Read Online Kristy and the Secret of Susan by Anne Martin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anne Martin
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faces, and are usually docile, affectionate, and friendly.
Next to them was a boy who was so hyperactive that on his other side sat a teacher's aid whose only job was to keep him still and quiet during the program. I'll tell you something. That kid was paying a lot more attention to the program than I was. That was what he was excited about. He kept pointing to the stage, or trying to jump up, or turning to the teacher and saying, "Oh, neat! Oh, neat!" The girl on the other side of the teacher was deaf and blind. The boy next to her was deaf. (How, I wondered, did the teachers teach so many different kinds of kids all in one classroom? The deaf boy probably wasn't retarded. The blind and deaf girl probably wasn't either, but 1 bet she learned a lot differently than the deaf boy did, and both of them must have been much more advanced than the retarded kids.) Anyway, it was the kid in the second to the last seat in the row - next to a teacher who was between him and the third kid in a wheel-chair - who really attracted my attention. Guess why. Because the boy reminded me so much of Susan. Every now and then he would clap his hands together for no apparent reason. (Nobody else was clapping when he was.) A couple of times he waved his right hand back and forth in front of his eyes. But what was most interesting to me was that sometimes he would stare off into space - and talk. Mostly, he spoke quietly, so I couldn't hear him, but a few times he spoke more loudly. Once he said, "How old are you?" and another time he said, "Stop it, Jerry." They were meaningless sentences (or else just out of context), but at least he was talking. That was impressive enough, but my jaw dropped wide open when he turned to his teacher and said, "Go home, please? Go home?" "No, Drew," replied the teacher patiently. "Not yet. Later." "No, now," said Drew. "Go home now." Drew could carry on a conversation! It was wonderful. I was certain he was autistic. But if Drew could talk, I thought, so could Susan. Furthermore, Drew did not attend some fancy away-from-home school. He had made more strides than Susan had, and he had probably made them right here in the Stoneybrook public schools. So why, why, why, did the Felders have to send Susan away? Why couldn't they do what Drew's family had done? Keep Susan at home - and let her learn in a familiar environment. Drew seemed to be way ahead of Susan. Maybe that was because he'd been kept at home.
I was still thinking about Drew and Susan, when Mary Anne elbowed me in the side.
"What?" I whispered. She was probably going to tell me to pay attention - which would irritate me. She is not a teacher.
"Kristy," she said. "Look." She pointed discreetly across the aisle.
There I saw two sixth-grade boys laughing hysterically at a third boy who had crossed his eyes and was letting his head roll around.
I couldn't believe it. They were making fun of the girl in the wheelchair. Why didn't someone stop them?
Then a girl next to them wadded up a little piece of notebook paper, rolled it around in her mouth, and threw the spitball across the aisle. It hit the hyperactive boy on the side of his face. It surprised him, and right then and there, he threw a tantrum. The teacher's aid had to take him out of the auditorium.
Luckily, another teacher had seen what the sixth-graders were up to, and they were taken out of the auditorium, too - to the principal's office, I hoped.
I felt so angry I wanted to scream at those kids. I wanted to shout, "Haven't you ever been teased? Hasn't anyone ever thrown a spitball at you? I hope someday someone finds out something you're sensitive about and blabs it to the whole school. I hope they publish it in the newspaper!" I was also upset. I had just seen a drawback to going to a handicapped class in a "regular" school. The "normal" kids could tease or laugh at the handicapped ones. That wouldn't hap-pend to Susan if her parents sent her away to school. But I still thought she should stay at
Next to them was a boy who was so hyperactive that on his other side sat a teacher's aid whose only job was to keep him still and quiet during the program. I'll tell you something. That kid was paying a lot more attention to the program than I was. That was what he was excited about. He kept pointing to the stage, or trying to jump up, or turning to the teacher and saying, "Oh, neat! Oh, neat!" The girl on the other side of the teacher was deaf and blind. The boy next to her was deaf. (How, I wondered, did the teachers teach so many different kinds of kids all in one classroom? The deaf boy probably wasn't retarded. The blind and deaf girl probably wasn't either, but 1 bet she learned a lot differently than the deaf boy did, and both of them must have been much more advanced than the retarded kids.) Anyway, it was the kid in the second to the last seat in the row - next to a teacher who was between him and the third kid in a wheel-chair - who really attracted my attention. Guess why. Because the boy reminded me so much of Susan. Every now and then he would clap his hands together for no apparent reason. (Nobody else was clapping when he was.) A couple of times he waved his right hand back and forth in front of his eyes. But what was most interesting to me was that sometimes he would stare off into space - and talk. Mostly, he spoke quietly, so I couldn't hear him, but a few times he spoke more loudly. Once he said, "How old are you?" and another time he said, "Stop it, Jerry." They were meaningless sentences (or else just out of context), but at least he was talking. That was impressive enough, but my jaw dropped wide open when he turned to his teacher and said, "Go home, please? Go home?" "No, Drew," replied the teacher patiently. "Not yet. Later." "No, now," said Drew. "Go home now." Drew could carry on a conversation! It was wonderful. I was certain he was autistic. But if Drew could talk, I thought, so could Susan. Furthermore, Drew did not attend some fancy away-from-home school. He had made more strides than Susan had, and he had probably made them right here in the Stoneybrook public schools. So why, why, why, did the Felders have to send Susan away? Why couldn't they do what Drew's family had done? Keep Susan at home - and let her learn in a familiar environment. Drew seemed to be way ahead of Susan. Maybe that was because he'd been kept at home.
I was still thinking about Drew and Susan, when Mary Anne elbowed me in the side.
"What?" I whispered. She was probably going to tell me to pay attention - which would irritate me. She is not a teacher.
"Kristy," she said. "Look." She pointed discreetly across the aisle.
There I saw two sixth-grade boys laughing hysterically at a third boy who had crossed his eyes and was letting his head roll around.
I couldn't believe it. They were making fun of the girl in the wheelchair. Why didn't someone stop them?
Then a girl next to them wadded up a little piece of notebook paper, rolled it around in her mouth, and threw the spitball across the aisle. It hit the hyperactive boy on the side of his face. It surprised him, and right then and there, he threw a tantrum. The teacher's aid had to take him out of the auditorium.
Luckily, another teacher had seen what the sixth-graders were up to, and they were taken out of the auditorium, too - to the principal's office, I hoped.
I felt so angry I wanted to scream at those kids. I wanted to shout, "Haven't you ever been teased? Hasn't anyone ever thrown a spitball at you? I hope someday someone finds out something you're sensitive about and blabs it to the whole school. I hope they publish it in the newspaper!" I was also upset. I had just seen a drawback to going to a handicapped class in a "regular" school. The "normal" kids could tease or laugh at the handicapped ones. That wouldn't hap-pend to Susan if her parents sent her away to school. But I still thought she should stay at
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