Free Shoebag Returns by M. E. Kerr

part of Monroe, the masked Kewpie doll who always told the others they were not good enough to get in the club. But in Monroe’s voice, the laughter was mean, not high and happy as it sounded now from next door.
    Then, suddenly, Stanley heard Josephine wail, even louder than the wail she had let out at the news C. Cynthia Ann Flower was president of both school clubs!
    “Oh, no!” she called out.
    And Butter, who could not tolerate sudden noises, shot out from under the bed, running hair-raised to the door.
    “No! No! No!” Josephine Jiminez yelled.
    But she did not whack the wall.
    She was not putting on a play at all.
    Whatever had happened, had to be real.

Twenty-three
    “W HY WERE YOU WAILING, Josephine?” Stanley asked.
    “I just read a letter from my mother. Listen to this!”
Dearest Daughter,
    We are coming for Career Day. Are you surprised? Your father and I have another surprise for you, too. We have been thinking long and hard about how unhappy you are at school. We never realized what all our moving about the world has done to you. Then last week we had a conversation with Dr. Dingle that helped us make a decision.
    Darling, why didn’t you ever tell us that you felt like a cockroach — something no one wants around? No wonder you are often lonely and angry!
    Your father has decided to take early retirement from the Army. We are making plans to buy a house in Knoxville (known for coal, marble, aluminum sheeting, and textiles), Tennessee, where your father grew up. On Career Day we will take you home with us. It will be the last day you have to spend at Miss Rattray’s.
    So cheer up, dear daughter, you will never again feel like a cockroach. You will be our little girl. … The decision is final.
    Love, Mother.
    P.S. You’d better start packing! See you in three weeks!
    “I never knew you felt like a cockroach,” Stanley said as Josephine slapped the letter down on her desk.
    “I never felt like one is why you never knew it!” said Josephine. “What is to become of me?”
    Stanley moved Arlington, Monroe, and Washington out of the way and sat down on the bed. “And what is to become of the Black Mask Theater?” he asked.
    “I don’t care about that so much. We haven’t had a performance in weeks.”
    “I know. You haven’t whacked the walls in a long time.”
    “A president has more things to do than put on the same play over and over,” said Josephine.
    “You’d better fax your mother and tell her you do not want to move to Tennessee.”
    “Tennessee is one of the few states where we have never lived! I know nothing about Tennessee!”
    “The Sweetsongs have visited every state in the U.S. of A.,” said Stanley Sweetsong, remembering a riddle his father had told him when they were tooling through Nashville, Tennessee, in their Rolls Royce. “What did Tennessee, Josephine?”
    “What did Tennessee?”
    “She saw what Arkansas.”
    “Not funny!” Josephine said. “And it will do no good to fax my mother. In our family, when a decision is final, it is final!”
    “Fax her anyway,” said Stanley. “Tell her you like it here.”
    “I never said I like it here!”
    “But you do, don’t you, Josephine?”
    Josephine Jiminez sat down on the bed beside Alexandria, the wooden doll with pink-rouged cheeks. She frowned as she thought over Stanley’s question.
    “I never did before,” she said. “I was never part of the ‘in’ crowd.” Then she grabbed the masked Kewpie doll, Monroe, and said in his deep, stern voice, “If you’re not in, you’re out,” but there was none of the old anger, only sadness in her tone. And she did not smash any doll against the wall.

Twenty-four
    E VERY OTHER MONTH, THE Betters sang in assembly. This sunny November morning, after the school song, and before Miss Rattray’s announcements, C. Cynthia Ann Flower led them out on the stage.
    “One, two, three!” she said, and then she waved her arms to get the performance underway.
    We are the