Isabelle and Little Orphan Frannie: The Isabelle Series, Book Three (8 page)

“Listen,” Frannie said crossly, “I want to read. I don't need all this baby stuff. I want to read grownup stuff. Newspapers, instructions on a box of Bisquick, things like that.”

Isabelle had watched Mrs. Esposito and other teachers at work and knew the pointer was an important tool. The weasely little kids sat timid in their desks, looking at the teacher, who sometimes loomed very large in their minds, and every gesture the teacher made with her pointer let them know who was boss. She who held the pointer was boss lady, Isabelle had decided long ago.

Isabelle worked her pointer as if she were conducting an orchestra.

“If you get too bossy, I'm checking out,” Frannie said.

“First, spell your name,” Isabelle said in a cold voice.

“F-R-A-N-N-I-E,” said Frannie.

Isabelle wrote “Frannie” on the blackboard.

“Very good,” she said. “Now. Your last name.”

“Dunn,” said Frannie.

Isabelle wrote, “D-O-N-E.”

“That's not the way you spell it,” Frannie said with a big smile. And she marched over to the blackboard and wrote, “D-U-N-N.”

“Hey, it's your name, not mine, kid,” said Isabelle.

“Isn't the teacher supposed to know all the answers?” Frannie asked slyly.

“All right.” Isabelle got down to business. “Here's the newspaper. This is our target for today.” Isabelle waved her pointer furiously. “Here's a headline. Please read it, Frannie.”

The headline said, “U. S. Debt Soars.”

“U. S.,” Frannie said.

“Very good. Short for United States,” Isabelle said.

Frannie gave her a dark look and said, “I know.”

“All right. Next.”

“Debt,” Frannie said, pronouncing the silent “b” in “debt.”

“Wrong,” Isabelle said. “You don't pronounce the ‘b' in that word.”

“Why not?” Frannie said.

“I don't know, you just don't.”

Her mother knocked and came in. “Here's the book you liked so much when you were small, Isabelle,” she said, handing her a beat-up little book. “Maybe Frannie would enjoy it.” She went downstairs again.

Isabelle opened the book to page one and said, “Sit here, Frannie. By me. This is an easy one. You sound out the words you don't know and I'll help.”

“I don't think you're such a hot reader anyway,” Frannie said. “I ask you stuff and you don't know the answers. I think I'll go home.”

“Listen.” Isabelle shuffled off to Buffalo a couple of times, loosening up. “I'm teaching you to read whether you like it or not. Even if I have to sit on you, I'm teaching you.”

But Frannie escaped. Isabelle stood at the window and watched her streak down the street.

“Okay for you,” she muttered. “You'll be back. Just wait and see.”

SEVENTEEN

“Mrs. Esposito,” said Isabelle next morning, “I have a problem.”

“Would that I had only one,” Mrs. Esposito said. “What is it now?”

“I know this kid, she's eight, and she doesn't know how to read or write, and she wants me to teach her,” Isabelle said in a rush. “She doesn't go to school.”

“Why doesn't she go to school?” Mrs. Esposito asked.

“She's an orphan and they move around a lot, which is why she doesn't,” Isabelle explained. “Her mother's out looking for a new daddy on account of the old one died.”

Mrs. Esposito scratched her head. “Where do you find your characters, Isabelle?” she said. “Last time it was a goody-goody whom everyone teased. Now this. What next?”

“This kid's smart, but she can't read, and it makes her feel really bad. So yesterday I tried to teach her. It's very aggravating, being a teacher, isn't it?”

Mrs. Esposito smiled and tapped her pencil against her teeth.

“Sometimes,” she said. “And sometimes it's very rewarding. My advice would be to get your friend to enroll in school even if she's going to be here a short time. It's against the law for a child's parents to keep him or her out of school. Did you know that? If the authorities found out, they'd insist she go to school.”

“Oh, boy,” Isabelle said. She never should've told Mrs. Esposito about Frannie. “I didn't know it was against the law,” she said.

“Perhaps you could persuade your friend's guardian, or whoever takes care of her, to bring her here. Or, if you like, give me her name and address and I'll see what I can do,” Mrs. Esposito said.

“I don't know where she lives,” said Isabelle, which was true. “I don't even know her last name. She lives with her aunt, only it's not her real aunt. She might go to school in Michigan. Her mother's horoscope says it's time for a change in her life-style, and she figures Michigan's it.”

“Isabelle.” Mrs. Esposito bit her lip. “This is absurd. The child should be in school, being taught by a qualified teacher, not a fifth grader.”

“It's okay,” Isabelle said. “I kind of like teaching her. But I'll tell her what you said.”

“If you like, send your friend to see me,” Mrs. Esposito said. “Maybe we can work something out without a lot of fuss.”

“Okay. I'll tell her. Hey, Herb! Where you been?” Isabelle bopped Herbie on the head with her arithmetic book. “I thought you were sick. How about we fight today after school? After I give Frannie her reading lesson, that is.”

“Knock it off,” Herbie growled. “I got no time for fighting. I'm depressed.”

“Sometimes it helps to talk things over with a friend,” Isabelle said in imitation of Mrs. Stern. “What's wrong, Herb? You can unload your problems on me,” and she laid a friendly arm around Herbie. He leaped in the air as if he'd been stung by a bee.

“Buzz off!” he cried.

Isabelle grabbed hold of his shoulder in that little place where a pinch can bring a person to his knees. Philip was always grabbing Isabelle in just such a place, and she knew the results well.

“Spit it out,” Isabelle said.

Herbie struggled in vain to break her hold.

“Isabelle, enough.” Mrs. Esposito's face said she'd had it. Isabelle let go and Herbie shook himself like a dog coming out of the water.

“Sheesh, Isabelle,” he said, “you're some tough kahuna.”

Isabelle folded her hands and lined up her Adidas and smiled demurely. “I'm known as a very sensible person,” she said.

“Since when?” Herbie sneered. “Who says?”

“Mrs. Stern, that's who,” Isabelle replied.

“What she know, an old lady like that?”

“Plenty. She's very smart and you know it. Besides, old people know more than young people because they've been around longer.”

“Tell it to the Marines,” Herbie snorted.

Behind Mrs. Esposito's back, Isabelle made another grab for Herbie. In retaliation, he bit her on the hand.

“If it gets infected, I might have to have a rabies shot!” Isabelle howled.

Herbie leaned close to get a good look.

“I didn't even break the skin,” he said. “Too bad my teeth aren't sharper. Besides, you wouldn't get a rabies shot, dumbhead. You'd get a tetanus shot.” Herbie was an authority on shots. His mother was on the nervous side, and whenever Herbie so much as looked a little green around the gills, she dragged him to the doctor. Herbie said if there was one thing he didn't want to be when he grew up it was a doctor.

“All those little squirts being dragged into the office when they get their head caught in a swinging door,” he said darkly. “Who needs it?”

The bell rang at that instant. Mrs. Esposito said, “Class, come to order. Everyone sit in his or her seat. I'll warn you now, I've had a tough day and won't put up with any more nonsense.”

Mary Eliza Shook waved her hand, wanting to be heard.

“Yes, Mary Eliza,” Mrs. Esposito said wearily.

“But, Mrs. Esposito,” said Mary Eliza, “this is morning. The day is still in front of us all. We've got a long way to go.”

“You're telling me,” said Mrs. Esposito.

EIGHTEEN

Next morning when Isabelle got to school, a burly youngish man was sitting on the edge of Mrs. Esposito's desk, swinging his leg, acting completely at home there.

“Where's Mrs. Esposito?” Isabelle asked.

“Not here, that's for sure,” he said, grinning at her. “No, seriously, she's out sick. I'm the substitute.”

“We never had a man substitute before,” Isabelle said, looking him over.

“Yeah, I'm one of a kind,” he said.

Isabelle sat down at her desk and checked him out. She noticed the part in his hair started about an inch up from his left ear and his hair went up and over his scalp to the other ear in carefully arranged strands. Idly, she wondered what would happen if he got caught in a high wind.

The only substitute teachers they'd had before were women who wore big black shoes and walked slowly and looked as if they might burst out crying at the drop of a hat. The class usually got totally out of control when one of these substitutes showed up. They raced around the room, throwing things and shouting until the substitute often did burst out crying. Isabelle always felt bad when that happened, even though she'd contributed in large part to the general mayhem.

This guy was different, though. He knew what was what. There'd be no nonsense with him in charge.

That's what he told them. When the bell rang and everyone was seated, he introduced himself.

“Ray Rooney here,” he said. “I'm not so long outa fifth grade myself, kids, so no nonsense, okay? I know my way around. I know a substitute means you guys take off and do your thing. Not today, kids. That's not what I'm here for, right? I'm here to give you guys the word on English, arithmetic, social studies, you name it.” He got up from the desk and strolled up and down the aisles.

“I've got this terrific memory,” he said. “Once I see a face, I never forget that face.” He stared hard at Isabelle, who wriggled in her seat. “Also,” he said, “I never forget a person's name. Okay, now I'm going to listen to your names when you call 'em out. Starting with the first row, working backwards, I want you to shout out your name when I point to you. Let's start with you,” and he pointed to Mary Eliza Shook.

Mary Eliza stood up and gave a half curtsey and said, “I'm Mary Eliza Shook. I take ballet lessons and I'm going to be eleven next month.”

“Good for you. Quiet down, class. Okay, next. Let's go, gang, and no more flap from you, okay, or I might have to get tough.”

They loved him. He was the best. They loved Mrs. Esposito too, but she was out sick and she also followed a strict time schedule and didn't keep getting sidetracked the way Ray Rooney did.

“Okay, very good.” After roll call Ray Rooney returned to the front of the room and again perched on Mrs. Esposito's desk.

“You're probably wondering where I got this wonky knee,” he said in a conversational tone. The whole class fell silent and watched in amazement as the substitute teacher pulled up his trouser leg and showed them his scars.

“Hockey goalie,” he informed them, showing where the surgeon had to take out some cartilage. “First team. As a matter of fact, it was first team all the way where I'm concerned. Basketball, football, soccer, lacrosse, you name it. First team.”

From the back of the room, a hoarse voice called out, “How about sewing class?” and the room erupted into wild laughter.

“There you go,” he said, chuckling.

But not for long. In a flash his face assumed a serious look, and he said, “Never underestimate the value of an education, kids. You guys have got to work hard for your education and your parents have to foot the bill, which means they have to work hard, too. I went to college on a full athletic scholarship. State university, the best there is. I waited on tables, got my lifeguard certificate, pulled a couple people out of the lake, saved 'em from drowning, met a lot of pretty girls. You want to meet pretty girls, men, you better be a lifeguard.” He winked hugely. “Lifeguards have lots of muscle, plenty of white teeth, and they attract pretty girls like honey does flies.”

He had the class in the palm of his hand.

“Read lots,” Ray Rooney told them. “Reading opens doors to the mind. Read everything you can get your mitts on. Without the power to read, you're lost.

“When I was first out of college, I joined the army. Not a bad way to see the world. I went to Alaska, Hawaii, Germany. The whole works. Never paid a cent for my transportation, either. The U.S. government picked up the tab. Join the army and see the world.”

Isabelle stole a look at the clock. It was almost time for recess. They hadn't had arithmetic or social studies, never mind English. Mrs. Esposito would have a conniption fit. Isabelle almost hoped Ray Rooney would be back tomorrow, although she didn't want Mrs. Esposito to be
that
sick.

“The thing about reading is, it moves you along,” he went on. “You've got to get ready to move right along in this life, and that's what reading does, it moves you along.”

Then the loudspeaker crackled, and the principal's voice said, “Attention, please. Will all staff members of the
Bee
please report to my office for an important meeting right after last bell? Repeat: All staff members of the
Bee
please report to my office right after final bell, please.”

Then the principal cleared his throat noisily and said, “That is all.”

Chauncey cried out, “Hear, hear!” and Herbie hit himself on the head and shouted, “Criminy!” Mary Eliza Shook shot dirty looks at Herbie and Chauncey, and Isabelle could see her lift her behind up and get ready to be first out of her seat. Try to keep Mary Eliza from going to that important meeting of
Bee
staff members. Just try.

“Okay, boys and girls. I guess that about does it for the morning.” Ray Rooney looked at the clock. “This afternoon we'll cover anything we missed this morning.”