Read Online Leslie's Journal by Allan Stratton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Allan Stratton
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don’t know what I’d do. Sometimes I imagine myself screaming my lungs inside out or throwing myself out a window or stabbing myself to death with scissors.
Seriously, the idea that Mom could die because of something I did drives me crazy. It’s what I’m thinking about when I step into English today. And—speaking of nervous breakdowns and going crazy—guess who’s back? Ms. Graham. She’s smiling like a maniac. If she doesn’t watch out, her cheeks are going to explode.
The class is so shocked we don’t even talk, much less get rowdy. I mean, eyeballs are hanging out of their sockets, and we just sort of drop into our seats and stare at her, as if she’s a mirage or something.
“It’s great to be back,” she says. “I’ve missed you and I’m feeling much better, thanks, and I know the rest of the year is going to be really special.”
They better adjust her medication. Still, the tremor in her hands is mostly gone, and she’s hardly sweating at all. That is, until she asks how many of us filled out our To Kill a Mockingbird question and answer sheets. We look at her all innocent, like we haven’t a clue what she’s talking about.
“You mean while I’ve been gone you haven’t done anything? Why, every day you were to read twenty pages and answer a sheet of questions. I left instructions!”
Was she born simple, or does she work at it? The average supply teacher has a hard time figuring out how to turn on a TV . You think they can follow instructions? And when it’s a regular teacher supervising, why should they care? They have a million students of their own to worry about.
Ms. Graham starts rummaging around in her filing cabinet, still smiling but definitely getting twitchy. “The handouts were right here. Oh dear.” And now it looks like she’s having a near-death experience because guess what? The Handouts Are Missing! Her eyes do that gerbil thing, and you can see her trying to figure out what’s happened. Did she actually forget to make them? Is her memory of them a hallucination? Or maybe one of the janitors broke in and stole them?
Naturally, the handouts aren’t missing at all. The truth is, aside from a couple of goofs, the supply teachers gave them to us. They just didn’t get done is all. But we never did them when she was here, so why would we start when she was away? Ms. Graham is too good-hearted. She gives our class credit for giving a shit. Has she really forgotten what we’re like?
While she was away, the guys at the back played cards as always, and the rest of us either caught up on our other homework or stared out the window or wrote in our journals. I also read the book, but only because I wanted to. (It would be nice to have a dad like Atticus instead of the loser I got stuck with. I mean, I can’t even imagine Atticus trading his daughter for a skank like Brenda.)
Anyway, things with Ms. Graham are getting really interesting when Cindy Williams puts up her hand. “Are these the handouts, Ms. Graham?” she asks, all dimples and curls. She holds up a binder full of neatly completed question and answer sheets. (Cindy gets straight As, and she writes with big fat letters and signs her name with a little heart over the i . She makes me gag.)
“So you did get the handouts!” Ms. Graham exclaims, and she’s back on her spaceship to Planet Happy. “Good, good.” She hops to her desk. “That means you’re all prepared for a little content quiz.”
Before you can say “Boo Radley,” Ms. Graham’s handed out this test full of multiple choices and fill-in-the-blanks. It takes about two minutes, and then she collects them and gives us our journals. We’re supposed to write while she marks.
We don’t write very long before Ms. Graham calls us to attention. It seems only four or five people have bothered to read the book. Most of the content quizzes are either blank or have supposedly funny comments written in where the answers should go. Such as: “Jem reads
Seriously, the idea that Mom could die because of something I did drives me crazy. It’s what I’m thinking about when I step into English today. And—speaking of nervous breakdowns and going crazy—guess who’s back? Ms. Graham. She’s smiling like a maniac. If she doesn’t watch out, her cheeks are going to explode.
The class is so shocked we don’t even talk, much less get rowdy. I mean, eyeballs are hanging out of their sockets, and we just sort of drop into our seats and stare at her, as if she’s a mirage or something.
“It’s great to be back,” she says. “I’ve missed you and I’m feeling much better, thanks, and I know the rest of the year is going to be really special.”
They better adjust her medication. Still, the tremor in her hands is mostly gone, and she’s hardly sweating at all. That is, until she asks how many of us filled out our To Kill a Mockingbird question and answer sheets. We look at her all innocent, like we haven’t a clue what she’s talking about.
“You mean while I’ve been gone you haven’t done anything? Why, every day you were to read twenty pages and answer a sheet of questions. I left instructions!”
Was she born simple, or does she work at it? The average supply teacher has a hard time figuring out how to turn on a TV . You think they can follow instructions? And when it’s a regular teacher supervising, why should they care? They have a million students of their own to worry about.
Ms. Graham starts rummaging around in her filing cabinet, still smiling but definitely getting twitchy. “The handouts were right here. Oh dear.” And now it looks like she’s having a near-death experience because guess what? The Handouts Are Missing! Her eyes do that gerbil thing, and you can see her trying to figure out what’s happened. Did she actually forget to make them? Is her memory of them a hallucination? Or maybe one of the janitors broke in and stole them?
Naturally, the handouts aren’t missing at all. The truth is, aside from a couple of goofs, the supply teachers gave them to us. They just didn’t get done is all. But we never did them when she was here, so why would we start when she was away? Ms. Graham is too good-hearted. She gives our class credit for giving a shit. Has she really forgotten what we’re like?
While she was away, the guys at the back played cards as always, and the rest of us either caught up on our other homework or stared out the window or wrote in our journals. I also read the book, but only because I wanted to. (It would be nice to have a dad like Atticus instead of the loser I got stuck with. I mean, I can’t even imagine Atticus trading his daughter for a skank like Brenda.)
Anyway, things with Ms. Graham are getting really interesting when Cindy Williams puts up her hand. “Are these the handouts, Ms. Graham?” she asks, all dimples and curls. She holds up a binder full of neatly completed question and answer sheets. (Cindy gets straight As, and she writes with big fat letters and signs her name with a little heart over the i . She makes me gag.)
“So you did get the handouts!” Ms. Graham exclaims, and she’s back on her spaceship to Planet Happy. “Good, good.” She hops to her desk. “That means you’re all prepared for a little content quiz.”
Before you can say “Boo Radley,” Ms. Graham’s handed out this test full of multiple choices and fill-in-the-blanks. It takes about two minutes, and then she collects them and gives us our journals. We’re supposed to write while she marks.
We don’t write very long before Ms. Graham calls us to attention. It seems only four or five people have bothered to read the book. Most of the content quizzes are either blank or have supposedly funny comments written in where the answers should go. Such as: “Jem reads
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