Free Anastasia Has the Answers by Lois Lowry

being taken. Maybe they didn't come, Anastasia thought anxiously. Maybe their plane was late.
    But then the intercom crackled and the principal's voice began an announcement. "Good morning, students," she said much more politely than usual. "I know you all want to join me in welcoming today's visitors, the International Commission for Educational Excellence. Just think: two days ago they were in Brussels, Belgium, visiting a school, and tomorrow they will be in Indianapolis! Aren't we
fortunate
that they've chosen
our
school as their only stop in the New England area!"
    Quit gushing, Mrs. Atkins, Anastasia thought. Go back to being your own normal sarcastic self. How about your usual big lectures about litter in the halls or graffiti in the bathrooms? How about announcing the lunch menu: canned wax beans and cold pizza slices, so that the International Commission for Educational Excellence might consider sending nutritional aid?
    But Mrs. Atkins had disappeared from the intercom, and it was time for Anastasia to gather her books and go to English class.
    Even Mr. Rafferty had dressed for the occasion, and instead of his usual rumpled, ink-stained clothing, he was wearing a neatly pressed dark suit and a necktie with tiny sailboats on it. "Good morning, class," he said nervously as the seventh graders filed in.
    In the back of the room, against a little-used blackboard, six strangers, four men and two women, were standing. They were holding notebooks, exactly as they had in one of Anastasia's fantasies. But they weren't wearing uniforms. They were wearing ordinary clothes. They looked like ordinary people. Anastasia smiled shyly at one of the women, who seemed to be looking at her, and the woman smiled back.
    "Today, class," Mr. Rafferty announced, "instead of our usual work on grammar and punctuation, I believe we will try some poetry recitation."
    Several students snickered. Mr. Rafferty was trying to make it sound as if he had just casually decided on poetry. Actually, he'd been browbeating them for three weeks to get those assigned poems memorized.
    "O world—" thought Anastasia. She knew the poem absolutely by heart. She could almost say it backwards. She hoped that Mr. Rafferty would call on her first.
    But he didn't. "Emily Ewing?" he said.
    Teacher's pet, straight-A, flawless-skinned, gets-to-go-to-Bermuda-every-Easter Emily Ewing went to the front of the room. Her long, straight dark hair was absolutely smooth and shiny. Once Anastasia had read an ad in a magazine, an ad for some strange religion run by a guy in California. R promised "Perfect Happiness." Anastasia remembered thinking, when she read it, that she didn't need to go to California and join that religion; she would have Perfect Happiness if only she could make her hair look like Emily Ewing's.
    Emily Ewing smiled politely at the visiting educators grouped in the back of the room and began to recite her poem.
"
Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though...
"
    Anastasia yawned surreptitiously, cupping her hand over her mouth, while Emily went on and on through the verses of the poem. It was, actually, a pretty good poem. Anastasia wouldn't have minded if Mr. Rafferty had assigned it to her instead of "O World."
    Emily did what Mr. Rafferty had suggested, speaking almost in a whisper since the poem was about snowy, quiet woods.
    "'And miles to go before I sleep,'" she whispered at the conclusion. "'And miles to go before I sleep.'" Then she smiled again at the back of the room—good grief, Anastasia thought; she almost
curtseyed
—and went back to her desk.
    Now maybe he'll call on me. Krupnik, Krupnik, Krupnik, Anastasia thought, attempting to use ESP on Mr. Rafferty.
    But Mr. Rafferty didn't get a chance. One of the visiting educators—one of the men—spoke, in what sounded like a German accent. His
w
's all came out like
v
's.
    "Ve vould like to qvestion Miss—vat vas it, Youving?"
    Mr. Rafferty looked startled. Emily