Read Online Anastasia Has the Answers by Lois Lowry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lois Lowry
Tags: Ages 9 & Up
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could, too."
Uncle George shook her hand.
"I have to call Daphne," Anastasia said. "Excuse me." She went to the telephone in the study.
"
Great,
" Daphne said when she heard the news. "I really felt sorry for you in gym, Anastasia. It's really crummy when everybody else can do something and you can't. I felt that way once at summer camp before I learned to swim. I was still in Advanced Beginners and every single other person my age was in Junior Lifesaving."
"Do you think I ought to call Ms. Willoughby and tell her, so that I won't have to do the whistle tomorrow when all those visitors are there?"
"Call a teacher at home? That's kind of a weird thought. I suppose you could, if she's in the phone book, but—hey, Anastasia, I have a better idea!"
"What?"
"Surprise her, and everybody. Just wait till everyone else has done it, and then—heck, you've got the whistle—just announce one final event, and it'll be
you!
That'll blow Willoughby's mind; she thinks you're so uncoordinated."
It was just like Anastasia's latest daydream. Imagine that, thought Anastasia: a daydream that can turn into reality. Boy, there aren't very many of those!
"Do you think she'd get mad?"
"Willoughby? Mad?" Daphne hooted. "She never gets mad, Anastasia. She'd
love
it."
Anastasia decided that Daphne was probably right. Maybe she would do it.
Probably
she would do it. Just like the daydream.
10
For once, Anastasia didn't wear jeans to school. The students hadn't been told to wear anything special on Wednesday, but most of them did anyway. The boys seemed to be wearing chinos instead of jeans, and sport shirts with creases ironed into the sleeves. Many of the girls were wearing dresses or skirts.
Lesley Ann Roth, who always, always,
always
wore the same Jordache jeans and a Brown University sweat shirt to school, was wearing a Laura Ashley dress. Anastasia looked with surprise at Lesley Ann's legs, and whispered to Daphne, "She actually has skin! I thought she was completely made out of denim!"
Daphne whispered back, "That dress cost ninety-something dollars. I tried it on once at the store, but my mother wouldn't buy it for me. She said that ninety Ethiopians could eat for a month on that."
Anastasia giggled. She pictured Ethiopians munching on the flower-sprigged Laura Ashley dress, even though she knew that wasn't what Mrs. Bellingham had meant.
Anastasia didn't really like dresses herself. They made her feel self-conscious. But this year, in seventh grade, she had been observing Ms. Willoughby's layered look very closely; and at home, secretly in her room, she tried to imitate it. So far it hadn't ever worked. When she put on a leotard, and over it a denim skirt, and over that a paisley wraparound skirt (sneaked out of her mother's closet), and on top a turtleneck shirt, with a cotton blouse over that, and a suede vest (sneaked out of her father's closet) on top of that—well, she groaned when she looked into the full-length mirror on the back of her door. She looked like a bag lady. She looked like a sausage. She looked like a person wearing six layers of clothing—which was exactly what she was. But why did Ms. Willoughby look so glamorous when
she
wore six layers of clothing?
It was simply one of those life mysteries that Anastasia had begun to think might never be solved. Today she had given up her experiments and was wearing only her boring denim skirt with a boring striped blouse.
But she felt terrific. She felt terrific because she was somebody who was going to recite a terrific poem in front of a group of very important visiting European educators, and after that she was somebody who was
maybe
—if she decided to do it—going to surprise an entire gym full of people, including Ms. Wilhelmina Willoughby, by climbing a rope. "'O world,'" Anastasia murmured to herself, smiling, "'I cannot hold thee close enough!'"
There was no sign of the visitors in the school, no hint of their presence in homeroom while attendance was
Uncle George shook her hand.
"I have to call Daphne," Anastasia said. "Excuse me." She went to the telephone in the study.
"
Great,
" Daphne said when she heard the news. "I really felt sorry for you in gym, Anastasia. It's really crummy when everybody else can do something and you can't. I felt that way once at summer camp before I learned to swim. I was still in Advanced Beginners and every single other person my age was in Junior Lifesaving."
"Do you think I ought to call Ms. Willoughby and tell her, so that I won't have to do the whistle tomorrow when all those visitors are there?"
"Call a teacher at home? That's kind of a weird thought. I suppose you could, if she's in the phone book, but—hey, Anastasia, I have a better idea!"
"What?"
"Surprise her, and everybody. Just wait till everyone else has done it, and then—heck, you've got the whistle—just announce one final event, and it'll be
you!
That'll blow Willoughby's mind; she thinks you're so uncoordinated."
It was just like Anastasia's latest daydream. Imagine that, thought Anastasia: a daydream that can turn into reality. Boy, there aren't very many of those!
"Do you think she'd get mad?"
"Willoughby? Mad?" Daphne hooted. "She never gets mad, Anastasia. She'd
love
it."
Anastasia decided that Daphne was probably right. Maybe she would do it.
Probably
she would do it. Just like the daydream.
10
For once, Anastasia didn't wear jeans to school. The students hadn't been told to wear anything special on Wednesday, but most of them did anyway. The boys seemed to be wearing chinos instead of jeans, and sport shirts with creases ironed into the sleeves. Many of the girls were wearing dresses or skirts.
Lesley Ann Roth, who always, always,
always
wore the same Jordache jeans and a Brown University sweat shirt to school, was wearing a Laura Ashley dress. Anastasia looked with surprise at Lesley Ann's legs, and whispered to Daphne, "She actually has skin! I thought she was completely made out of denim!"
Daphne whispered back, "That dress cost ninety-something dollars. I tried it on once at the store, but my mother wouldn't buy it for me. She said that ninety Ethiopians could eat for a month on that."
Anastasia giggled. She pictured Ethiopians munching on the flower-sprigged Laura Ashley dress, even though she knew that wasn't what Mrs. Bellingham had meant.
Anastasia didn't really like dresses herself. They made her feel self-conscious. But this year, in seventh grade, she had been observing Ms. Willoughby's layered look very closely; and at home, secretly in her room, she tried to imitate it. So far it hadn't ever worked. When she put on a leotard, and over it a denim skirt, and over that a paisley wraparound skirt (sneaked out of her mother's closet), and on top a turtleneck shirt, with a cotton blouse over that, and a suede vest (sneaked out of her father's closet) on top of that—well, she groaned when she looked into the full-length mirror on the back of her door. She looked like a bag lady. She looked like a sausage. She looked like a person wearing six layers of clothing—which was exactly what she was. But why did Ms. Willoughby look so glamorous when
she
wore six layers of clothing?
It was simply one of those life mysteries that Anastasia had begun to think might never be solved. Today she had given up her experiments and was wearing only her boring denim skirt with a boring striped blouse.
But she felt terrific. She felt terrific because she was somebody who was going to recite a terrific poem in front of a group of very important visiting European educators, and after that she was somebody who was
maybe
—if she decided to do it—going to surprise an entire gym full of people, including Ms. Wilhelmina Willoughby, by climbing a rope. "'O world,'" Anastasia murmured to herself, smiling, "'I cannot hold thee close enough!'"
There was no sign of the visitors in the school, no hint of their presence in homeroom while attendance was
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