Read Online The Trouble Begins by Linda Himelblau - Free Book Online
Authors: Linda Himelblau
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other women but today she's coming home early on the bus. I told her it would be dumb but she's coming anyway. My dad is too busy.
It's strange to be at school at night. Lights from the classrooms shine out on the dark playground. Kids are running around all over. Mrs. Dorfman's in a shiny dress instead of pants. She even cleaned her coffee cup. My mom sits at my desk. Tiffany's mom and dad sit at her desk squashed together with her little brother sitting on her work folder. Allthe kids in our class sit on the floor in the front. We look right at Mrs. Dorfman's legs. Kids giggle. The room gets crowded so people even stand around the edge. It's very hot. I turn to look at my mom. She has room to sit at my desk by herself. She is sitting straight and smiling. I look at Anthony's desk. Is that his mom? She doesn't look old enough to be a mom. She wears jeans and a T-shirt and lots of makeup under her big old glasses. She is busy looking at Anthony's folder. It has a guy with fangs drawn on the front. She doesn't look happy.
“I'm glad so many of our wonderful parents could make it to Open House.” Mrs. Dorfman smiles. I'm close enough to know she smells like old flowers. I wiggle around to get more room. I bump Anthony. He doesn't do anything back. He just sits there staring straight ahead. “I'm going to tell you some things about our class and about my expectations for my students…”
Oh no, I think. This is going to last forever. I twist around. Moms and dads are all smiling back. My mom too. Little kids are already squirming around.
I'm right, of course. On and on she talks. It's very hot. She smiles and smiles. Jorge starts opening and closing the Velcro on his shoes. She beams down at him like he's doing something wonderful. “Let's not play with our Velcro, boys and girls,” she whispers. Anthony doesn't even laugh.
Mrs. Dorfman calls kids to stand up in front to tell about reading and math and spelling and social studies. I twist around. I can tell who their moms and dads are by who's smiling biggest. Kids come up to read their poetry aboutrain. Kids come up to tell about the class newsletter and computer time. It's only fun to see how scared they are. “Speak up,” Mrs. Dorfman keeps saying. “Speak up, please.”
I twist around again. Oh no! My mom looks funny. Her head drops forward and jerks back. Is she going to sleep? I look up and down the row of sitting kids to see if anyone saw. “Sleepyhead” is what Mrs. Dorfman called Rosaria when she went to sleep in class. I can just hear Anthony and Jorge. “How's Son of Sleepyhead?” they'll say. Then they'll snore.
I sneak another look. My mom's asleep. Her head's propped up on her hand. Her eyes are closed. I can't hear if she's snoring because of Mrs. Dorfman. On and on and on. I don't look anymore. If I don't look maybe nobody else will. If Anthony laughs at her I'll jump up and smash him. I don't care who's here. My mom works late every night. She's tired. I'm listening carefully now for one kid who says one thing about my mom.
Finally Mrs. Dorfman sounds like she's through. “I think that covers everything now.” She is as smiley and loud as when she started. Maybe she doesn't see my mom. “Are there any questions?”
A loud angry voice. “You bet there are!” All the kids twist around. It's Anthony's mom. She's standing up at his desk. She's glaring at Mrs. Dorfman. “I thought this was supposed to be a democracy,” she shouts. “How come just some of the kids are up there talking? I didn't come here to hear somebody else's kid and how great they're doing. I got other stuff to do.”
The room is very quiet. “I'm sorry you're disappointed,” says Mrs. Dorfman, still smiling but not as much. “It was a volunteer—”
“Whatever,” interrupts Anthony's mom. “I hope you know you graded this math paper wrong also.” She waves Anthony's red-marked math test in the air. “I don't know how you expect the kids to do it when you
It's strange to be at school at night. Lights from the classrooms shine out on the dark playground. Kids are running around all over. Mrs. Dorfman's in a shiny dress instead of pants. She even cleaned her coffee cup. My mom sits at my desk. Tiffany's mom and dad sit at her desk squashed together with her little brother sitting on her work folder. Allthe kids in our class sit on the floor in the front. We look right at Mrs. Dorfman's legs. Kids giggle. The room gets crowded so people even stand around the edge. It's very hot. I turn to look at my mom. She has room to sit at my desk by herself. She is sitting straight and smiling. I look at Anthony's desk. Is that his mom? She doesn't look old enough to be a mom. She wears jeans and a T-shirt and lots of makeup under her big old glasses. She is busy looking at Anthony's folder. It has a guy with fangs drawn on the front. She doesn't look happy.
“I'm glad so many of our wonderful parents could make it to Open House.” Mrs. Dorfman smiles. I'm close enough to know she smells like old flowers. I wiggle around to get more room. I bump Anthony. He doesn't do anything back. He just sits there staring straight ahead. “I'm going to tell you some things about our class and about my expectations for my students…”
Oh no, I think. This is going to last forever. I twist around. Moms and dads are all smiling back. My mom too. Little kids are already squirming around.
I'm right, of course. On and on she talks. It's very hot. She smiles and smiles. Jorge starts opening and closing the Velcro on his shoes. She beams down at him like he's doing something wonderful. “Let's not play with our Velcro, boys and girls,” she whispers. Anthony doesn't even laugh.
Mrs. Dorfman calls kids to stand up in front to tell about reading and math and spelling and social studies. I twist around. I can tell who their moms and dads are by who's smiling biggest. Kids come up to read their poetry aboutrain. Kids come up to tell about the class newsletter and computer time. It's only fun to see how scared they are. “Speak up,” Mrs. Dorfman keeps saying. “Speak up, please.”
I twist around again. Oh no! My mom looks funny. Her head drops forward and jerks back. Is she going to sleep? I look up and down the row of sitting kids to see if anyone saw. “Sleepyhead” is what Mrs. Dorfman called Rosaria when she went to sleep in class. I can just hear Anthony and Jorge. “How's Son of Sleepyhead?” they'll say. Then they'll snore.
I sneak another look. My mom's asleep. Her head's propped up on her hand. Her eyes are closed. I can't hear if she's snoring because of Mrs. Dorfman. On and on and on. I don't look anymore. If I don't look maybe nobody else will. If Anthony laughs at her I'll jump up and smash him. I don't care who's here. My mom works late every night. She's tired. I'm listening carefully now for one kid who says one thing about my mom.
Finally Mrs. Dorfman sounds like she's through. “I think that covers everything now.” She is as smiley and loud as when she started. Maybe she doesn't see my mom. “Are there any questions?”
A loud angry voice. “You bet there are!” All the kids twist around. It's Anthony's mom. She's standing up at his desk. She's glaring at Mrs. Dorfman. “I thought this was supposed to be a democracy,” she shouts. “How come just some of the kids are up there talking? I didn't come here to hear somebody else's kid and how great they're doing. I got other stuff to do.”
The room is very quiet. “I'm sorry you're disappointed,” says Mrs. Dorfman, still smiling but not as much. “It was a volunteer—”
“Whatever,” interrupts Anthony's mom. “I hope you know you graded this math paper wrong also.” She waves Anthony's red-marked math test in the air. “I don't know how you expect the kids to do it when you
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