Free Fruit by Brian Francis Page A

don’t mind working every recess, even though Mrs. Kraft said she only expects me to come in three times a week.
    “Your friends will think you don’t want to be around them anymore,” she said. I just smiled and told her that I have a very strong work ethic.
    “I’ve been delivering papers for three years,” I said. “Hard work is in my blood.”
    The truth is, I’d rather be in the boring old library,putting books away and making ditto copies for the teachers, than outside with everyone else. It’s safer.
    Mrs. Kraft is very nice to me. She’s divorced and wears sandals with pantyhose and always has a Kleenex stuffed up her sleeve, even though I’ve never seen her blow her nose. She’s best friends with Ms. Robillard, the grade 6 teacher. They hang out together at recess, talking over the ditto copier and sipping coffee. They don’t say too much when I’m around, though. I guess they don’t want me to hear. Maybe they talk about what students they hate the most. Or what teacher is having an affair with another.
    But one time, I overheard Mrs. Kraft say, “I forgot my watch today, and I just feel so naked without it. So completely naked.”
    I felt pretty weird when she said that, because all I could think about was Mrs. Kraft wearing nothing except for her pantyhose and sandals. I bet Ms. Robillard was thinking the same thing, too. A lot of students think Ms. Robillard is secretly a man. That’s because she’s not married and has hairy knuckles and when she wears high heels, she slides all over the floor, like she’s on ice. Maybe Ms. Robillard is a secret agent, assigned to investigate our school.
    “Nothin’ to report today,” the secret agent would tell his boss over the phone, pulling off his high heels and wig. “Just a bunch of smart-ass kids. ‘Cept for that library assistant. He’s been on to me since Day One. Maybe we should offer him a job on the force.”
    At lunch, I walk home. My mom will usually have a bowl of Alphagetti or two grilled cheese sandwicheswaiting for me or if she’s in a really good mood, she’ll make sloppy joes with French fries.
    “How was your morning, dear?” she always asks me.
    “Fine.”
    “Did you learn anything new?”
    “Not really.”
    After that, I’ll eat a row of Fudgee-Os or a couple of Wagon Wheels with a glass of chocolate milk. Then I’ll go downstairs to watch I Love Lucy . As soon as the end credits roll and the announcer says “ I Love Lucy is a Desilu production,” I leave to go back. I get there just as the bell is ringing. I’ve got things timed pretty well.
    It doesn’t really bother me that I don’t have a boy friend. But I think it bothers everyone else, especially my parents. Sometimes, while we’re watching Love Boat on Saturday nights, I’ll catch my mother looking over at me, like she’s trying to figure out a crossword puzzle. That makes me uncomfortable. Or Uncle Ed will say something stupid like “You planning to play ball this summer, Peter?” right in front of my dad and I’ll want to yell, “No! And stop asking me! I’m not planning to play football or soccer or hockey or any other stupid sport, okay?”
    But I never do. Instead, I’ll always say, “Maybe,” and hope that my dad forgets about it.
    But the other day, I overheard Margaret Stone and Julie Tilson talking after school about becoming locker partners for grade 9.
    “I don’t want to share a locker with Lisa,” Margaretsaid. “And I just know she’s going to ask me. So why don’t we agree to be locker partners and then when Lisa asks me, I can say, ‘Oh, sorry. Julie already asked me.’”
    “Okay,” Julie said. “I guess that’s not really lying, is it?”
    I never even thought about having a locker partner for grade 9! Later, as I was delivering the paper, I couldn’t stop worrying about how I was going to find someone in time. September wasn’t that far away.
    And here I thought I’d figured everything out. I knew that things would