Remembering Mrs. Rossi (9780763670900) (4 page)

Professor Rossi puts his arm around Annie. They look at the park and the snow-covered trees and don’t say much for a while. Then Annie makes lines for tic-tac-toe on the window in the frost. “I don’t even
like
tic-tac-toe — it’s stupid,” she mumbles when she doesn’t win her game. She intends to pout and frown for a while, but just then the memory of
another
day pops into her head, and the memory makes her smile. “Remember the time I went to school with Mommy in a snowstorm? Remember, Daddy? I got to go to sixth grade!”

“You were five, as I recall. Very spunky,” adds Professor Rossi, “going off with your mom to the big school.”

“Did everyone think I was cute, all the big kids?”

“Apparently, you were quite a hit with the sixth grade. We had a hard time getting you back to kindergarten after that!” Professor Rossi laughs. “Yes,” he says, “you were simply crazy about Mommy’s class.”

“And Mommy was simply crazy about
me.
”

“You bet,” her father says softly, “and me.”

Annie pats his wrist. “Don’t be sad,” she says. “I’ll go to school with you sometime, too.”

“I suppose . . .” Professor Rossi rubs his chin. “No, never mind . . .”

“Never mind
what
?”

“Oh, it’s just a silly idea. You know me and my silly ideas.”

“Maybe it’s a good idea,” Annie says. “Tell it, Daddy!”

“Okay, then, here’s my idea. Since your school is closed today, you
could
— if you want — come to school with me.”

“You mean
now
?” Annie gasps.

“Mm-hmm.”

“And no Mrs. Peterman? Just you and me?”

“Just you and me,” he says. “Plus a bunch of college kids. And if you care to do a little spy work,” he adds, lowering his voice, “you will surely catch at least one sleeper in my nine o’clock class. There’s always one who dozes.”

“Well, Daddy, I hope it’s not boring in your nine o’clock class.”

“Boring?”
Professor Rossi pretends to be shocked. “As a matter of fact — and you’ll see firsthand — I happen to be a scintillating,
interesting
teacher. And remember, Annie, you have to laugh at my jokes. You can’t fall asleep, either.”

“Too many rules!”

“Oh, one more thing. We’ll have cookies in my office later on, and tea.”

“I don’t like tea,” Annie reminds her father.

“You
could
pretend. Now hurry up and get ready.” Professor Rossi kisses the tip of Annie’s nose. Then he goes inside to call off Mrs. Peterman.

Annie quickly dresses: gray skirt, red sweater, warm socks. She brushes her short hair. She brushes her teeth and washes her cheeks and examines the scar on her chin. (It is lovely.) At the front door, she pulls on her boots and coat. It’s time to go to college! Well, nearly. Annie races back to her room. She reaches under the mattress, wriggling her fingers until she feels the familiar cardboard cover of
Remembering Mrs. Rossi.
Hello there, best book in the world.

They aren’t the first ones in new snow this morning, and they don’t go to the park. Nonetheless, Annie and her father make beautiful tracks, and they both carry school bags. Professor Rossi’s is crinkled and brown; Annie’s is blue with a red handle, and
Remembering Mrs. Rossi
is tucked safely inside. They tramp along in deep snow. They trudge up the steep hill to Broadway, through the tall iron gates, and onto the campus of Columbia University. Sherman Hall is five stories tall, and they clomp up the stairs (too many stairs!) to the very top floor, to room 505. Professor Rossi turns on the light.

“It’s so big!” Annie whispers. “Way bigger than room 107.” She looks around at the walls with no pictures. (There are many pictures on all the walls in room 107.) There are no cubbies, either, and no class pet. (Everyone has a cubby in room 107, and they all share the goldfish, Walter and Sue.) In room 107 Annie always sits at the second desk in the third row. In room 505 there are rows and rows of dark wooden desks, and Annie is allowed to sit wherever she wants. From 8:45 a.m. until 8:55 a.m., she tries out seven different desks in seven different rows. In the end she settles on one in the very last row, right under the clock — a perfect spot for spy work.

The college kids burst in shaking snow off their coats, stamping wet boots. (Three kids aren’t even wearing boots!) Some say, “Morning, Professor Rossi,” and others say, “Hi.” (Some say nothing at all!) The college kids are tall, short, and medium in height. (Two of them look like grownups!) They drop into seats, in groups big and small, talking and laughing. (A few sit alone.)

On the dot of nine o’clock, Professor Rossi steps forward, and — just like that — a hush falls over room 505. (In room 107 it is never quiet — not even for a second — not until Miss Meadows says, “Quiet down, people.”)

“I’m pleasantly surprised to see that so many of you made it to class on such a stormy morning.” Professor Rossi smiles in a friendly way as he looks around the room. (Annie sincerely hopes the students like his friendly smile.) “I suppose,” he goes on with a laugh, “you couldn’t
bear
to miss my fascinating little talk on Romeo and Juliet in a modern world.” (Annie hopes
someone
will laugh at her father’s joke. But nobody laughs.)

Professor Rossi clears his throat. “Ladies, gentlemen.” He clears his throat a second time, and you can tell he is about to say something important. “I wanted to let you know we have a
visitor
in class today. A student from another school,” he adds, “and a real charmer, if I may say so myself. Her name is
Annie. Annie Rossi
” (as if it is the most important name in the world!). “She is eight years old and —
be forewarned
— she is watching everything you do.”

Annie feels her face getting red. Everyone turns to look at her. A few even wave to her!

For the next hour, Professor Rossi talks about Romeo. He talks about Juliet. He does not talk about Annie. (Frankly, she is hoping to hear at least one little story about herself.) He walks back and forth, and up and down the aisles. Annie doesn’t actually care all that much about Romeo, or even Juliet. She pumps her feet back and forth in big black boots, counting the students in Room 505. (There are forty-six.) She counts the girls in room 505. (There are twenty-one.) And the girls with curly hair. (There are eight.) She counts the boys who keep their coats on in school. (There are six.) And the girls in red sweaters. (There are two, plus Annie.)

Annie’s cheeks are cold and hot from the storm outside and the steam heat inside. She leans on her left elbow awhile, then her right elbow. She leans on both elbows and looks inside her school bag, on the floor near her feet, and reaches down, slowly, for her book. She puts it on her lap and looks around the room.
See what I have, everyone?
Remembering Mrs. Rossi
. . .
a whole book about my mother!
She smiles as she pictures herself reading out loud to the college kids, all of them squeezing as close as they can to Annie. They love her book very much, and they love Annie very much, and two — no,
five
— of the big girls want to be her friend!
Please, Annie, please! Be my best friend. . .
.

Annie opens her book for the hundredth — no,
thousandth
— time. She reads slowly. Silently. Quietly turning the pages.
Hello, Mommy. It’s me, Mommy.
. . . Page after page, like so many secret little visits with her mother, and she imagines, just for a moment, a tiny version of herself dancing on the pages with her mother . . . and their fingers are touching, and no one dies. . . .

Now and then Annie pauses, determined to choose, once and for all, her
favorite
story. But she runs into the same old problem every time: how to pick the
best
story when every single one is the best in the world. Twenty-four stories and twenty-four best authors!

Once she wrote a letter to the authors in room 222, all twenty-four. The letter was her father’s idea (“We need to write a proper thank-you, Annie, for our book about Mommy”), but
she
did all the work — including lots of good pictures by Annie.

Annie rests her head on her hands on the dark wooden desk. She drums her fingers softly on the desk and imagines running home to tell her mother all about her day off from school.
Mommy, there’s a girl in Daddy’s class with long red hair . . . and two girls were telling secrets . . . and a boy with a silly green hat was sleeping, I think.

Professor Rossi talks on, and Annie drums on, longing to tell her mother about no hot cookies and mismatched pajamas and her big black boots making beautiful tracks all the way to Sherman Hall. Yes, she longs to tell her mother every single thing about the biggest blizzard ever, and together they can give it a name. They can call it
Annie’s Blizzard.

O
ne spring morning, Annie Rossi escorts her father to the breakfast table. The inside of her is bubbling with excitement. On the outside, though, she is trying to sound wise and serious. “In honor of your birthday,” she says in a wise-and-serious tone of voice, “
I’m
in charge of breakfast, and
you
have to do everything I say.”

“Everything?”

“Yes”— Annie nods —“and you may now sit down.”

Professor Rossi sits in his usual seat across from Annie at the table. Because it is such a
special
day (all birthdays are), Annie has already set the table and made breakfast — including toast and blueberry jam (her father’s favorite). She has even put his newspaper on the table (open to his favorite page, sports).

“As you can see,” Annie says, “someone has been hard at work this morning.”

“Yes, and I certainly am impressed.” (Her father is impressed!) “Looks good enough to eat,” he adds, passing the jam to Annie.

“Also as you can see, someone is not wearing boring old school clothes today. Someone is wearing her
good
dress for your birthday.”

“Yes, I noticed right away. And your good shoes, too.”

“Did you notice anything else,” Annie asks modestly, “such as two chocolate milks on the table? Because someone made them before, when you were in the bathroom shaving.”