the one in the marking shoes? I check them out when he comes around his desk.
“Hello, there.” He raises a thick dark eyebrow. Then he puts it down, as if it’s too heavy to lift up for long. “Is this about your class attendance?”
“No, sir. It’s about rehearsals for
The Nutcracker.”
“Ah,
The Nutcracker.
I hear great things about that from Miss Gonsalves. You wrote the poems, I understand. Well done, um….” He’s forgotten my name.
“Jane Peeler, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“You can call me Gordon.”
“Yes, uh, Mr., uh, I mean, Gordon.”
“Mr. Gordon is okay, too.”
There’s blue carpeting in the room. I can’t tell if the principal’s brown loafers are making marks or not. I go straight into my speech.
“We need to use the gym tonight for our rehearsals. Tomorrow night, too.”
Gordon blinks. “Didn’t you just have a rehearsal there the other night?”
“No, sir. We were supposed to, but I had to go to the hospital.”
“Oh, yes. I remember now.” He retreats back behind the desk and puts his hands in his pants pockets. He’s wearing a sweatshirt with a soccer logo on the sleeve. He looks like an overage kid. He jigs from foot to foot. “You’re sure you’re not sick?”
“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”
“That’s good. Your brother seems to be all right. I saw him in the hallway before school.” “He’s fine, too.”
“A nice boy, your brother. Wished me a happy Chanukah.”
“Yes, I bet he did.”
“Now, um, Jane … about tonight …”
“We need the rehearsal, sir. Badly. The show is on Tuesday and we haven’t had a chance to act onstage yet. Not at all. Didn’t Miss Gonsalves explain?”
I wish she were here with me. She isn’t even at school today. The substitute teacher is approximately three million years old. She thinks computers are newfangled. Also calculators and electric pencil sharpeners.
In
my
day we did things for ourselves,
she says. I’ll bet she thinks the wheel is newfangled.
In
my
day we dragged stuff around.
Her jaw opens and shuts with a snap, like a spring-loaded box lid.
Miss Gonsalves promised she’d be back for the rehearsal tonight. I’ll be glad to see her – there’s so much to do.
The phone rings.
“About tonight,” I say.
Gordon pauses with his hand on the receiver. He puffs his cheeks out at me. His eyebrows lumber up and down his face. “Tonight there’s a basketball practice. The boys’ team has a game next week.”
“What? But Miss Gonsalves –”
“Mr. Gebohm reserved the gym. If you want it, you’ll have to talk to him.”
He picks up the phone. “Hello? Yes, Gordon Gordon here.”
I don’t leave. “What about tomorrow?”
He stares at me with the phone at his ear. “What’s that?” he says.
“We get the gym tomorrow,” I say. “Friday. For our rehearsal.”
“What? Yes, yes, all right,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say, and walk out, thinking about Mr. Gebohm.
“My life is falling apart,” I say to Patti at lunch recess. She’s dressed up today. Her best shirt, hair in a beautiful – well, a carefully combed – style, all up and wrapped around her head, with little clips in a circle. No hat, even for outside recess. A hat would disarrange the hairstyle. She looks like she’s ready to go synchronized swimming, or do battle with Jabba the Hutt.
“Mmm hmm”
she says, looking over my shoulder. We’re standing in the grade 7 section of the playground,near the school but not near the doors. We always stand here.
“My dad is really sick, so he’s upstairs and no one can go near him. Mom has to work, so we’re being looked after by my grandmother – the original dragon lady,” I say.
“Mmm hmm?”
“Yes. She smokes like a chimney, swears worse than Michael. She’s really bossy.”
“There he is. Hi, Brad!” Patti hasn’t been listening to me.
Brad smiles and comes over. His leather jacket is unzipped, exposing a sweatshirt with the picture of an album cover. The edges of
“Hello, there.” He raises a thick dark eyebrow. Then he puts it down, as if it’s too heavy to lift up for long. “Is this about your class attendance?”
“No, sir. It’s about rehearsals for
The Nutcracker.”
“Ah,
The Nutcracker.
I hear great things about that from Miss Gonsalves. You wrote the poems, I understand. Well done, um….” He’s forgotten my name.
“Jane Peeler, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“You can call me Gordon.”
“Yes, uh, Mr., uh, I mean, Gordon.”
“Mr. Gordon is okay, too.”
There’s blue carpeting in the room. I can’t tell if the principal’s brown loafers are making marks or not. I go straight into my speech.
“We need to use the gym tonight for our rehearsals. Tomorrow night, too.”
Gordon blinks. “Didn’t you just have a rehearsal there the other night?”
“No, sir. We were supposed to, but I had to go to the hospital.”
“Oh, yes. I remember now.” He retreats back behind the desk and puts his hands in his pants pockets. He’s wearing a sweatshirt with a soccer logo on the sleeve. He looks like an overage kid. He jigs from foot to foot. “You’re sure you’re not sick?”
“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”
“That’s good. Your brother seems to be all right. I saw him in the hallway before school.” “He’s fine, too.”
“A nice boy, your brother. Wished me a happy Chanukah.”
“Yes, I bet he did.”
“Now, um, Jane … about tonight …”
“We need the rehearsal, sir. Badly. The show is on Tuesday and we haven’t had a chance to act onstage yet. Not at all. Didn’t Miss Gonsalves explain?”
I wish she were here with me. She isn’t even at school today. The substitute teacher is approximately three million years old. She thinks computers are newfangled. Also calculators and electric pencil sharpeners.
In
my
day we did things for ourselves,
she says. I’ll bet she thinks the wheel is newfangled.
In
my
day we dragged stuff around.
Her jaw opens and shuts with a snap, like a spring-loaded box lid.
Miss Gonsalves promised she’d be back for the rehearsal tonight. I’ll be glad to see her – there’s so much to do.
The phone rings.
“About tonight,” I say.
Gordon pauses with his hand on the receiver. He puffs his cheeks out at me. His eyebrows lumber up and down his face. “Tonight there’s a basketball practice. The boys’ team has a game next week.”
“What? But Miss Gonsalves –”
“Mr. Gebohm reserved the gym. If you want it, you’ll have to talk to him.”
He picks up the phone. “Hello? Yes, Gordon Gordon here.”
I don’t leave. “What about tomorrow?”
He stares at me with the phone at his ear. “What’s that?” he says.
“We get the gym tomorrow,” I say. “Friday. For our rehearsal.”
“What? Yes, yes, all right,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say, and walk out, thinking about Mr. Gebohm.
“My life is falling apart,” I say to Patti at lunch recess. She’s dressed up today. Her best shirt, hair in a beautiful – well, a carefully combed – style, all up and wrapped around her head, with little clips in a circle. No hat, even for outside recess. A hat would disarrange the hairstyle. She looks like she’s ready to go synchronized swimming, or do battle with Jabba the Hutt.
“Mmm hmm”
she says, looking over my shoulder. We’re standing in the grade 7 section of the playground,near the school but not near the doors. We always stand here.
“My dad is really sick, so he’s upstairs and no one can go near him. Mom has to work, so we’re being looked after by my grandmother – the original dragon lady,” I say.
“Mmm hmm?”
“Yes. She smokes like a chimney, swears worse than Michael. She’s really bossy.”
“There he is. Hi, Brad!” Patti hasn’t been listening to me.
Brad smiles and comes over. His leather jacket is unzipped, exposing a sweatshirt with the picture of an album cover. The edges of
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