Remembering Mrs. Rossi (9780763670900) (6 page)

Nowadays Mrs. Peterman picks up Annie after school. They take a slow walk home, stopping here and there to look in shop windows on Broadway. Rainy days they huddle close under Mrs. Peterman’s red umbrella. As a rule, they discuss two things on their walk: first, Annie’s day at school and, second, what to have for a snack. Mrs. Peterman waits in the same place in the schoolyard for Annie every day . . . and every day, in a private little place in her heart, Annie hopes and prays someone else might be there. If only — even once — her mother would be there, waving to Annie and blowing kisses across the schoolyard.
If only.

Today, because she has had a very bad day, Annie does something highly unusual in the schoolyard. She throws her arms around Mrs. Peterman at the waist. Mrs. Peterman hugs Annie tight for a while. “I’m glad to see you, too,” she says.

“We will
not
talk about school today,” says Annie.

“Not one juicy story?” Mrs. Peterman looks surprised.

“Nope.” Annie shakes her head.

So they walk uptown and don’t say a word about school. They discuss instead the warm spring day. They count baby carriages on Broadway. Annie tries very hard not to think about the third grade, but now and then she hears herself sigh a sad little sigh that means:
Miss Meadows doesn’t like me anymore. . . .
As they approach the corner of 109th Street, though, she is momentarily distracted by the sight of cupcakes in the window of Carmen’s Diner.

“Mmmnn.” Annie licks her lips. “Yummy cupcakes.”

“I’m a big fan, too,” admits Mrs. Peterman. “Cupcake. Just say the word and I’m first in line — morning, noon, night. Halloween, Christmas, birthdays . . .”

Birthdays?
All at once something terrible occurs to Annie. TODAY IS HER FATHER’S BIRTHDAY . . . AND NOBODY MADE HIM A CAKE!

“Mrs. Peterman.” Annie looks up. “Today is my father’s birthday.”

Mrs. Peterman nods, as if she already knows.

A birthday with no cake, why that’s the saddest thing in the world! And it’s all her fault, because she didn’t bake him a cake! Then again, she doesn’t know
how
to bake a cake . . .

“Did you hear what I said, Annie? Because I’ve just come up with a fine idea.”

No, she did not hear. Why, why,
why
didn’t she bake her father a cake?

Now Mrs. Peterman is repeating her fine idea: instead of going home today as usual, why not visit Annie’s father in his office?

“But he’s
working,
Mrs. Peterman. We can’t interrupt him at work.”

“Sure we can.” Mrs. Peterman flicks her hand in the air. “Birthdays are just as important as work, don’t you think so, Annie? Why, even important teachers at important universities need to find a reason to
celebrate
from time to time.”

“Mrs. Peterman.” Suddenly, Annie brightens. “We
could
bring cupcakes, if you want. To my father’s office, if you want . . . for a big surprise!”

“Like I always say”— Mrs. Peterman puts her arm around Annie as she leads her inside, to the takeout counter at Carmen’s —“great minds think alike.”

By the time they get to the university gates (with three chocolate cupcakes in a box with yellow ribbon), Annie is
nearly
in a good mood. By the time they get to Sherman Hall, she
is
in a good mood. And by the time they find her father’s book-lined office (room 202), she is absolutely
giddy.
They walk right in and yell, “Surprise!”

Professor Rossi is
so
surprised he nearly jumps out of his chair! “Well, look who’s here! How about this! I’ve got company! The best company in the world!” He keeps scratching his head in confusion. “To think you two
innocents
cooked up such a sneaky little plan!”— he laughs —“And here I was, thinking just this minute,
If only I had something to eat, preferably chocolate!
”

Afterward — after they eat the cupcakes and sing the happy birthday song, and after Professor Rossi blows out pretend birthday candles — Mrs. Peterman taps her wristwatch with two fingers in a gesture that means it’s time to go home. “Come along, Annie.” Her tone is pleasant but has an edge of
authority.
“We have to let your father get back to work now.”

“I better stay here, Mrs. Peterman.” Annie’s tone is pleasant, too. She smiles at Mrs. Peterman.

“Now, Annie . . .”

“My father shouldn’t be
lonely
on his birthday.” As the words slide sweetly off her tongue, Annie hopes everyone in the room will recognize what a nice girl she is — a girl who chooses to keep her father company on his birthday, instead of watching TV! (Annie would prefer keeping him company at the playground, of course, or perhaps in a movie theater, but her father has already explained — several times — about his teaching
responsibilities
here at Columbia University, including his 4:30 responsibility, which has something to do with creative writing.)

A few minutes later, having successfully persuaded the grownups to let her stay, Annie makes herself at home at her father’s important-looking desk. She sits in his big black chair, feeling terribly important herself as she watches him pack up for his 4:30 class. “By the way,” she says casually, “I’m quitting school, Daddy. You’ll never talk me out of it, so don’t even try.”

“Quitting school is serious business,” he responds in a not-too-serious tone of voice. “I would be remiss if I didn’t at least
try
talking you out of it.”

Annie leans forward on her knees and types her name on his old-fashioned typewriter. But typing is hard and it comes out
anine.
It seems to her (except for the cupcakes) this whole day is hard.

Grownups!
They spoil everything! A father who doesn’t want a dog for his birthday. A teacher who says, “I’m disappointed in you, Annie,” and steals your picture of your mother . . .

Annie prints
Annie was here
on her father’s desk calendar on today’s page. She makes a picture of a dog on tomorrow’s page, then another dog, right next to the first one, and now no one is lonely.

A few minutes later, they are clattering down the stairs. In light of the perfect spring day, Professor Rossi has made arrangements for his 4:30 class to meet
outside
today, under a tree.

“Do you want to know
why
I’m quitting school?” Annie asks as they walk across the grass.

“I’m always curious to know why you do the things you do, Annie.”

“Because Miss Meadows doesn’t like me anymore, that’s why!”

“Really?”— big frown —“I was under the impression she likes you immensely.”

“She used to,” Annie says. “But not anymore. I never had a teacher who didn’t like me before,” she adds gravely. “Miss Kim used to like me. Every single day of second grade.”

“Miss Kim was a big fan,” Professor Rossi agrees.

“And do you remember Mrs. Levine? She was my first-grade teacher, and she liked me a lot. Even the time I said Pamela Miller was fat, she didn’t stay mad.” Annie sighs. “Mrs. Levine understood a little first grader couldn’t be perfect every second of the day.”

“Yes, Mrs. Levine understood a great many things about first graders.”

“Miss Meadows doesn’t understand anything at all about third graders.” Annie is getting sadder by the minute.

“Professor Rossi! Over here!” The group her father calls his Senior Writing Seminar kids are waiting under a big leafy tree. These kids (according to her father) like writing stories, and every Tuesday someone gets to read his or her story to the rest of the class.

“Hello, writers!” Professor Rossi picks up his pace and calls, “Come on, Annie!”

“But I’m in the middle of
my
story,” Annie mumbles as her father settles under the tree with his students. Apparently, their stories are more interesting than hers. Fine! She’ll sit under another tree, then — a
nearby
tree, where she can spy on her father and his dumb old class. There are five boy writers and four girl writers lounging over there. Two of the boys and three of the girls have kicked off their shoes! Annie pulls off her shoes and puts them on the grass next to her school bag. She wraps her arms around her knees, crushing her good dress. Professor Rossi waves and Annie waves back. She makes sure it is a sad little wave so he remembers Miss Meadows doesn’t like her anymore. Miss Meadows, who makes you go to the school office and sit there all by yourself during recess . . .

“Annie? Is that Annie Rossi?”

Annie squints into the late afternoon sun.
Miss Meadows?
Impossible. Not now. Not here at the university. Why, you never see your teacher in the
world
! Only in school.

“What a wonderful surprise!” And here she is, Annie’s very own teacher, sitting on the grass beside Annie, acting as if she hadn’t been mean that very morning. “I
thought
I recognized your father with his class over there.”
Smiling
of all things, and
pretending
to be friendly! “It must be so much fun to teach outside on a day like this . . .”

Maybe, if she weren’t so mad at Miss Meadows, Annie would be friendly back. Maybe she would even
like
having her teacher all to herself. But, of course, she
is
mad, and she intends to
stay
mad for the rest of her life.

“By the way, Annie, I looked over your spelling homework this afternoon and,
bravo,
your sentences are wonderful,” says Miss Meadows. “I was hoping you might read them to the class tomorrow. We all appreciate the way you turn your spelling homework into these
catchy
little stories.”

“Catchy little stories!”
Annie is beginning to feel a little less mad at Miss Meadows.

“Oh, and this fell out of your notebook.” Miss Meadows digs in her school bag. “It seemed rather special, so I put it in my bag for safekeeping,” she explains. “Here, Annie.”

“My picture!” Annie gasps with relief.
Don’t cry now! Not in front of your teacher!

“Cute girl.” Miss Meadows looks carefully at the picture, then Annie, then again at the picture. “She looks just like you.”

“It’s my mother,” Annie whispers.

“I thought it might be,” Miss Meadows whispers back.

Annie puts the picture in her blue school bag. It’s best not to think about her mother right now. She needs to concentrate on something else — on making Miss Meadows like her again.
But how,
Annie wonders,
how, how, how?
Miss Meadows likes children who are
kind
and children who show
respect.
Why, she is always telling the kids in room 107, “We must be
respectful
and
kind,
boys and girls!” But Annie
is
respectful! And
extremely
kind! Didn’t she make breakfast today in honor of her father’s birthday? And bring cupcakes to his office?

“Today is my father’s birthday,” Annie hears herself tell Miss Meadows. “We had cupcakes in his office. My idea,” she adds with just the right touch of modesty, “so he wouldn’t be lonely.”

“I
adore
cupcakes,” confides Miss Meadows. “And birthdays . . . and birthday presents!”

“Me, too,” Annie confides right back. “Only this year I didn’t give him a present.”

“Oh!”

“We were supposed to get a dog. . . .” Annie is grim. “
That
was the plan.”

“But?”

“
Some
people aren’t that comfortable with dogs.” Rolling her eyes to the sky.

“I assume
you
are a person who is very comfortable with dogs,” guesses Miss Meadows.

“Yes.”

Miss Meadows nods in a way that means
she
likes dogs, too, and then she says, “My father likes pictures.” (Miss Meadows has a father!) “When I was a little girl, I often made him a picture for his birthday.”

“
My
father likes books,” Annie says. “I wish I could make him a book.”

“Maybe you can.”

“Only grownups write books, Miss Meadows.” But even as she says it, Annie is thinking about another book,
Remembering Mrs. Rossi.
Grownups didn’t write that! The kids in room 222 did!

“Maybe you could write a
short
book,” suggests Miss Meadows. “Maybe”— thinking —“oh, here’s an idea! How about a birthday card, Annie, with a story inside? A story by
Annie
inside!”

A story by Annie inside!
Annie giggles at the thought of it.
Annie the author!

“Ah, so you like my idea?” Miss Meadows looks pleased.

Annie nods. “But . . . what
kind
of story?”

“Hmmm.” Miss Meadows wrinkles her nose and thinks. “Well”— more thinking —“it’s always good to write about something you know,” she points out. “Better yet, about
someone
. . . or maybe a whole
family
you know.”

Annie opens her school bag. She takes out her mother’s picture again. “Maybe a story about my family,” she says slowly, “and we get a dog . . . and . . .”

Miss Meadows blinks in the sunlight and moves a tiny bit closer to Annie. “What a wonderful idea!” She starts digging around in her big bag again. “Here, Annie, you can borrow this if you like, my favorite pen.” She puts a very green and very fancy pen in Annie’s hand. “A story this important deserves a special pen.”