Yours Turly, Shirley

by Ann M. Martin

  “Thank you, Jackie,” Mrs. Rockwell replied, “but Shirley and her friend can pick them up themselves. And,” she added sternly, looking at Shirley, “we’re going to start the spelling bee now anyway.”

  Darn, thought Shirley as she and Ned tossed crayons back into the tin. Mrs. Rockwell was tough. She wouldn’t delay the spelling bee no matter what. How come Jackie liked her so much?

  The contest began. Mr. Bradley gave the first word to the first third grader. “Machine,” he said clearly.

  “Machine,” the girl repeated. “M-A-C-H-I-N-E. Machine.”

  “Very good,” said Mr. Bradley. “Go to the end of your line.” He turned to Jason Rice in Shirley’s class. “Sign,” he said.

  Shirley stopped listening. The crayons had been put away. She picked up a piece of chalk and began to draw a monster on the blackboard behind her. She added a bubble by the monster’s mouth and printed the word inside. She hoped it was spelled right.

  It must have been, because Ned and a bunch of other kids began giggling.

  “Shirley,” warned Mr. Bradley, “erase that, please.”

  Shirley erased the monster.

  Jason moved to the end of the line and Mr. Bradley gave out the next spelling word. The game continued. The lines moved forward as kids either dropped out or walked to the back of the room.

  Shirley made a pig nose at Ned. She made pig noses at several of the third graders.

  “Young lady,” said Mrs. Rockwell to Shirley, just before it was Jackie’s turn, “one more stunt and you’ll be out of the spelling bee.”

  “No, she won’t,” Mr. Bradley jumped in. “No matter how many stunts Shirley pulls, she’ll take part in the game. But keep in mind, Shirley, that the principal’s office is just around the corner.”

  Shirley had been preparing to belch while Jackie spelled her word. Darn, she thought again. She tried to let the saved-up air out of her chest quietly.

  “All right, Jackie,” said Mr. Bradley, “are you ready?”

  Jackie nodded. She glanced nervously at Shirley, but Shirley didn’t feel like smiling at her.

  “Present,” said Mr. Bradley.

  “Present,” repeated Jackie. “P-R-E-S-E-N-T. Present.”

  “Good! Move to the back of your line.”

  Jackie, smiling, moved to the end of the third-grade line, where Mrs. Rockwell gave her a hug.

  Shirley rolled her eyes in disgust. But she was too close to the head of her line to think much about Jackie.

  It was Ned’s turn and he misspelled “prize.” He sat down at his desk and began reading a comic book.

  When it was Shirley’s turn, Mr. Bradley gave her the word “trick.” Shirley wanted to join Ned. But she didn’t want to look as if she weren’t as smart as Jackie. She took a deep breath and said, “Trick. T-R-I-C-K. Trick.”

  “Very good,” Mr. Bradley told her.

  “Hurray, Shirrey!” cried Jackie.

  Shirley ignored her. She walked to the back of the fourth-grade line.

  The game went on and on. When Jackie was up next, Mr. Bradley gave her the word “telephone.”

  “Terephone,” Jackie repeated.

  A few kids snickered, but Jackie spelled the word right. Shirley thought her sister looked a bit smug as she returned to the end of the line.

  Mr. Bradley turned to Shirley. “Elephant,” he said.

  Elephant! What a long word. Shirley had no idea how to spell it. But she knew how to get a laugh. And if she was going to be out of the game, she wanted a laugh, at least. “Erephant,” said Shirley. “E-R-E-”

  The kids exploded into laughter—except for Jackie, whose eyes filled with tears.

  “Shirley!” Mr. Bradley admonished her. “Take your seat this minute.”

  Shirley picked up her chair and carried it out of the classroom.

  “That does it,” said Mr. Bradley. “You can carry that to the principal’s office. I’ll come with you. Mrs. Rockwell, will you take over here, please?”

  “Of course,” replied Mrs. Rockwell.

  Mr. Bradley followed Shirley and her chair right into the principal’s office. He didn’t say a word except to the office secretary. “I’d like to speak with Mrs. Hillier,” he said briefly.

  The secretary nodded.

  Then Mr. Bradley took the chair from Shirley and banged it onto the floor. He pointed to it, indicating that Shirley should sit on it.

  Shirley sat, feeling horrible. She had never seen Mr. Bradley so cross.

  Shirley Basini would just as soon forget what happened during the rest of the day. First, Mr. Bradley went into Mrs. Hillier’s office for a while. When he came out, he returned to the classroom. He still had not spoken to Shirley. Then Mrs. Hillier called Shirley into her office.

  Shirley sat in a chair next to Mrs. Hillier’s desk. She waited while the principal closed the door to the office. Mrs. Hillier talked to Shirley for a long time. Mr. Bradley was mad that Shirley had misbehaved during the spelling bee, but he was mostly mad about what she had done to Jackie.

  Shirley began to worry. Was Mr. Bradley mad enough to make her repeat fourth grade after all? No. Embarrassing Jackie couldn’t cause that … could it? If it could, Shirley and Jackie would be in the same grade the next year, only Jackie would probably be in the special class for smart kids. Shirley couldn’t stand it.

  The last thing that happened was that Mrs. Hillier called Mrs. Basini to tell her about Shirley’s behavior.

  That night, Shirley got the talking-to of her life. Her parents waited until dinner was over. While Jackie was doing her homework, they took Shirley into the den, sat her on the couch, and stood in front of her.

  “We’re very disappointed in you,” said her mother. “Being rude and disruptive is bad enough. Being sent to Mrs. Hillier is bad enough.”

  “But teasing Jackie that way,” her father continued, “is not acceptable. I know that competing against Jackie in the spelling bee must have been difficult for you. But you embarrassed her in front of all of her new classmates.”

  Shirley slouched down on the couch. She didn’t know what to say. Jackie had avoided her all afternoon. At dinner, she wouldn’t talk to Shirley, and she kept looking away from her with wounded eyes.

  “Getting a new sister was tough,” Mr. Basini went on thoughtfully. “And you were nervous about the spelling bee today. So in order to take the attention away from yourself, you made fun of Jackie. But you hurt her in the worst possible way. That’s called finding a person’s Achilles’ heel, and it’s not a nice thing to do.”

  “Maybe you didn’t mean to hurt Jackie as much as you did,” added her mother, “but it happened anyway—and we don’t want it to happen again. We’re going to ground you for two days, starting tomorrow.”

  Shirley nodded numbly. She’d been in trouble before, but she’d never been grounded.

  “Think of Jackie,” were her parents’ last words that night. “Think of what she’s been through, and of how hard she’s tried since she moved here.”

  Over the next few days, Shirley did think about it. She had plenty of time to do so. This was partly because she was grounded, and partly because Jackie was so upset that she temporarily moved into Joe’s bedroom. She didn’t even want to be near Shirley.

  But Shirley also kept thinking, What about me? I try hard, too. School hasn’t been a picnic. But no one cares about anyone except Jackie.

  Shirley breathed a sigh of relief when January ended and another month began. She needed a new beginning.

  Chapter Six: February

  AFTER THE SPELLING BEE, Shirley was afraid that Mr. Bradley might take away her Class Artist title. But he didn’t. He never mentioned it. He didn’t mention the spelling bee either. In fact, the day after the spelling bee—the first day that Shirley was grounded—Mr. Bradley seemed to be regular old Mr. Bradley again.

  February arrived with a whirl of snow and one gray day after another. Shirley didn’t feel any more cheerful than she had in January, but she de
cided to make a nice, bright red-and-white bulletin board anyway. She knew her classmates wanted one. So she set to work on an imaginary place called “The Heart Factory.” It showed funny little gnomes and elves spinning wheels and pulling levers to make hearts for people to send on Valentine’s Day. She found that working on the bulletin board made her feel better.

  It even made her feel better on the day Mr. Bradley called her to his desk just before lunchtime.

  “Yes?” said Shirley nervously. She watched her classmates hustle out the door and down the hall to the cafeteria.

  “Shirley,” Mr. Bradley began. He looked serious, but not cross. “Shirley,” he said again, “at the beginning of the school year your work was far below par. It wasn’t up to fourth-grade standards.”

  Shirley nodded.

  “During the fall you made some improvement. Especially in math. We were working hard together, as we had promised each other, and I was proud of you. But ever since Christmas your work has been slipping. I don’t want to see you stay back next year.”

  “I don’t want to see me stay back either.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that,” Mr. Bradley told Shirley. “Are you willing to try something that might help you pull your work up?”

  “I guess …” said Shirley slowly. It depended on what the something was.

  “All right. Starting today, I’d like you to spend one hour every afternoon working with Mr. Soderman in the Resource Room. I think you’ll like him,” Mr. Bradley added.

  “Is this my last chance or something?” asked Shirley. She still didn’t want to be in a class with a bunch of retards, but she was willing to give it a shot.

  “No, but I strongly suggest that you try it,” said Mr. Bradley.

  “Is Mr. Soderman going to give me extra homework?”

  “I don’t think so. Don’t worry about it.” Mr. Bradley smiled slyly.

  Shirley worked with Mr. Soderman that very afternoon. As soon as lunch and recess were over, Mr. Bradley signaled to her that it was time to go to the Resource Room.

  Shirley tiptoed to his desk. “What should I take with me?” she whispered. (She didn’t want the kids to know where she was going.)

  “Nothing,” Mr. Bradley replied. “Just yourself.”

  Shirley was mystified. Wasn’t Mr. Soderman supposed to help her with her work? How could he do that if she didn’t take it along?

  Shirley reached the door to the Resource Room. She peeked inside. Two kids she didn’t know were working at a table with a woman. A young man was kneeling by a shelf, looking through some books. When Shirley opened the door, he straightened up.

  “Shirley Basini?” he asked.

  Shirley nodded. She closed the door behind her.

  “I’m Mr. Soderman,” said the man. “I guess we’re going to be working together for a while. Why don’t you come over here and take a look at these books.”

  Shirley crossed the room to the shelf. It looked like a little piece of the children’s room at the public library—four rows of books covered with shiny plastic. There were picture books, easy reading books, and chapter books.

  Mr. Soderman pulled one of the long chapter books off the shelf. “Ever heard of this?” he asked. “It’s called Henry and Ribsy.”

  Shirley shook her head. It looked like the kind of thing her parents were always trying to get her to read. “I don’t like books,” she said boldly.

  “You don’t like books, or you don’t like to read?” asked Mr. Soderman.

  Shirley paused. She hadn’t thought about it. “I guess I don’t like to read,” she replied.

  “Well, that’s fixable. It would be another thing if you didn’t like the books themselves.” Mr. Soderman suddenly made a terrible face. He dropped Henry and Ribsy on the floor. “Ew! Yuck!” he exclaimed. “A book! Oh, gross. I am going to be sick!”

  Shirley giggled.

  Mr. Soderman picked the book up. “Not liking to read—that’s something I can take care of. Not liking books would be a problem. You’d have to learn how to read with oven mitts on. Now, let’s look at your situation a little more closely.”

  “Okay,” said Shirley, still laughing. She was picturing herself reading with big mitts on her hands.

  “Do you dislike stories, too?” asked Mr. Soderman. “Or is it just the reading part?”

  “It’s the reading part. I like stories.”

  “Good. Then I guarantee that you will like Henry and Ribsy. Come over here.”

  Mr. Soderman led Shirley to a quiet corner of the room. Cushions covered the floor. Mr. Soderman sat on one, leaned against the wall, and put another behind his back. Shirley sat, too. She made herself comfortable.

  Mr. Soderman opened the book and began to read aloud. He read to Shirley for the rest of the hour. Shirley listened—and giggled. Henry and Ribsy was the funniest story she’d ever heard.

  When the hour was over she asked, “Can we read more of Henry and Ribsy tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” replied Mr. Soderman. “And just in case you were wondering, the book is by an author named Beverly Cleary. She’s written lots of other books. Some of them are about Henry, too.”

  “There are more books about Henry?” Shirley exclaimed. She hadn’t meant to sound excited, but she couldn’t help it. “Are they funny, too?”

  “They’re pretty funny. Now you better get back to Mr. Bradley,” said Mr. Soderman. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  When Shirley went to the Resource Room the next day, Mr. Soderman did read Henry and Ribsy again. A few days after that, they finished it. Then they began a book about a bear named Paddington. When they were finished with that, Mr. Soderman showed Shirley a book called Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. Shirley liked the title.

  “It’s another funny book,” said her new teacher. “And do you know how we can make it funnier?”

  “How?” asked Shirley suspiciously.

  “By reading it like a play. You read the part of Fudge.”

  Shirley didn’t think much of having to read, but she couldn’t help saying, “Fudge! Who’s Fudge?”

  “He’s Peter Hatcher’s little brother. He’s a pest. He gets into mischief.”

  “I like people who get into mischief,” said Shirley.

  Mr. Soderman opened Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. He did most of the reading. But every time Fudge was supposed to say something, Shirley read instead. Fudge was very funny. Shirley hardly felt as if she were reading.

  By the end of February, Mr. Soderman was reading less and less and Shirley was reading more and more. Mr. Soderman picked out a book for her called Pippi Longstocking. He didn’t read a word of it. Shirley read the entire thing. Sometimes she read aloud and sometimes she read to herself. One afternoon she sneaked the book home and read it while everyone else was out. Some of the words, like “preferred” and “inhabited” and “Villa Villekulla,” were very hard, but Shirley finished the book anyway because she wished she could be just like Pippi.

  After a while, she and Mr. Soderman didn’t just read all the time. Once, Mr. Soderman asked Shirley to write a different ending to the Paddington book. That was hard since Shirley had liked Mr. Michael Bond’s ending very much. (He was the author.) But she worked hard and wrote a new ending anyway. Mr. Soderman thought Shirley’s ending was so good that he made copies of it. He put her original copy on the bulletin board in the Resource Room with a blue ribbon attached to it—just as if it had won a prize. He gave one copy to Mr. Bradley. He gave another copy to Shirley. He folded the third copy into an envelope and sent it home with Shirley to give to her parents.

  Shirley was amazed. As far as she knew, no one had ever liked any of Jackie’s work enough to copy it.

  One day Shirley asked Mr. Soderman, “How come we don’t read any more of the books about Henry?”

  “Well,” he replied, “for one thing, I want you to try some different authors—Michael Bond and Judy Blume and Astrid Lindgren. And for another, I don’t have any of the oth
ers here in the Resource Room.”

  Shirley smiled. She liked teachers who told the truth. “Well, where are they?” she wanted to know. “What if I wanted to read another Henry book?”

  “You could go to the library,” said Mr. Soderman. “Either our school library or the public library.”

  Shirley decided not to go to the school library. She didn’t want Mr. Bradley to see her there. She didn’t want a lot of questions or any pressure about reading. Plus, she didn’t want Mr. Bradley to know that his Resource Room plan had worked so well that she was getting interested in books. It was better if teachers didn’t know too much about you. Shirley would have to go to the public library—on a day when her mother wasn’t working. For the same reasons that she didn’t want Mr. Bradley to see her in the school library, she didn’t want her mother to see her in the public library.

  On Mrs. Basini’s next day off, Shirley told her she was going to go over to Erin Bayard’s house after school. Then, as soon as school let out, she made a beeline for the public library and went straight to the children’s room.

  She stood there, feeling helpless. She was surrounded by books. Thousands of books. How was she supposed to find the ones about Henry?

  “May I help you?” asked a librarian.

  Shirley jumped. She looked guiltily at the woman and was relieved to see that she wasn’t one of her mother’s friends.

  “I want to read a book about Henry,” Shirley whispered.

  “About Henry? Do you know who the author is?”

  Shirley racked her brain. “Beverly Clearly,” she finally replied.

  “Oh, Beverly Cleary. Her books are right over here.”

  The librarian led Shirley to a bookshelf. “All these books are by Beverly Cleary,” she told her.

  “All of them?” Shirley was awed.

  “Well, they’re not all about Henry. Only some of them are. But you might like the others, too.”

  “Okay,” said Shirley. “Thanks.”

  The Beverly Cleary books were on the two bottom shelves, so Shirley sat on the floor and began to read the titles. Beezus and Ramona. (What’s a Beezus? Shirley wondered.) Dear Mr. Henshaw, Ellen Tebbits, Fifteen. None of those books sounded as if they were about Henry.