Lucy Doesn't Wear Pink by Nancy Rue Page A

outstretched one and then ran shyly off. And Oscar shifted the box and looked like he was going to fold up under the weight. When the new teacher took it from him, Oscar escaped too.
    That left only Lucy, caught in the act of sizing up this kid-who-turned-out-to-be-a-grown-up. He was shorter than Dad and had shiny, milk chocolate brown hair cut short except for a silky part that curved over his forehead. He wore sunglasses and had a very small smile, and he just stood there looking right back at Lucy.
    “And you are?” he said.
    She tilted her chin. “Lucy Rooney.”
    “Really? You’re Miss Lucy?” He cocked his head. “I saw your name on my roll, but — ”
    He probably expected a girly-girl.
    “How lucky am I, then?” he said. “And listen, Augustalientes is way too long — just call me Mr. Auggy.”
    Lucy groaned inside. He already thought she was too dumb to remember his actual name. Man, she hated getting a new teacher.
    “Shall we?” he said, as he balanced both boxes on his shoulders.
    Show-off. Lucy would rather have donned her Peppermint Delight coat than follow him into the portable. The room fell silent when they entered, which wasn’t all that amazing since there were only five people in their class. Other kids came in and out for help during the day sometimes, but these five were the permanent residents of the support class portable.
    Only it didn’t look like their room right now. A gallery of posters lined the walls, which two weeks before had held a handwriting chart, a list of rules, and a calendar with puppies on it, none of which anybody ever looked at.
    Lucy didn’t have time to survey the new display because she had to find her seat. The former row of desks had been replaced by two round tables and a mismatched collection of chairs. Emanuel, J.J., and Oscar were already gathered at one table. Carla Rosa patted the empty chair next to her at the other one and dimpled at Lucy.
    “Guess what, Mr. Argentina?” Carla Rosa said.
    Lucy heard J.J. grunt. Carla got on his nerves, Lucy knew. She reminded him of Januarie sometimes, even though she was twelve. She was kind of eight in her mind, maybe even six.
    “What, Miss Carla?” the teacher said.
    “I gotta question,” Oscar said. He stuck his hand up after he asked it.
    “I hope I have an answer.” Mr. — what did he say to call him — Mr. Auggy? — set the boxes on a long table Lucy had never seen before. He leaned against his desk and tilted his head at Carla.
    “You first,” he said, “and then Mr. — ” He raised his eyebrows at Oscar.
    “Oscar. See, that’s what I don’t get.” Oscar twisted his face. “How come you call us Miss and Mr.?”
    “Out of respect,” Mr. Auggy said. “I expect you to respect each other, so I ought to respect you. Now — Miss Carla, you wanted to say something?”
    Carla giggled. “I forgot.”
    Emanuel let out a hiss — and Mr. Auggy was on him as if he’d just spit on the floor.
    “Just so you know,” he said, “there will be none of that here. There are no stupid questions, and there are no dumb answers.”
    J.J. folded his arms and slid down in his seat.
    “Problem, Mr. — well, it’s either Mr. Emanuel or Mr. Jedediah?”
    Oscar spewed a juicy laugh, and J.J. punched him. Lucy cringed. J.J. hated to be called by his actual name, which was Jedediah Joseph. Lucy couldn’t really blame him.
    “Problem?” Mr. Auggy said.
    “He likes to be called J.J.,” Carla Rosa informed him. “And I like to be called Carla Rosa.”
    “I apologize, Mr. J.J.,” Mr. Auggy said. “I’ll probably make a lot of mistakes this first day.”
    By lunchtime, Lucy decided he had that right, at least. First, he made them each tell him something about themselves, which was a huge mistake since all Carla could do was giggle, and J.J. wouldn’t say anything, so Emanuel wouldn’t either, and Oscar talked until everybody was yawning and rubbing their eyes. When it was Lucy’s turn, she sat up