Read Online Annie On My Mind by Nancy Garden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nancy Garden
Tags: Romance, Young Adult
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Stevenson’s, answered. “Um,” I said eloquently, “this—um—is Liza Winthrop, one of Ms. Stevenson’s students at Foster? Well, I’m sorry to bother her if she’s not feeling well, but the thing is …”
“Oh, Liza,” the voice said. “This is Ms. Widmer. Isabelle— I mean Ms. Stevenson—has a terrible cold and I was just about to leave for school—late, as you can see. Is there anything I can do?” I remembered then that someone had once said they thought that Ms. Stevenson and Ms. Widmer lived together. “Or,” Ms. Widmer was suggesting, “would you rather talk to her directly? It’s just that she feels very rotten.”
“No, it’s okay,” i said quickly, and explained. Ms. Widmer left for a couple of minutes and then came back and said yes, I did have to keep up and she’d send my homework to me via Chad if that was okay and wasn’t it nice it was a short week because of Thanksgiving.
She suggested I get in touch with Sally to tell her it would be a good idea for her to make some kind of arrangement, too. So I called Sally—she still sounded upset about everything—and then I spent the next twenty minutes deciding what to wear to Annie’s school. I must have put on four different pairs of jeans before I found one that wasn’t dirty or torn or too shabby or not shabby enough, and then I darned a hole in the elbow of my favorite gray sweater, which I’d been putting off doing since spring. By the time I left, it was after ten o’clock. It took me more than an hour to get to Annie’s school, what with changing subways and all. She’d drawn me a rough floor plan of the building and copied down her schedule for me, but she’d also warned me I wouldn’t be able to just walk in, as someone pretty much could at my school—and she couldn’t have been more right about that! As soon as I saw the building, I remembered her comparing it to a prison. I’ve seen big ugly schools all over New York, but this was the worst one of all. It was about as imaginative in design as a military bunker. I went up the huge concrete steps outside, through big double doors that had wire mesh over their windows, as did the regular windows, and into a dark cavernous hall with metal stairwells off it. The first thing that hit me was the smell: a combination of disinfectant, grass, and the subway on a hot day, with the last one of those the strongest. The second thing that hit me was how the prison atmosphere continued inside. Even the interior glass windows, on doors and looking into offices, were reinforced with wire mesh. And right in the middle of the hall, opposite the doors, was an enormous table with three security guards standing around it. The biggest of them strode up to me the minute I walked in. “What do you want?” he demanded belligerently. I told him my name, as Annie had warned me I’d have to, and said I was a friend of Annie’s and had come to see the school. “How come you’re not in school yourself?” he asked. I didn’t know what to say to that. I thought of saying I was a dropout or that my school had all week off for Thanksgiving or that I’d graduated early—anything but that I’d been suspended. But then I figured I was in enough trouble already, and besides, I’ve always been a terrible liar, so I told the truth. He asked why I’d been suspended, so I told him that, too. And that did it. He and another guard herded me into a little office off the hall. Then he asked how I’d like it if they called Foster to verify my story, and the other guard asked if I’d mind emptying my pockets, and I said, “What for” he looked at his cohort and said, “Is this kid for real?” Needless to say, I never did get any farther inside Annie’s school that day. So I left, and spent the next few hours at the Museum of the American Indian. When I got back, at about two-thirty, the guards and a couple of cops were outside and what seemed like thousands of kids were pouring out the
“Oh, Liza,” the voice said. “This is Ms. Widmer. Isabelle— I mean Ms. Stevenson—has a terrible cold and I was just about to leave for school—late, as you can see. Is there anything I can do?” I remembered then that someone had once said they thought that Ms. Stevenson and Ms. Widmer lived together. “Or,” Ms. Widmer was suggesting, “would you rather talk to her directly? It’s just that she feels very rotten.”
“No, it’s okay,” i said quickly, and explained. Ms. Widmer left for a couple of minutes and then came back and said yes, I did have to keep up and she’d send my homework to me via Chad if that was okay and wasn’t it nice it was a short week because of Thanksgiving.
She suggested I get in touch with Sally to tell her it would be a good idea for her to make some kind of arrangement, too. So I called Sally—she still sounded upset about everything—and then I spent the next twenty minutes deciding what to wear to Annie’s school. I must have put on four different pairs of jeans before I found one that wasn’t dirty or torn or too shabby or not shabby enough, and then I darned a hole in the elbow of my favorite gray sweater, which I’d been putting off doing since spring. By the time I left, it was after ten o’clock. It took me more than an hour to get to Annie’s school, what with changing subways and all. She’d drawn me a rough floor plan of the building and copied down her schedule for me, but she’d also warned me I wouldn’t be able to just walk in, as someone pretty much could at my school—and she couldn’t have been more right about that! As soon as I saw the building, I remembered her comparing it to a prison. I’ve seen big ugly schools all over New York, but this was the worst one of all. It was about as imaginative in design as a military bunker. I went up the huge concrete steps outside, through big double doors that had wire mesh over their windows, as did the regular windows, and into a dark cavernous hall with metal stairwells off it. The first thing that hit me was the smell: a combination of disinfectant, grass, and the subway on a hot day, with the last one of those the strongest. The second thing that hit me was how the prison atmosphere continued inside. Even the interior glass windows, on doors and looking into offices, were reinforced with wire mesh. And right in the middle of the hall, opposite the doors, was an enormous table with three security guards standing around it. The biggest of them strode up to me the minute I walked in. “What do you want?” he demanded belligerently. I told him my name, as Annie had warned me I’d have to, and said I was a friend of Annie’s and had come to see the school. “How come you’re not in school yourself?” he asked. I didn’t know what to say to that. I thought of saying I was a dropout or that my school had all week off for Thanksgiving or that I’d graduated early—anything but that I’d been suspended. But then I figured I was in enough trouble already, and besides, I’ve always been a terrible liar, so I told the truth. He asked why I’d been suspended, so I told him that, too. And that did it. He and another guard herded me into a little office off the hall. Then he asked how I’d like it if they called Foster to verify my story, and the other guard asked if I’d mind emptying my pockets, and I said, “What for” he looked at his cohort and said, “Is this kid for real?” Needless to say, I never did get any farther inside Annie’s school that day. So I left, and spent the next few hours at the Museum of the American Indian. When I got back, at about two-thirty, the guards and a couple of cops were outside and what seemed like thousands of kids were pouring out the
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