Read Online On The Wings of Heroes by Richard Peck - Free Book Online

Landis inside out, and here was her opposite. Old and scary with eyes bugged by her spectacles and wearing a shapeless shroudlike garment. One withered fist was parked on her bony hip.
    One of the girls screamed.
    Scooter smacked his forehead.
    I couldn’t believe my eyes.
    It was Miss Eulalia Titus.

In Scooter’s Opinion . . .
    . . . we’d gone out of the frying pan into the fire. Miss Landis had been too young to teach us. Miss Titus was too old to live.
    It took us a while to adjust to her. We weren’t used to a teacher who looked like a walnut with a mustache. With those specs, her eyes were bigger than she was, but you couldn’t tell where she was looking. Maybe around corners.
    The girls found out they missed Miss Landis. She’d worn a different outfit every day, and they’d drawn her dresses in their notebooks instead of learning. Miss Titus wore the same shroud every day. She wouldn’t have had to paint her legs. They were nowhere in sight.
    We supposed she’d be a bear on diagramming, but she said, “I gather you can all diagram sentences. Let’s see if you can write one.”
    Composition? Hands smacked foreheads all over the room. Beverly stirred.
    Beverly was biding her time. She’d run one teacher off, and this one looked like she already had one foot in the grave. “Lady,” I personally heard Beverly mutter to herself, “I’ll have you in the nursing home by Thanksgiving.”
    Our first composition was to be:

    While we wrote, I chanced a look Beverly’s way. She was drawing a lopsided skull and crossbones across the page.
    â€œCan we use the dictionary?” somebody asked.
    â€œYou better,” Miss Titus said.
    Wednesday was her day to supervise recess. We were to leave by rows, which was a new one on us. But even Beverly went quietly. Miss Titus left her pocketbook behind on the floor by her desk, sticking out. Great big cracked-leather handbag.
    Hoyt Albers pointed it out. “Better not,” he said, but Miss Titus didn’t seem to hear.
    After recess, she manned the outside door to see that we came back in one at a time. I remember Beverly brushing past her because they were the same height. Then we heard screaming from inside school, echoing down the halls. Big screams.
    Teachers looked out of their classrooms. The screams came from ours.
    Doreen was up by the teacher’s desk, wringing her hands. Janis was on the floor at her feet, back arching, flailing around, howling. Something heavy was clamped to her hand, and she was banging it on the floor.
    Another odd thing about Miss Titus, she could move like greased lightning. In a twinkling, she was at the front of the room, crouching over Janis. She grabbed her flopping hand and held it up.
    We made a circle and gaped. All four of Janis’s fingers were mashed into a big spring-action patented rattrap. It was a businesslike trap, though rusty. Her fingers sticking out were gray, and her nails were blue. Taking her time, Miss Titus sprung the trap open and took it off Janis. “Get my pocketbook,” she told Doreen.
    Janis was wracked with sobs, a weird sound coming from her. Jungle Dawn Pink lipstick was all over her face. She was one big smear, and her feet kicked. You’d hope there’d be some blood, but there wasn’t. Still, her fingers were real flat.
    Doreen collected Miss Titus’s pocketbook from over in the corner where it had skidded. You could see how it happened. When Janis reached in to rifle the purse, the rattrap inside it got her. This was a surprise, and she jumped. The purse went flying.
    â€œMy stars,” Miss Titus remarked. “I wonder how on earth a thing like that could have happened.” She stood. “In your seats,” she said, and we settled. Beverly too, looking around in her desk to make sure it hadn’t been tampered with. The whole classroom could be a minefield.
    Miss Titus told Patty MacIntosh to go