Yours Turly, Shirley

by Ann M. Martin

  Jackie looked up and saw her sister. “Good morning,” she said with a grin.

  “Morning,” mumbled Shirley. “What are you doing?”

  “Reading,” replied Jackie, in a tone that meant it should be obvious.

  “I know, but how come you’re reading now? It’s so early.”

  “Not earry. Good time to read. I rike Reo and Emiry.”

  “Leo and Emily,” Shirley corrected her crossly. She wasn’t sure why she felt so grumpy, but she knew it had something to do with Jackie’s reading. Jackie was becoming a bookworm and Mrs. Basini loved it.

  “Do you know all the words in that book?” asked Shirley.

  “I can read them aw,” Jackie answered thoughtfully. “If I don’t understand, I rook up!” She pulled a children’s dictionary out from under her bed.

  “Where’d you get that?” Shirley wanted to know.

  “Mommy buy it for me … bought it for me.”

  “Hmphh,” hmphhed Shirley. When had her mother done that? And why did Jackie insist on calling their mother “Mommy”? It was so babyish. Shirley had been calling her “Mom” for years. Practically since she started talking.

  “You know how to use that thing?” asked Shirley.

  “Dictionary?” replied Jackie. “Sure. See? Right now, I rook up ‘apprauded.’ Very rong word. And I need to rook up ‘hocus-pocus.’”

  “Good luck finding it,” said Shirley. She rolled out of bed and began to get dressed. “You better get dressed now, too,” she added. “You don’t want to be late.”

  At breakfast that morning, Mrs. Basini said, “I’m working at the library this afternoon, girls. Shirley, would you walk Jackie over after school, please?”

  “Why?” replied Shirley who was in only a slightly better mood. “What’s going on? Another story hour?” This wasn’t the first time Mrs. Basini had asked Shirley to bring Jackie to the children’s room at the public library on one of the days she was working there. She had asked her to do it every time there was to be a special event. According to Mrs. Basini, special events involving reading were helpful to Jackie, her English, and her schoolwork.

  “No, not story hour,” replied Shirley’s mother. “Jackie just wants to take out a few more books, don’t you, honey?”

  “A stack!” exclaimed Jackie, looking the way most people do when they think about chocolate cake or birthdays. “More Reo and Emiry. Maybe a Betsy and Eddie book. Want to read Ritter Bear books again, too.”

  “Ritter Bear?” repeated Shirley.

  Mrs. Basini looked up sharply. “She means Little Bear, Shirley. Give her a chance.”

  Her father added gently, “This is important for Jackie, honey.”

  But Shirley felt wounded. She put down her glass of orange juice. “Maybe I can’t bring her today,” she said. “Maybe I’m busy.”

  Now Jackie looked wounded. She glanced from Shirley to Mr. and Mrs. Basini. “I can come myseff,” she said quietly. “I know way. Never mind, Shirrey. Don’t worry.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” said Shirley coldly, but she felt bad anyway. Not bad enough, however, to say that she would walk Jackie to the library after all.

  So that afternoon Jackie walked herself there. Since she had proved that she could walk there alone, she began walking to the library and taking out a pile of books every single time Mrs. Basini was working.

  Shirley tried to feel grouchy about this, but it was hard. Christmas was coming! She was working on a new bulletin board, she had all sorts of holiday things to teach Jackie, and Joe would be home again soon. One afternoon (while Jackie was at the library with Mrs. Basini), Mr. Bradley stayed after school to work on his lesson plans, so Shirley stayed, too.

  “Mr. Bradley,” she told him, “I decided something about the December bulletin board.”

  “What’s that, Shirley?”

  “I’m not going to make a bulletin board about a holiday. If I make a Christmas scene, then I leave the Jewish kids out. If I make a Hanukkah scene, then I leave the Christian kids out. I was going to try to do both, but it’s too hard. So I’m going to do something with toys. Toys are kind of for Christmas and Hanukkah both, don’t you think?”

  “Well—” began Mr. Bradley.

  “I mean, you get presents in December whether you’re Christian or Jewish, right? And if you’re a kid, a lot of those presents are toys, right? So my bulletin board is going to show an enchanted toy store—with the toys coming to life.”

  “That sounds wonderful, Shirley,” said Mr. Bradley. “Very imaginative.”

  Shirley got out the construction paper, the scissors, and a pencil, and began drawing and snipping away.

  Her bulletin board was coming along so well that by the time she got home that day she was in a great mood. She didn’t even mind the sight of Jackie sitting cross-legged on her bed surrounded by books.

  “How is burretin board?” asked Jackie when she saw Shirley.

  “Terrific!” Shirley exclaimed. She told Jackie about the toys. “I wanted to make Santa’s workshop, but that’s Christmas, so I decided on a toy store instead.”

  “Exprain ‘Santa’s workshop,’ prease,” said Jackie.

  “You know, the workshop where Santa Claus and his elves make the toys.”

  “Santa Craus?”

  “Whoa,” said Shirley under her breath. She whistled softly. “You don’t know about Santa Claus, do you?”

  “No,” replied Jackie, looking down at her books as if they could help. “Exprain, prease.”

  Shirley did better than that. She talked to her parents, and the next Saturday, the four Basinis drove to Grove Mall. It was snowing lightly, and Shirley thought she could almost smell Christmas. It was all around her.

  “You’re going to love this holiday,” she told Jackie. “It’s more than the Christmas story I told you. It’s snow and cookies and a decorated tree.”

  “It’s Santa Claus and toys and a stuffed stocking,” added Mrs. Basini.

  “Christmas carols and eggnog and a nice, warm fire,” added Mr. Basini.

  “And ten days off from school,” said Shirley.

  The Basinis had been explaining Christmas endlessly to Jackie. And that day, Jackie was going to see her first Santa Claus, at the department store in the mall.

  The mall, Shirley thought, was really something. It glittered and shone with decorations. A group of carolers strolled from store to store singing Christmas songs. A man dressed like an elf was handing out candy canes. But most exciting, on the eighth floor of the department store was Santa’s World.

  The Basinis stepped off the escalator and walked through a doorway made of giant Styrofoam candy canes. Ahead of them was a big gingerbready-looking house, decorated with candy and snow.

  Jackie’s eyes were shining. “The North Poe,” she said, reading a sign. “This way to Santa Craus.”

  A line of children and their parents had formed outside the gingerbread house. Most of the kids were a lot younger than Shirley and Jackie, but Shirley didn’t mind. She couldn’t wait to see Jackie’s face when she sat in Santa’s lap. Jackie had been reading The Night Before Christmas, and was more excited than Shirley had ever seen her. Mr. Basini planned to take her picture while she was talking to Santa Claus.

  The line crept along. Jackie began wriggling with excitement. When at last it was her turn to step into Santa’s castle, she whispered. “Hode my hand, prease, Shirrey.”

  So Shirley stayed with Jackie who sat down in Santa’s lap, looking awed.

  “And what do you want for Christmas, little lady?” asked the jolly Santa Claus.

  “I want—I want,” whispered Jackie, “to go to school. And to be friend of Sessie and Joan. And to stay with Basinis. And to be Shirrey’s sister forever.”

  “Don’t you want any toys?” asked the Santa, looking slightly surprised.

  “Could I have a book?” asked Jackie.

  “Certainly! Ho, ho, ho! Which book?”

  “Any book,” Jackie whispered. Th
en she added, “Thank you,” and managed a smile before she slid off Santa’s lap.

  Flash! went Mr. Basini’s camera.

  And that was Jackie Basini’s meeting with Santa Claus.

  On the last day of school before vacation, Mr. and Mrs. Basini came to Shirley’s classroom. They arrived at two-thirty, just as Mr. Bradley was saying goodbye to his students.

  Shirley proudly showed off the December bulletin board. Her parents were very impressed.

  “Lovely,” said Mrs. Basini.

  “Magnificent,” said Mr. Basini.

  “We can’t wait to see what she’ll do for January,” added Mr. Bradley.

  Then Shirley’s parents rushed off. Jackie’s teacher had asked them to come in for a conference. Shirley wondered what Jackie had done wrong. Teachers only asked for conferences when there were problems. She and Jackie waited on the front steps of the school while the adults talked.

  “Were you late for anything?” asked Shirley.

  Jackie shook her head.

  “Did you hit anybody?”

  Jackie shook her head. “No. I don’t hurt anybody. I am never rate. I best reader. I best in math. I finish with math book and work in another. I do nothing bad.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Shirley.

  When Mr. and Mrs. Basini finally came outside, they were grinning from ear to ear.

  “Wonderful news!” exclaimed Mrs. Basini. “Guess what, Jackie?”

  “What?” replied Jackie. “I do nothing bad.”

  “No, of course not, sweetheart. You did something very good. You worked so hard that after vacation, you are going to go to third grade!”

  “Third!” cried Shirley. “What happened to second? And the rest of first?”

  “She’s skipping them,” said Mr. Basini. He put his arm around Shirley. Shirley knew that he understood how she felt—stupid and left behind.

  “Not only that,” went on Mrs. Basini, “but Jackie is going to enter Mrs. Rockwell’s third grade.”

  Shirley nearly fainted. Mrs. Rockwell’s class was the special, excelled one for very, very smart third graders. There was one special class like hers in every grade. Shirley had never been in one (but Joe had). She couldn’t believe it. Jackie would practically be doing fourth-grade work, while some of Shirley’s work was still for second graders.

  Mr. and Mrs. Basini were hugging Jackie and telling her how proud they were. Shirley turned away. Her parents were hardly ever proud of her. Except maybe for things like her bulletin boards. But bulletin boards were not the same as being moved to Mrs. Rockwell’s class. Shirley had worked hard all fall, and look where it had gotten her. Nowhere.

  Shirley could have killed Jackie. This just wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t. Having a sister as smart as Jackie was worse than having a brother as smart as Joe.

  Christmas was ruined.

  Everything was ruined.

  Shirley decided she hated Jackie.

  Chapter Five: January

  JANUARY WAS DREARY. IT was dark and wet and gloomy. The holidays were over. Vacation was over. School had started again. The only one who seemed happy about it was Jackie. She loved Mrs. Rockwell. She loved the library in her new third-grade classroom. For Jackie, January was just more time to read.

  For Shirley, January was the beginning of the end. Well, she wasn’t sure about that, but she thought there was a good chance of it. Besides, she liked the way that sounded.

  Shirley’s January bulletin board was as dreary as everything else. There were no important holidays in January except New Year’s Day, and Shirley had never thought much of that holiday. So, the Class Artist decided that her bulletin board would be about winter. She created a farm in late afternoon with a snowstorm brewing. Great black clouds were rolling in, and the snow that had already fallen was whirling and swirling and blowing around the house and barn and dark fir trees. The effect was frightening. Everyone in Mr. Bradley’s class agreed that it was a very good bulletin board—but that they couldn’t wait for the nice red-and-white one they were certain the Class Artist would make for February.

  One Monday late in January, sleet began to fall. It began to fall during math, which was in the middle of the morning. The sky grew darker and darker until it was as dark as Shirley’s threatening clouds on the bulletin board.

  Nobody could concentrate on their math problems. Shirley and her classmates gazed out the windows at the wet, black schoolyard.

  “Oh,” groaned Ned, “no recess today. We’ll have to stay inside.”

  “Maybe it will stop,” said Shirley, but she didn’t really think it would.

  And as if to prove a point, the sleet suddenly began to fall harder, lashing noisily against the windows.

  Mr. Bradley looked sympathetically at his students. “It could be worse,” he said.

  “How?” asked Shirley.

  Mr. Bradley thought” for a moment. “It would be worse if you didn’t have a wonderful teacher like me who would let you spend your recess in here playing seven-up and hot and cold and who’s got the button?”

  Nobody said a word, and Shirley knew why. That wasn’t so special. It was what Mr. Bradley suggested every time they couldn’t use the playground.

  Just then, the door to the classroom opened, and in came Mrs. Rockwell. She was followed by her students. Jackie was the third one to enter the room, and she smiled shyly at Shirley.

  When the entire class was assembled at the front of Mr. Bradley’s room, Mrs. Rockwell said, “Today is gloomy and dreary. Everyone is in a bad mood. And so—”

  (Mrs. Rockwell looked at Mr. Bradley, and Shirley got the feeling that this whole thing—whatever it was—had been planned.)

  “Yes?” said Mr. Bradley.

  Mrs. Rockwell’s students spoke as one. “Our class challenges your class to a spelling bee this afternoon.”

  “Do you accept?” Mrs. Rockwell asked Mr. Bradley.

  “Do you accept?” Mr. Bradley asked Shirley and her classmates.

  “Yes!” shouted his students—except for one.

  That one was Shirley.

  Shirley was a terrible speller, and now she would have to compete against her own little sister.

  Jackie, of course, was a wonderful speller. She might not have been a wonderful speaker, since she was still learning new words and sometimes mixed them up or didn’t pronounce them right. But she was a wonderful speller. Just like she was a wonderful reader, a wonderful adder, a wonderful subtracter, and a wonderful memorizer.

  “She’s like a sponge,” Mrs. Basini had said over the Christmas holiday. “She’s a very smart girl. Her mind just soaks up information and then wrings it out again in other forms.”

  That was something Mrs. Basini had never said about Shirley. Shirley knew she wouldn’t be happy until her mother called her a sponge, too.

  Shirley tried to figure out what to do about the spelling bee. How could she get out of it? Only once had she gone to the nurse when she wasn’t actually sick or hurt. The nurse had sent her home, but Mrs. Basini had figured out what Shirley was up to. She’d been very cross. Going to the nurse wouldn’t work.

  Shirley raised her hand.

  “Yes, Shirley?” said Mr. Bradley. The third graders were gone. The students of 4C were bent over their math books again.

  “Um, I can’t be in the spelling bee this afternoon,” Shirley began.

  “Oh, really?” Mr. Bradley replied.

  “No. I have to work on the bulletin board.”

  “Isn’t it finished?” Mr. Bradley glanced at the dark farmhouse.

  “Yes, it is. It’s just that I think I better change it before Mrs. Rockwell’s kids come back. They’re only eight years old. I’m afraid the bulletin board will scare them.”

  “I think they can handle it,” said Mr. Bradley dryly.

  That was the end of that. Shirley was out of ideas. If only Mrs. Rockwell had given a little more warning.

  At one-thirty that afternoon, right after the games of seven-up and hot
and cold and who’s got the button? were over, Mrs. Rockwell and her class returned. The third graders lined up along one side of the classroom. “Now, my people,” said Mr. Bradley (Shirley hated being called a “people”), “please line up on the other side of the room.”

  With a great rush and a clatter, the fourth graders formed a line. They leaned against the blackboard and grinned at the third graders.

  Shirley made sure she was next to Ned Hernandez. She had a last-ditch plan for getting through the spelling bee (or maybe getting out of it). Ned might come in handy.

  Shirley also made sure that she and Ned were close to the back of the room, which meant they were near the end of the line—and across from Jackie.

  “Students,” said Mrs. Rockwell, clapping her hands, “let me explain the rules of the spelling bee. Mr. Bradley will say the words that you are to spell. He’ll say each word only once. You are to repeat the word, spell it, and repeat it again. If you spell it correctly, move to the end of the line. If you misspell it, take a seat. The winning team will be the one with the most players left when the bell rings at the end of the day. Are there any questions?”

  Shirley waved her hand wildly. “What’s the prize?” she asked.

  “Excuse me?” said Mrs. Rockwell.

  Shirley adjusted her glasses. “What do the winners get?”

  Mrs. Rockwell glanced at Mr. Bradley who said lightly, “No prizes, Shirley. We’re just playing for fun.”

  Some fun, thought Shirley.

  Then she raised her hand again. “Can you please say the rules once more?” she asked Mrs. Rockwell.

  Mrs. Rockwell patiently repeated the rules.

  “Thank you,” said Shirley.

  “All right,” began Mrs. Rockwell.

  Crash.

  All eyes turned toward the back of the room where Shirley had knocked over a big tin full of crayons. Ned stooped down to help her pick them up. At the same time, Shirley heard a voice say, “I hepp Shirrey, prease?”