Read Online Burning Questions of Bingo Brown by Betsy Byars - Free Book Online

borrow. She—”
    “I have an extra pencil,” Mamie Lou said. “Pass that back to Bingo.”
    The pencil was not quite an inch long. It was an eraser with a point on it.
    “What if I break this pencil?”
    “You won’t.”
    “Miss Brownley—”
    “Bingo, I have been keeping a record of the number of times you have been to the pencil sharpener, and in the day and a half that I have been substituting for Mr. Markham, you have been to the pencil sharpener nine times.”
    “It can’t be that many—two or three maybe. I know I break a lot of pencils, Miss Brownley, I can’t help it. I bear down hard.”
    She held up a notepad. On the pad were nine marks. She had been keeping a record!
    “If you would like me to,” she went on, “I’ll be happy to write your mother a note, stating the problem, and requesting additional pencils.”
    “That won’t be necessary,” Bingo said firmly. “I’ll make this one last.”
    “Good.”
    He did the rest of his math problems in pale, meaningless numbers, sparing the lead of his pencil. When he wrote in his journal, he wrote in pale letters only one question.
    Is my life as a happy person over?
    It was Billy Wentworth who put meaning back into Bingo’s life. He did it with one sentence.
    “I’m moving next door to you Saturday.”
    “Saturday?”
    “That’s what I said, Worm Brain. Saturday.”
    With that single statement, the enormity of the occasion washed over Bingo like a tidal wave. He would get to see what kind of furniture a hero had. He would see the refrigerator his food went in. He would see his chairs. He would see Billy Wentworth’s bed!
    “Bingo.”
    “What have I done now, Miss Brownley?” Had he gone to the pencil sharpener without knowing it—like a sleepwalker? “I honestly don’t know what I’ve done.”
    “You were staring into space.”
    “Oh.” Had she been keeping a record of his staring-into-spaces too? He would be glad to have Mr. Markham back. Even writing letters to Dawn was better than this.
    Mr. Markham came back the next day in time to collect the pink slips.
    “I forgot mine, Mr. Mark,” Bingo said. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”
    “I’m glad to hear that, Bingo—that you have something on your mind.”
    Mr. Markham sounded like the old Mr. Mark, but he looked smaller, as if he was wearing his big brother’s clothes.
    “Mr. Mark?”
    “Yes, Mamie Lou.”
    “You missed the wear-in. You didn’t get to see us in our shirts.”
    “I was with you in spirit.”
    “I wanted you to see us.”
    Mr. Markham put the pink slips in his desk drawer. “Hey, that gives me an idea, gang. Let’s start off with Art. We haven’t had Art in weeks. Get out a piece of paper and draw a picture of yourself in your t-shirt. We’ll put the pictures up on the board as a reminder of your daring. Yes, Melissa?”
    “My shirt had the whole Declaration of Independence on it. I’m not sure I remember it word for word.”
    “Fake it.”
    Everyone began work at once. The pictures had been burned into their brains since Friday, and it was a relief to be able to recreate them.
    Mr. Markham stood at the window, looking out. There wasn’t much out there—the parking lot and the side of the gymnasium, but Mr. Markham kept looking until they finished the pictures. Melissa said, “Mr. Mark, we’re through with the pictures.”
    He turned around then. “Pictures? Yes, pictures. Melissa, would you take down the harvest display from the bulletin board and organize the t-shirt display?”
    “Sure.”
    Bingo was grateful to Mr. Markham for the display. He glanced sideways at it all during the week.
    The pictures were better than photographs. Harriet in I HAVE A PORPOISE IN LIFE . Billy in Rambo. Melissa in what appeared to be the complete Declaration of Independence. Barbara in the Statue of Liberty— ANY HUNDRED-YEAR-OLD LADY NEEDS A LIFT NOW AND THEN . Bingo in WØRDS .
    Being watched over by pictures of themselves at their best did