Then she sat down.
We began to applaud. Mr. Winston pounded his gavel. “This is your last warning. One more outburst and I’ll clear this auditorium.”
He continued. “The Board has at its disposal independent evaluation reports on Miss Finney. They are satisfactory. Therefore, our decision will be based on Miss Finney’s refusal to say the Pledge. At this time, the Board will adjourn, and will return with its decision as soon as possible.”
The Board members got up and went into some meeting room.
Everybody else got up to stretch or go out for a smoke. Joel grabbed my hand and said, “Come on, Marcy. Let’s try to see Ms. Finney.”
We pushed through the crowd. Joel was good at getting by all those people. Finally we made it through the lobby, and outside Ms. Finney and her friends were standing near a curb, smoking cigarettes and talking to reporters. I was scared to go up to them, but Joel moved right in.
“Hi, Ms. Finney.”
She smiled. “Oh, hi, Joel, Marcy, how are you?”
I just nodded my head and started to cry.
She leaned over and put her hands on my shoulders.
“Marcy, it’s not easy, I know. But everything will work out all right.”
“Hey, Ms. Finney. Did you hear? We got suspended.”
She nodded her head. “So I heard. Your plans were very supportive. I appreciate that. But you know it’s necessary that you take responsibility for your actions. Are you sorry now that you’re suspended?”
I said, “It’s worth it.”
She smiled. “I’m glad. Hey, have you read any good books lately?”
Joel and I told her about the books that we were reading.
She looked at both of us and said, “I miss all of you very much.”
“We miss you too,” I said.
“I want all of you to understand that no matter what happens, I care about all of you and want you to do your best to learn.”
“Aw, Ms. Finney. Don’t worry. You’ll be back.” That was Joel.
Tears started to roll down her face. “Please. I want you to remember all the things I’ve taught you.”
I touched her arm. “I’ll remember. Don’t worry.”
She tried to smile. “Marcy. You’ve grown so much. I’m so proud of you.”
A lot of other kids were standing around, waiting to talk to her, so we said good-bye and walked back to our seats.
Joel and I talked about how we hoped that the Board would say that Ms. Finney should stay. We knew Joel’s father was for her, but didn’t know about the others.
My mother was sitting near us. She was talking to Mrs. Sheridan. Even though Mom looked tired, she seemed calmer than she’d been in a long time.
The Board members started to come back. So did everyone else, including Ms. Finney. Her face was streaked with tears.
Once everyone was seated, Mr. Winston started pounding the gavel again. He looked like a carpenter.
The room hushed. I had all of my fingers crossed. I looked over at Joel. His eyes were closed; his fists clenched. I was having trouble breathing again, and my heart felt as if it was going to explode.
Mr. Winston stood up and held on to a piece of paper. He looked down at it and began reading. “There is no question in the Board’s mind that Miss Barbara Finney has a sincere desire to educate youth. It is also apparent that she has the support of many of the children in her class. We appreciate this, but also wish to state that the majority of the Board does not approve of her stand.” He paused and took a sip of water.
I started to cry. It was all over.
He continued. “Although we do not as a group approve, there is a legal precedent to support her stand. We therefore reinstate Barbara Finney to her position as a teacher in our school system.”
The room exploded. Everybody started screaming and yelling at once. Joel and I were jumping up and down. I looked over at my mother. She was yelling and clapping her hands. I couldn’t believe how happy I was. Everything was fantastic.
All of a sudden, people in the front started sitting down, and you could hear “Shh, shh.” I looked to the front and saw Ms. Finney standing next to Mr. Winston, who was wildly pounding his gavel.
The room quieted down again. Mr. Winston said, “Miss Finney wishes to make an announcement.”
She stood there, looking very pale.
I thought, You tell them, Ms. Finney. Tell those fools off.
She looked very shaky, but then she sort of smiled and said, “I want to thank everyone who has supported me. I’ve tried to always be all that I tell my students to be. Therefore, I felt it necessary to follow through and take a stand concerning the Pledge. It was important to me that I win, but it is even more important that I can be an effective teacher. This community has been split on this issue so badly that I doubt that I can ever walk back into my classes and be effective. Therefore, I feel that I must resign, effective immediately.” Finishing, she turned and ran out of the room. Her friends followed.
I felt as if someone had hit me in the stomach. Stunned, I could feel the tears begin again.
I heard Joel. “That fink. That rotten fink. I hate her.”
I turned to him. He was crying. “I don’t believe it. Marcy, how can she do it? I trusted her.”
My mother called over, “Marcy. Joel. Please come here.” Mr. Anderson was with her.
“We want to take you both out for sodas and a talk.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Me neither.”
My mother spoke in a voice that I’d never heard her use before. “Want to or not, you must listen to us. There’s no use in falling apart. That never solves anything. I’ve learned that.”
So the four of us said good-bye to the Sheridans and Phil and went to a diner.
Joel and I sat across from my mother and Mr. Anderson. Neither of us said anything.
My mother began. “I know how you both feel. It’s very hard for me to accept. But maybe she was right. It would have been very hard for her to stay.”
“True,” Mr. Anderson said. “It might have been impossible. You know everyone would be watching for her to make the slightest mistake.”
“Marcy, look at how much this whole situation has helped both of us grow,” my mother said.
I thought about that.
“I hate her,” Joel said. “How could she do it?”
Joel’s father put his hand on his son’s arm. “I know this is very hard for you. You trusted her and you feel that she’s left you . . .just like your mother did. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Joel nodded his head.
I looked at him and then at his father. How I wished my father could understand so much.
I thought about what Mr. Anderson had said and how Joel must feel. I reached out and touched him too. “Joel, remember when Ms. Finney said that we should continue to learn no matter what. That’s what we have to do. She cares about us. She just had to do what was best for her.”
I thought about what Ms. Finney had said about remembering what she taught us. “Hey, Joel. Remember that part in To Kill a Mockingbird where Atticus says to Jem that you can’t understand someone until you’ve walked around in his or her shoes for a while. That’s what you’ve got to do.”
Joel smiled. Ms. Finney had had us write about that, and Joel had written about Mr. Stone. He had said that if he walked around in Mr. Stone’s shoes he’d have a lot of blisters, because everything about Mr. Stone rubbed him the wrong way.
“Yeah. Maybe you’re right. I’m too tired to think anymore about this. I want to go home.”
So we all got up and left. Once I got home, I went right up to bed. There was no way I could deal with anything else.
CHAPTER 18
It’s been a month since the hearing, and a lot of things have happened.
My mother is registering for night courses at a nearby college. And she doesn’t give me ice cream whenever I get upset.
Joel and I are very close
. It’s not a romance, but it’s a good friendship. You have to start someplace.
I no longer think I’m a blimp. Now I think I’m a helium balloon.
I still hate my father. He hardly ever says anything to me anymore. He and my mother talk a lot, but he just looks at me and shakes his head.
I’m flunking gym for the year. Our new English teacher is giving us a test on dangling participles.
I still see Mr. Stone in the hall. I’d throw up on his head if I were tall enough.
Stuart still has a thing about Wolf. Now he’s refusing to go to nursery school unless Wolf also gets registered as a student. I can see it all now. When Stuart graduates from high school, he’ll probably have Wolf right beside him. They’ll award Wolf a diploma and he’ll be elected “Bear Most Likely to Succeed.”
I’m going to a psychologist. She’s very nice, and she’s helping me. It’s different from Smedley, but I think I’m learning a lot.
Joel’s father said that he heard that Ms. Finney was going to graduate school to get a doctorate in something called bibliotherapy. That’s counseling using books and writing. That sounds good. Maybe someday I’ll do something like that.
Yesterday I looked in the mirror and saw a pimple. Its name is Agnes.
TURN THE PAGE FOR A LOOK AT THE COMPANION NOVEL—
Text copyright © 1980 by Paula Danziger
CHAPTER 1
If I iron or sew one more name tag on my stuff, I’m going to scream. There are name tags on my jeans, shorts, shirts, nightgowns, pajamas, sheets, pillowcases, sleeping bag, socks, sweaters, sweat shirts, underwear, and jackets. My mother’s having me put adhesive-tape labels on my comb, brush, and flashlight. There’s indelible ink on my fingers from putting my name on my sneakers. She’ll probably make me carve my name in the soap bars and on my eyeglass frames.
“Marcy, can’t I help you with anything?” My mother sticks her head into my room.
“No thanks. I can do it myself,” I say for the eighty-millionth time.
She walks in. “Here. I addressed some envelopes for you with our address and put stamps on them. That’ll make it easier for you to keep in touch.”
“Look, I promise, I’ll write. You didn’t have to do that.” Sometimes they act as if I’m three years old, instead of fourteen and eleven twelfths.
She puts the stationery in my suitcase. “It’s the first time you’ve ever been away for such a long period of time. I’m going to miss you.”
I continue to iron. I know I’m going to miss her too, but I really want to get away, be on my own. I really want to get out of the house since I’m always kind of tense in it.
She keeps right on talking. “I wish I’d had the chance to go away to camp when I was your age. You’re so lucky, being part of a creative arts camp, with Ms. Finney as the director.”
I nod. I’ve thought about little else since I got the letter from Ms. Finney asking if I’d like to fill a last-minute vacancy and be a counselor-in-training, a CIT, at the camp. I’ve missed her so much. She’s the best teacher I ever had, one of the few who really cared about kids. She quit after a big fight with the school administration. We wrote for a while, but I hadn’t heard from her for months. Then one day I came home and there was this letter asking if I’d like to work on the camp newspaper and assist in the creative writing program. I was in shock, so excited I thought I’d die of joy. Overwhelmed.
My father, however, was underwhelmed. It took a long time to convince him I should go. He’s always afraid I’m going to be too radical or something. He hated Ms. Finney when she was my teacher. Finally my mother and I convinced him it would look good on my college applications, and it would be better to go than to sit around the house all summer, bored out of my mind.
My mother sits on my bed. “My little girl, going away for the entire summer. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Maybe you and Dad won’t argue so much with me gone. Isn’t he always saying you two’d never fight if it weren’t for me?”
She sighs. “Marcy, come on. Let up a little. He’s had a rough time lately. He’s been trying since we all went for counseling. You’re the one who won’t give him a chance. Why don’t you try to forget the past and live in the present?”
“He wasn’t trying last night when he screamed at me for coming in late. That’s not the past, is it?”
She sighs again. If they ever hold an Olympics sighing marathon, my mother’d win, lungs down. “He wouldn’t yell if he didn’t love you. It’s just his way. He was very worried. Last night, after we went to bed, he told me he’ll miss you.”
“Sure.” I refuse to listen to the same thing one more time. “If he loved me, he could find better ways to show it. Why did he say the things he did about how I’d be good comic relief for the campers and how I think ‘taking a hike’ means running out in the middle of an argument.”
“Marcy, you’re being a bit unfair. He thinks of camps as places for sports, being outdoors. You know those activities aren’t high on your list of favorite things.” She starts to repack my suitcase, neatening it up. “He just likes to tease. That’s the way he tries to show affection. You have no sense of perspective about him. There’s nothing he can do that’s right in your eyes. You expect perfection from people.”
“Well, so does he. How come when I bring home a test with a grade of ninety-seven, he asks what happened to the other three points instead of saying I did well?”
“You should try to understand him before it’s too late and you feel sorry.”
The same old story. Now I’m supposed to feel guilty.
Ever since my father had a heart attack when school began this year, I get scared he’s going to die. Sometimes I wish he were dead, I hate him so much. But there’s also a part of me that really does love him. My mother should only know how many nights I stay up late worrying and trying to concentrate on keeping him alive.
My mother gets up. “I’m going downstairs now. If you need anything, call.”
After she leaves, I continue to iron.
I hate ironing almost as much as I hate taking gym, and that’s a lot. Last year I had to take two gym classes to fulfill requirements and make up the one I’d flunked. Ironing and gym should be outlawed. Once my mother began working, we all had to chip in and help out more in the house. The words “permanent press” took on a whole new meaning in my life after that.
I wish I were already at camp. Maybe I can get enough experience there so I can become an editor on the school paper, instead of just a reporter. Then I can get into a good college, study literature, live my own life, and become a writer. I don’t care if my father says most writers don’t make enough money to support themselves. I want to be a writer anyway.
And I have a goal for camp, a major goal. This summer, I’ve decided, I’m going to try to be a grown-up, so I’ll be able to take care of myself. There’s not much that happens that’s really earth shattering when you’re my age. You’ve just got to go on living, trying to get through every day. If my life were a novel, it would be one without much plot, just character development. So what I really want to do is develop my character, to try to grow up so that when I’m an adult, I’ll be ready for anything.
There’s a knock on my door. “Marcy, it’s me. Stuart. I want to come in.”
He opens the door after I say it’s all right. My little brother’s eight years old, and he still looks like a baby. At least he’s gotten over his abnormal fixation with Wolf, a teddy bear he used to fill with orange pits. Now he’s got this thing about becoming a football player. He wears his football helmet all the time, even to bed. I hope that someone invents a shampoo that can penetrate plastic before his head begins to fungus.
Once he’s in my room, he yells, “Lewis has the ball, sports fans, and he’s heading into his own territory . . .” Stuart dashes around the room. “No one can touch him. His feet are golden.”
He jumps onto my bed. “They try to close in.” He jumps off and crawls un
der the ironing board.
“Hi, Stuart.”
He throws his arms forward and touches my feet with the football. “A touchdown, sports fans. Lewis does it again.”
I humor him and yell out a cheer that the kids at school do during pep rallies, being careful that the hot iron doesn’t fall on his helmet or on my bare foot.
Stuart gets up, dusts himself off, bows, and says, “Thank you. Thank you.”
I grin at him. “So what’s new?”
“Why can’t I go to camp with you?” he asks for the zillionth time. “Just iron a name tag on me and pretend I’m a stuffed animal.”
“You know why. I’ve got to work there, lead my own life.”
He crouches into position and yells, “Hike.”
“Not that kind of hiking, Stuart. It’s a camp for the arts, not for sports.”
“But your name’s not Art and you are a good sport.”
I tap on his helmet. “You’re very silly.”
“I know, but you like me this way.” He stands up. “Marcy, it’s not fair. You get to do everything first, just ’cause you’re the oldest.”
“You’re getting on my nerves,” I say.
“I’m supposed to get on your nerves. That’s what little brothers are for.” He grins. “Well, I tried. If I start bugging everyone now, by next summer they’ll send me to a camp too.” He throws his football into the air, yells, “It’s another great interception for Lewis and he’s off.” He races out of the door.
Quiet. Finally.
Sure I get to do things first, but I have to do all of the fighting to get what I want. Then once I’m all done, he gets things at an earlier age. Being the oldest isn’t easy.
I finish packing, fold the ironing board, and take it out to the closet.
My father’s coming down the hallway. “Marcy, let me help you with that.”
“I can do it myself,” I say, thinking about how he shouldn’t put any strain on his heart.
He frowns. “You never give me a chance to do anything for you.”
The Cat Ate My Gymsuit Page 9