Free Romeo Blue by Phoebe Stone

was from Dimples because of the splotchy ink and the messy handwriting and the drawings of sad little ghosts at the edges of the paper.
    I held the letter carefully. It had come all the way from England. My England.

Autumn was winding down now. Most of the leaves had turned brown and blown away. The crows at the top of the pines in the woods cawed and cawed. What could they see from their highest perch? I had been here with the Bathburns for a year and a half. I had seen the wild roses and the butterflies come and go along the American sea. And I received no word from Winnie and Danny. But they would not forget me. They would write one day. They would know I was waiting and longing and wondering and worrying.
    I worried about other things as well. Now Derek had begun to truly get to know his newfound father. And the more he heard from him, the happier Derek became. His father rang up one day when everyone was out and Derek had a good chat with him. But I still did not feel right about it. Something was nagging and tugging at me. I hadn’t always been like this. Wasn’t it lovely seeing Derek happy, after all?
    Derek planned to invite his father back to the house for lunch again and now he said I could visit with him too. But all this had to be kept a secret still. And I had to promise Derek and I did.

    “Fliss,” he said as we waited for the small school bus one morning, “I have told my father all about you. He likes you already. He calls you the little general.”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t want to be a general,” I said. “I’d rather be a mess cook or something like that because I do not like to shoot at things. And I hate fighting. I even hate to hear birds in the trees squabbling.”
    The bus then came to a stop in front of us. We hurried aboard. Derek found a seat with his pal Stu Barker. Derek didn’t ever mention to Stu any of the things that had happened. I had an idea the various things that had occurred were in some way knitted together. Derek didn’t mention anything to anyone, not even to his father. But perhaps we should have told Uncle Gideon. Yes, perhaps that was our mistake.
    Mr. Bathtub wasn’t on the bus this morning. I didn’t know how he got to school some days, but he often took long walks in the morning and he was quite busy with preparations for his journey to Europe. I sometimes thought about why he might need a German officer’s uniform and why he might need to speak perfect German. And all in all I was nervous and uneasy about everything.
    Mr. Bathtub was busy with his sixth-grade classes as well, but very often when he hadn’t been on the bus that morning, he would be at school already when we got there, welcoming us, ready to start making jokes and poking fun. “What ho, Fliss!” he would say when Iwalked down the hall, passing his classroom first thing in the morning with all the others. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you for eight moons and a dog!”
    Soon enough, the bus stopped and Miss Elkin got on. I saw her glancing round for Mr. Bathtub and I saw her look disappointed as well. She had her enormous cello in its huge black case with her and she sat with me. Well, it wasn’t all peaches and cream because her big cello case poked me a bit in the ribs. We were rattling along the motorway when Miss Elkin finally said, “Felicity, you know how the chaperones at the autumn dance always jump in for a few of the dances, especially the fox-trot?”
    “Yes,” I said, looking out the window as we passed a new group of winter seabirds flocking over the salt marsh.
    “You know the tradition at Babbington El. The chaperones always have as much fun as the kids,” said Miss Elkin.
    “I’ve heard all the stories,” I said.
    Soon Miss Elkin started whispering to me, “I’d really like to ask Mr. Bathtub to be my chaperone partner! You know the tradition at Babbington. Would you mind doing me a tremendous favor and seeing if he’s at all interested in the dance? I mean,