pink by Nancy Rue

said.
    Before J.J. could open his mouth, Lucy said, “You’ll get your new coat dirty. Can’t have that.”
    J.J. pointed toward the trailer where their class met. Teachers called it a “portable” — as in portable classroom. Lucy wished it were portable enough for someone to pick it up and take it away.
    “There’s Emanuel and Carla,” J.J. said. “We got enough for soccer.”
    “Man,” Lucy said as they trailed to the portable. “Emanuel grew, like, a foot over the holidays.”
    Their friend leaned against the metal building, legs stretched out as if they came straight from his neck. His arms dangled like he didn’t know quite what to do with them. Of course, he looked even longer with his dark hair pulled to the back of his head in a ponytail and the sides shaved. He was half Apache, half Hispanic, but to Lucy, he always looked like a race all his own. He was just Emanuel.
    Carla Rosa ran to meet them and stood on tiptoes to throw her arms around Lucy’s neck and then Januarie’s. When she got to J.J., he said, “Don’t even think about it.”
    Carla didn’t look disappointed. Her face was a collection of dimples and crinkles as she grinned away. Her honey-brown eyes disappeared when she smiled, which she did all the time, so Lucy didn’t ever see much of them. Although Carla wasn’t fat, she seemed to be all cheeks.
    “I love your hat,” Januarie said to her.
    Carla bobbed her head back and forth, jiggling the big white sequins that covered her knit cap. Reddish curls peeked out from underneath it.
    “My mom got me it for Christmas,” she said. “Guess what?”
    “What?” they all said together. If they didn’t, Carla Rosa would keep asking until they said it.
    “We got a new teacher,” she said.
    Lucy stiffened. “For what?”
    “For our class, silly.”
    Emanuel looked at J.J., who shrugged. Lucy craned her neck toward Carla Rosa. “You mean a substitute?”
    “No, a new teacher forever.”
    “What happened to Mrs. Gomez?” Lucy said.
    “She got sick, and now we have Mr. Alligator or something like that — Lucy, you have a big rip in your coat. And guess what?”
    Nobody answered.
    “We got a guy?” J.J. said. He hunched his shoulders in.
    “Don’t ask me,” Emanuel said. “I ain’t seen him.”
    “Guess what?”
    Januarie inserted herself between Carla and Lucy. “What?”
    But Lucy took her by the shoulders and moved her aside. “How do you know this, Carla Rosa?”
    “Guess what — my dad’s the mayor,” Carla Rosa said.
    “I know that — ”
    “Yeah, du-uh,” Januarie said.
    “Shut it, Januarie,” J.J. said.
    “That’s how I know. There he is — that’s him.” Carla pointed. “And that’s Oscar.”
    Lucy recognized Oscar. He was short and square and had a round, buzz-cut head, and he was currently carrying a box almost as big as he was. He looked like a cartoon robot at the moment.
    But she didn’t know the kid walking with him, holding a box on his shoulder like he was showing off his muscles.
    “That’s no teacher,” J.J. said. “That’s one of the high school kids.”
    Carla blinked, Emanuel went back to holding up the portable classroom, and Januarie whined that now that Oscar was here she was never going to get to play. But Lucy watched as Oscar and the other kid approached. The guy had a shaved face and chest hair sticking out of his shirt and a walk like he’d walked a lot of places before.
    “Hey, guys,” he said. “I’m Mr. Augustalientes.”
    “I told you it was like Alligator,” Carla Rosa said.
    Januarie giggled. “It is!”
    It was Lucy’s turn to blink as the guy put his box down and stuck out his hand.
    “I’m your new teacher,” he said.

5
    The bell rang. J.J. and Emanuel dove into the portable as if they actually liked school. Januarie whined that it wasn’t fair that she couldn’t be in their class and wandered off to the lower elementary building. Carla Rosa slipped her hand into Mr. Augu-what’s-his-nose’s