Ms. Shelby-Ortiz is back! During lineup the next morning, Deja tells everyone that she saw Ms. Shelby-Ortiz get out of her car with that big bag she carries and a box of stuff. And she, Deja, got to help her carry her things into the classroom and she, Deja, got to put the date on the board. Not high up though, because she couldn’t reach all the way up there and Ms. Shelby-Ortiz wouldn’t let her stand on a chair.
“Will you please just shut up?” Antonia demands. “Or do you want Ms. Shelby-Ortiz to catch us not having a perfect line?”
“I just thought the class would want to know that Ms. Shelby-Ortiz is back.”
Everyone straightens up even more. Some press their lips together to keep anything from spilling out.
And then, she’s coming toward them. Their dear Ms. Shelby-Ortiz.
Richard’s stomach fills up with butterflies as he watches their teacher smile at them, bring her forefinger to her mouth, turn on her heels, and lead them to the classroom.
Everyone files into Room Ten, with some heading for the cubbies and some heading directly to their tables. The morning journal topic is on the whiteboard. “While Ms. Shelby-Ortiz Was Away.” Richard takes out his journal. He suspects that she must know about his part in the class’s score falling below ninety points, and now he wonders if she’s looking at him differently.
He should have been more mindful of his homework packet. Mr. Blaggart probably told Ms. Shelby-Ortiz about him cheating on his homework assignment, as well. Now she’ll see him as irresponsible and a cheater. He slowly shakes his head. All those days of standing at attention during morning lineup—and for what? He’d ruined it for the class. They’ll probably be talking about this for the rest of the year. He decides to write about the situation in his journal. Then he’ll ask to share it.
His hand is the first to go up when Ms. Shelby-Ortiz asks if there is anyone who’d like to share what they’ve written.
“Okay, Richard,” she says. “Please come up to the front of the class.”
Once in front of his classmates, he clears his throat. “This is a letter to Ms. Shelby-Ortiz from me, Richard.
“Dear Ms. Shelby-Ortiz, I’m sorry for the class not getting to have the pizza party that they worked so hard to get even though we have two more days left to have a perfect line. But we lost points because of me. I copied Khufu’s homework—a part of it—and I lost my points and Khufu lost his points and Deja already lost a point, so . . .”
He’s distracted by Deja, who’s suddenly waving her hand around and piping up without waiting to be recognized. “Ms. Shelby-Ortiz, it wasn’t fair that I lost that point. I forgot to call Mr. Blaggart ‘sir’ just that one time, and—”
She stops when Ms. Shelby-Ortiz puts her finger to her lips, then says, “We’re not discussing that now.” She turns to Richard. “Continue, please.”
“So I can miss the pizza party. You can send me to Mr. Beaumont’s across the hall with some worksheets while everyone has the party. That’s all I have to say. Yours truly, Richard.”
“Thank you, Richard.” Now Ms. Shelby-Ortiz unfolds something that looks like another letter. “I got this from Khufu,” she says, “and I’d like the entire class to hear it.”
Ms. Shelby-Ortiz begins to read.
“Dear Ms. Shelby-Ortiz, This is Khufu. I’m writing to tell you the truth about me and Richard. He accidentally left his homework packet at school. I personally think this wouldn’t have happened if he’d been able to hang his backpack on the back of his chair like most of us—even Carlos.”
Ms. Shelby-Ortiz looks puzzled, but continues. “So I convinced him to let me help him with the thing we had to write about a place he’d like to go to and why. I did this because I felt bad for him. He tried to get all his homework done. He got to school at six thirty when only the office people were at school. And then he got to work and did almost the whole homework packet. I just felt sorry for him and wanted to help, and the only reason he let me help him was so the whole class wouldn’t have to suffer because of him. And I felt bad for the class too because they didn’t do anything wrong. They were extra good in line for nineteen days and me too. And Richard didn’t even want to copy my work. I could tell. Your student, Khufu.”
As she finishes, Ms. Shelby-Ortiz looks like she’s trying to hold back a laugh. The students glance around at each other hopefully, not sure where this is going. Their teacher has another envelope in her hand. Everyone waits, wondering what it is. “This is from Mr. Blaggart,” she says finally.
Richard looks around. Almost everyone’s eyes are big. Richard knows some are thinking, Oops! There goes the pizza party.
Ms. Shelby-Ortiz smiles mysteriously. “I have to admit. I already read this one, too.
“Dear Ms. Shelby-Ortiz, I hope you’re feeling better. I’ve found pomegranate juice builds up the immune system. So here’s the bottom line. I had to deduct a few points for this and that, but it wasn’t important. You have a good class. Mr. Blaggart. PS: They had excellent lineup behavior the whole time I was here. Just so you know.”
“Well,” Ms. Shelby-Ortiz goes on, looking around at her students, who are now hanging on her every word, their eyebrows raised. “I am certainly happy about this. But I have to say, I’m not surprised. I do have a good class. And we all have to be reminded sometimes to do what we’re supposed to do. I have to remind my husband to take the cans to the curb Tuesday evenings for the Wednesday morning trash pickup. The important thing here is: I have a class that tried its best. Richard and Khufu made a mistake, but I know they’re sorry.” Some of the students glance over at Khufu to see if he looks sorry. “I know they’ll do better if they ever find themselves in a similar situation. Soooo . . . Raise your hand if you think Richard and Khufu should join us for our pizza party!”
The boys’ hands shoot up. Then Deja’s hand shoots up too, and that encourages more and more girls until the whole class has their hands raised. Some are even waving them in the air.
With a big smile, Ms. Shelby-Ortiz walks over to the whiteboard and says, “Okay, then. Let’s vote. What kind of pizza do we all want?”