Shouldnât I have said something more to him? Itâs bothering me. In a way I am glad he left so that I wonât have to stand up for him, but that is bothering me too. Finally I have something to write about in my diary. I write a lot about the Germans, which is funny because my diary inspiration, Anne Frank, did not write much about them at all.
Chapter Ten
My Diary
November 23, 1963
Dear Diary,
I know that I have not written to you very much. I started but then I stopped. I canât do this every day, but today I wanted to write to you because yesterday was a different kind of day. I went to school and it seemed like a normal day and then, on my way to lunch, I passed Mr. Bradley, the baseball coach. We have become pretty good friends, especially since my batting average has gone up, but I was surprised when he motioned to me in a kind of secretive way to come talk to him. It is November and baseball season is a long way away. What could Mr. Bradley have to talk to me about?
He opened the door to an empty classroom. Everyone was heading for lunch. He turned the lights on and looked at me as though he hadnât decided what he was going to say. And then he said it.
âIâve just heard over the news that somebody has shot President Kennedy and Governor Connally of Texas.â
I looked at him. He was not joking. Is this how it all ends? How could this be? âIs he dead?â I asked.
Mr. Bradley shook his head. âI donât know.â He looked down at the floor for a moment without saying anything. Then he said, âIâve got to go.â He walked out into the hallway.
He would be all right, I thought. John Kennedy is not going to end this way. Not now. I must have stayed in the room for longer than I thought because when I came out Mr. Bradley was nowhere in sight. I walked through the hallway looking at faces and it was easy to tell who knew and who didnât. Even Tony Scaratini had a worried look on his face. He had never had that face beforeâhe generally looked too stupid to be worriedâand that new face told me he knew. But Donna Belini, who had been interested in me ever since I started hitting home runs, didnât know. She had a big smile for me that I didnât want at the moment.
Mr. Shaker looked angry. It was the way he always looked so I could tell that he didnât know. âMr. Schacter,â I said. âPresident Kennedy has been shot.â
He looked at me as though I had shot him and he started shaking. He said, âIs that supposed to be funny?â
âNo,â I said. That was all I felt like saying. He looked around as though he was looking for help. I guess he was looking for another teacher, a grown-up, someone he could trust. All he saw was Mrs. Harmon, the math teacher. Mrs. Harmon turned everything into a math problem. If you asked her what time it was she would say something like âTen minutes ago it was 11:57.â If you asked her when the homework was due she would say âThere are eight problems. I expect each one to take a day and a half.â
Everyone avoided talking to Mrs. Harmon. But she was the only grown-up Mr. Shaker could see and so he turned to her. But she did not give him a puzzle, she just nodded her head. It was true.
Then I realized that Mrs. Harmon was crying. And Mr. Shaker was too.
For some reason, I was looking for Susan Weller. Since you are my diary, I will be honest. I wanted to be the one to tell her. Everybody will remember who told them and I wanted Susan Weller to remember it was me, which is not what you should be thinking about at a time like this. I will only tell this to you. But then I saw Angela Pizzutti. Her face was wet and shiny, not just a few tears running down. She was covered in tears and her eyes looked up at mine completely red where they should have been white. She just grabbed me and held on to me and I held on to her. I liked her for feeling so much though a
Chapter Ten
My Diary
November 23, 1963
Dear Diary,
I know that I have not written to you very much. I started but then I stopped. I canât do this every day, but today I wanted to write to you because yesterday was a different kind of day. I went to school and it seemed like a normal day and then, on my way to lunch, I passed Mr. Bradley, the baseball coach. We have become pretty good friends, especially since my batting average has gone up, but I was surprised when he motioned to me in a kind of secretive way to come talk to him. It is November and baseball season is a long way away. What could Mr. Bradley have to talk to me about?
He opened the door to an empty classroom. Everyone was heading for lunch. He turned the lights on and looked at me as though he hadnât decided what he was going to say. And then he said it.
âIâve just heard over the news that somebody has shot President Kennedy and Governor Connally of Texas.â
I looked at him. He was not joking. Is this how it all ends? How could this be? âIs he dead?â I asked.
Mr. Bradley shook his head. âI donât know.â He looked down at the floor for a moment without saying anything. Then he said, âIâve got to go.â He walked out into the hallway.
He would be all right, I thought. John Kennedy is not going to end this way. Not now. I must have stayed in the room for longer than I thought because when I came out Mr. Bradley was nowhere in sight. I walked through the hallway looking at faces and it was easy to tell who knew and who didnât. Even Tony Scaratini had a worried look on his face. He had never had that face beforeâhe generally looked too stupid to be worriedâand that new face told me he knew. But Donna Belini, who had been interested in me ever since I started hitting home runs, didnât know. She had a big smile for me that I didnât want at the moment.
Mr. Shaker looked angry. It was the way he always looked so I could tell that he didnât know. âMr. Schacter,â I said. âPresident Kennedy has been shot.â
He looked at me as though I had shot him and he started shaking. He said, âIs that supposed to be funny?â
âNo,â I said. That was all I felt like saying. He looked around as though he was looking for help. I guess he was looking for another teacher, a grown-up, someone he could trust. All he saw was Mrs. Harmon, the math teacher. Mrs. Harmon turned everything into a math problem. If you asked her what time it was she would say something like âTen minutes ago it was 11:57.â If you asked her when the homework was due she would say âThere are eight problems. I expect each one to take a day and a half.â
Everyone avoided talking to Mrs. Harmon. But she was the only grown-up Mr. Shaker could see and so he turned to her. But she did not give him a puzzle, she just nodded her head. It was true.
Then I realized that Mrs. Harmon was crying. And Mr. Shaker was too.
For some reason, I was looking for Susan Weller. Since you are my diary, I will be honest. I wanted to be the one to tell her. Everybody will remember who told them and I wanted Susan Weller to remember it was me, which is not what you should be thinking about at a time like this. I will only tell this to you. But then I saw Angela Pizzutti. Her face was wet and shiny, not just a few tears running down. She was covered in tears and her eyes looked up at mine completely red where they should have been white. She just grabbed me and held on to me and I held on to her. I liked her for feeling so much though a
Similar Books
Buried in the Sky: The Extraordinary Story of the Sherpa Climbers on K2's Deadliest Day
Peter Zuckerman, Amanda Padoan
