Chapter Nine

The next morning Guy pounced on Isabelle as she came out of her classroom.

“Did you think of anything yet?” he said.

“Give me a break. That was only yesterday,” she told him.

“Isabelle, may I see you for a minute, please?” Mrs. Esposito said from the doorway.

“Uh-oh.” Isabelle knew that meant trouble.

“Look at this.” Mrs. Esposito waved a paper marked with a large red F in Isabelle’s face. “Last week’s test. Multiplication tables, the ones I drilled you in. The ones I told you we’d have on the test. There’s no excuse for the number you had wrong. Absolutely no excuse. You don’t concentrate. You don’t pay attention. Your mind is always someplace else. I want to help, Isabelle.” Mrs. Esposito’s pretty eyes were troubled. “But I can’t do it without your cooperation.”

If Mrs. Esposito felt bad about Isabelle’s F, Isabelle felt worse. Already she could hear her father saying, “Pull yourself together, Isabelle, or we lower the boom.” Lowering the boom meant no television, no fun, no nothing. She could see her mother’s disappointed face as she said, “I thought you were going to do better.”

Isabelle spent a lot of time trying to do better, but it was like running in place. She never got anywhere.

And worst of all, she could hear Philip singing under his breath, singing songs about Scuzzy Izzy. And worse.

“I tried,” Isabelle said, jigging first on one foot, then the other. “I really tried.”

“No, Isabelle, I don’t think you did. If you had, this wouldn’t have happened. What am I going to do with you?”

“I know.” Isabelle snapped her fingers, delighted with the idea that had just occurred to her. “I could come home with you and stay at your house a while. A week or a month, maybe. Then you could drill me on my multiplication tables every morning before school. How would that be?” Isabelle had never been to Mrs. Esposito’s house and had always wanted to see what it was like.

Mrs. Esposito shuddered slightly. “No,” she said, “I’m sure your mother and father would never permit that.”

“They might,” Isabelle said. “They get fed up with me. Maybe if I went to live with you, they’d be sorry they were so mean to me.”

“I’m sure your mother and father aren’t mean to you, Isabelle.”

“Oh, yes, they are. They say I’m a pest and a terrible itch and they make me go to my room until I simmer down. My mother says I’m making her old before her time, and my brother kicks me in the stomach when they’re out and locks me in the bathroom and steals my candy. Even when I hide it in my shoes, he finds it and eats it. He says it smells of feet but he eats it anyway.”

Mrs. Esposito laughed. “One thing about you, Isabelle, you always cheer me up. Even when I’m cross with you, you cheer me up.”

“That’s good.” Isabelle danced around Mrs. Esposito. “My father made pizza Saturday. The crust was a little tough but he said to tell you next time it’ll be better and you can have some.”

“Tell your father I’d like that.” Mrs. Esposito handed Isabelle her test paper. “Take this home,” she said, “and go over it. Correct all the mistakes you made and bring it back tomorrow.”

“Do I have to have my mother or father sign it?” Isabelle asked.

Mrs. Esposito sighed. “Not this time. This will be between you and me. Just this once.”

Isabelle threw her arms around Mrs. Esposito and almost knocked her down. “I love you!” she cried. “You’re the most excellent teacher in the whole world!”

She raced out of the room and almost bumped into Jane Malone.

“Sally Smith is moving,” Jane said. “My mother said I could give her a farewell party.”

“Neat. Who’re you going to ask?”

“The class.”

“The whole class!” Isabelle said, astonished.

“Yep. My mother says she doesn’t think it would be nice to leave anyone out.”

“You mean Chauncey and Mary Eliza and everybody?” Isabelle said, remembering parties she’d been left out of.

“Yep. Everyone,” said Jane.

“That’s a lot of mouths to feed,” Isabelle said. “Maybe my mother could help.”

“That’d be nice.”

Isabelle raced back and caught Mrs. Esposito just as she was putting on her jacket.

“How many people are there in the class?” Isabelle cried.

“Twenty-one, I think.” Mrs. Esposito did a little mental arithmetic. “Yes, that’s right. Not counting me,” she said, smiling.

Isabelle charged back into the hall.

“There are twenty-one people in the class,” she told Jane. “Not counting Mrs. Esposito. Don’t forget her. You don’t want to leave her out, do you?”

“Oh, no,” said Jane. “Thanks for reminding me.”

Isabelle felt she had done her good deed for the day. Sort of like the Lone Ranger.

“You’re welcome, Kemosabe,” she said.