Free Close to Famous by Joan Bauer Page A

fingernail on some words. “What does that say?”
    I sucked in air. “Boy, I wish I’d brought my glasses.”
    She studied me. “Feed the parakeet from the box of birdseed in the closet near the refrigerator. Do you see that?”
    I nodded.
    â€œYou’re sure you see that?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. As plain as anything.”
    â€œWhy don’t you do those three things and then we’ll go over the rest of the list.” She sounded almost nice when she said it. I breathed easier. She grabbed a Ho Ho from the counter and left the room.
    I went to get the dog food and found a can opener after opening close to every drawer in the kitchen. I couldn’t find the chicken at first and was thinking spiteful thoughts about spoiled dogs who only eat fancy food. I finally found the chicken and parmesan cheese. By mistake I dropped the chicken on the floor and the two dogs ran in and tore it to shreds. They didn’t need it chopped at all.
    â€œThat’s enough, you guys.” I tried to clean up the chicken and got growled at. I sliced off a hunk of parmesan, threw it in the corner, and the dogs ran after it. I picked up what was left of the chicken. “Okay. You’ve had your lunch.”
    I wish I could just bake for Miss Charleena, since I was not very good at this job.
    I cleaned up the floor, went to the closet, and looked everywhere for the birdseed, but I couldn’t find it. I went back to check the list; the words blurred together. I looked for the bird I was supposed to feed and I couldn’t find that either!
    I heard the click clicking coming closer.
    Miss Charleena came in, leaned against the wall, and crossed her arms. “Well?” she asked.
    I smiled with everything I had. “I fed the dogs and they really loved how I did it. But I can’t find the birdseed.” This next part was harder to admit. “Or the bird.”
    She stood there.
    â€œThere is no bird,” she said quietly.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThere is no bird.” She studied my face. “You can’t read. Can you?”

Sixteen
    I STOOD THERE, hot with shame. I wanted to run, but my feet felt nailed to the floor.
    I wanted to scream, Hey, good trick, Miss Charleena. You really fooled me.
    â€œI asked you a question,” she said softly.
    She could play all her tricks and games on me, she could stand there like she’d won, but I didn’t have to answer her.
    â€œThere’s lots of people who have trouble reading,” she said, like I’d been living in a cave and didn’t know that.
    I looked down at the dogs’ golden dishes. I felt my face get tight and my jaw get hard.
    Miss Charleena walked over to the refrigerator, poured herself a glass of milk, and stirred chocolate syrup into it for the longest time. It seemed like the sound of that stirring spoon was in front of a microphone.
    I think the chocolate is mixed in now. Just drink it!
    â€œI’ve gotta go, Miss Charleena.”
    â€œNot before I tell you something.”
    But I headed out the door, down the path, tears shooting from my eyes.
    â€œFoster! Wait!”
    I ran as fast as my skinny legs could go, tripped over a rock in the road, and fell flat on my face, scraping my knees bloody, spitting mud from my mouth.
    I hated Miss Charleena for tricking me. I hated Macon for getting sick. I hated Mama for bringing us here.
    I got up and ran some more.
    â€œFoster,” Mrs. Ritter, my main sixth-grade teacher, had said to me, “do you understand that you are graduating by the skin of your teeth?”
    I didn’t know teeth had skin, but I didn’t want to get anything more wrong at this school, so I said, “Yes, ma’am.”
    â€œI don’t see the value of having you repeat sixth grade again.”
    I was with her on that.
    â€œBut I cannot stress the need for you to develop better work habits, because if you do not, young lady, your life will be