Read Online Skating with the Statue of Liberty by Susan Lynn Meyer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susan Lynn Meyer
Ads: Link
boys.”
“Flirt?”
“Like this,” September Rose said. She batted her eyes, flipped her braid over her shoulder, and made a kissy mouth like Martha. She laughed as he nodded. “You get it, huh? Bye!”
She threw on her coat and darted across the room to the door, slipping through a patch of sunshine from a high window. The back of her neck was a smooth, rich brown. It reminded Gustave of something. For a moment he couldn’t think what, and then he remembered. The chestnuts that fell from the trees on the Champs-Élysées in Paris. He used to collect them with his friends, rub them with a handkerchief until they were smooth and gleaming, and carry them in his pockets, throw them at things, drop them into the Seine from the bridges. Maybe it was because of the questions she had asked him, but that was what the warm brown of her neck reminded him of. Paris and chestnuts.
12
F ridays quickly became Gustave’s favorite day of the week. School got out an hour early, so there was never any music class on Fridays. Fridays also always began with algebra, which was now Gustave’s favorite subject. As soon as he realized that Americans wrote their numbers a bit differently, it was very easy to follow. He didn’t even have to listen to the words. He simply looked at the equations the teacher was writing on the board and figured out what to do by himself. One day, Mrs. Rider was explaining how to solve two equations containing two unknowns,
x
and
y
. Gustave suddenly saw how to do it, and she called him up to the blackboard. He solved the problem without talking, smiling to himself, while the others were still calling out bewildered questions.
Geography was the next period after algebra. That day, they were starting a new unit on Africa, and Mr. Coolidge had those maps pulled down. As Mr. Coolidgerapped his pointer on the maps and began to speak, Gustave glanced at the book of the boy next to him to see what page he was supposed to be on, then flipped open his textbook. He stopped at a photograph of French soldiers riding on
méharis
, camels. Once, in Paris, he had read a book about those French soldiers who rode camels in Africa. It had seemed like a glamorous and exciting life, a life dedicated to the glory of France. For a while he had wanted to be one of them, a
méhariste
, galloping through the desert under an enormous black sky full of stars.
Gustave absentmindedly twisted the eraser end of his pencil against the page, tearing it. He glanced up and covered the rip with his hand, worried that he would get into trouble. It was a long time ago that he had wanted to be one of those soldiers. He had been younger and stupider in those days. Back then he hadn’t known anything about what war was really like.
Mr. Coolidge tapped his pointer on Morocco. “So,” he said loudly to the class, and Gustave focused on him again, “what is a ‘casbah’?”
Martha waved her hand wildly in the air.
“Yes, Martha?”
Martha ran her fingers through her silky hair, taking her time, making sure the whole class was watching her. “A casbah is a walled-in city like that one in Algiers,” she said slowly and clearly, circling her arms like walls around a city. Then she started talking more quickly. Gustave heard the movie star names “Charles Boyer” and “Hedy Lamarr.” Suddenly Martha looked directly at Gustaveand winked. She drawled in a fake French accent, “Come vid me to ze casbah!”
Gustave’s face went hot as the class exploded into laughter. “In the casbah they Frrrrench keeees!” Martha added, giggling. Someone nudged Gustave from behind.
“Oh, I see, you know about the casbah from the movies!” Mr. Coolidge chuckled. Gustave stared at the floor and waited for the class to be over.
—
At lunch, Gustave sat with Frank again. Leo was there too, and Miles, a curly-haired boy with a cheerful, ruddy face.
“You know Martha likes you, Gus!” Miles laughed.
Gustave shook his head, but the other boys at
“Flirt?”
“Like this,” September Rose said. She batted her eyes, flipped her braid over her shoulder, and made a kissy mouth like Martha. She laughed as he nodded. “You get it, huh? Bye!”
She threw on her coat and darted across the room to the door, slipping through a patch of sunshine from a high window. The back of her neck was a smooth, rich brown. It reminded Gustave of something. For a moment he couldn’t think what, and then he remembered. The chestnuts that fell from the trees on the Champs-Élysées in Paris. He used to collect them with his friends, rub them with a handkerchief until they were smooth and gleaming, and carry them in his pockets, throw them at things, drop them into the Seine from the bridges. Maybe it was because of the questions she had asked him, but that was what the warm brown of her neck reminded him of. Paris and chestnuts.
12
F ridays quickly became Gustave’s favorite day of the week. School got out an hour early, so there was never any music class on Fridays. Fridays also always began with algebra, which was now Gustave’s favorite subject. As soon as he realized that Americans wrote their numbers a bit differently, it was very easy to follow. He didn’t even have to listen to the words. He simply looked at the equations the teacher was writing on the board and figured out what to do by himself. One day, Mrs. Rider was explaining how to solve two equations containing two unknowns,
x
and
y
. Gustave suddenly saw how to do it, and she called him up to the blackboard. He solved the problem without talking, smiling to himself, while the others were still calling out bewildered questions.
Geography was the next period after algebra. That day, they were starting a new unit on Africa, and Mr. Coolidge had those maps pulled down. As Mr. Coolidgerapped his pointer on the maps and began to speak, Gustave glanced at the book of the boy next to him to see what page he was supposed to be on, then flipped open his textbook. He stopped at a photograph of French soldiers riding on
méharis
, camels. Once, in Paris, he had read a book about those French soldiers who rode camels in Africa. It had seemed like a glamorous and exciting life, a life dedicated to the glory of France. For a while he had wanted to be one of them, a
méhariste
, galloping through the desert under an enormous black sky full of stars.
Gustave absentmindedly twisted the eraser end of his pencil against the page, tearing it. He glanced up and covered the rip with his hand, worried that he would get into trouble. It was a long time ago that he had wanted to be one of those soldiers. He had been younger and stupider in those days. Back then he hadn’t known anything about what war was really like.
Mr. Coolidge tapped his pointer on Morocco. “So,” he said loudly to the class, and Gustave focused on him again, “what is a ‘casbah’?”
Martha waved her hand wildly in the air.
“Yes, Martha?”
Martha ran her fingers through her silky hair, taking her time, making sure the whole class was watching her. “A casbah is a walled-in city like that one in Algiers,” she said slowly and clearly, circling her arms like walls around a city. Then she started talking more quickly. Gustave heard the movie star names “Charles Boyer” and “Hedy Lamarr.” Suddenly Martha looked directly at Gustaveand winked. She drawled in a fake French accent, “Come vid me to ze casbah!”
Gustave’s face went hot as the class exploded into laughter. “In the casbah they Frrrrench keeees!” Martha added, giggling. Someone nudged Gustave from behind.
“Oh, I see, you know about the casbah from the movies!” Mr. Coolidge chuckled. Gustave stared at the floor and waited for the class to be over.
—
At lunch, Gustave sat with Frank again. Leo was there too, and Miles, a curly-haired boy with a cheerful, ruddy face.
“You know Martha likes you, Gus!” Miles laughed.
Gustave shook his head, but the other boys at
Similar Books
