Free The Secret Life of Ms. Finkleman by Ben H. Winters Page B

Mrs. Kleindienst’s class had been assigned partners for their reports on the regions of Canada. They had worked together fine, Bethesda recalled, but only because she had done the whole project. Their presentation on Nova Scotia consisted of a poem Bethesda wrote about Nova Scotia, a drawing by Bethesda of a traditional Nova Scotian schoolhouse, and a list Bethesda made of Nova Scotia’s primary imports (steel, cotton) and exports (wool, herring). Tenny’s only contribution was a thirty-five-second, Nova Scotia-inspired “musical interlude,” played with two pencils against the side of a milk carton.
    Since then, Bethesda and Tenny had maybe said hi to each other now and then, or “Sorry,” if they collided in the hall, but that was it. Bethesda hung out with the Schwartz sisters, and sometimes Violet Kelp, and she worked on the
Mary Todd Lincoln Gazetteer
and did math team and studied at the Wilkersholm Memorial Public Library. Tenny Boyer … well, Bethesda didn’t know what he did, or who he hung out with, or where. All she knew was that he sat in the back of every class with a spaced-out expression—and, she was now learning, he was the messiest popcorn eater in all human history.
    Bethesda handed Tenny a pencil, and he said, “Thanks, dude.” And then they sat in awkward silence. From the other room came the low murmur of a reporter on TV, discussing expected rainfall in various regions of the American Southeast. Bethesda’s father followed weather like some people follow sports.
    “Okay,” Bethesda began. “I’ll list some topics, and we’ll both write down everything you’re having trouble with. That way, I’ve got a list of what to focus on when we’re working together, and you’ve got a list of what to work on at home.”
    “Sounds good,” Tenny said, and then scratched his head. Popcorn crumbs cascaded gently from his hair. “Um, can I have some paper?”
    Half an hour later, after Tenny had gathered all the necessary supplies … and after he had borrowed some scissors to take the shrink-wrap off his copy of
A More Perfect Union …
and after he had finished his cream soda and asked Bethesda if it was okay to have another one … and after he had cleaned up the popcorn he accidentally knocked off the table on the way to the fridge … and after he had waited, repeating, “I’m really sorry, dude,” while Bethesda vacuumed the crumbs hemissed … they finally began studying.
    “Let’s start with the Constitution.” Bethesda figured they’d done that the most recently, so it would be freshest in Tenny’s mind. “What do you know about the Federalist Papers?” asked Bethesda.
    “The what? ”
    “Okay,” she said, carefully writing
Fed. Papers
under THINGS TO GO OVER (T-GO). “How about the Three-Fifths Clause?”
    “It was … oh. Wait. Was it some kind of … huh. What was it? ”
    Bethesda wrote
3/5 Cl.
under
Fed. Papers
and bit her lip.
Okay,
she thought.
A lot to go over. No problem. We’ve got plenty of time.
    “Tenny? What are you doing? ”
    Tenny had closed his notebook and pushed
A More Perfect Union
away like a gross plate of food. He leaned way back in his chair and yawned.
    Wait. Is he—is he taking a break?
    “Tenny?”
    “Hey, you know what I don’t get?” he said absently, twirling his pencil between two fingers like a drumstick.
    “It’s not break time, Tenny,” Bethesda said with aworried frown. “Not even close.”
    Tenny didn’t seem to hear. “I don’t get why Ms. Finkleman—I mean, why Little Miss Mystery—”
    Bethesda cut him off sharply. “No. Stop.”
    “Huh?”
    “I’m serious, Tenny. We’re not talking about it.”
    Bethesda could guess what it was that Tenny wanted to talk about, and the truth was that she wanted to talk about it, too. In fact, it was
all
she wanted to talk about, practically all she could
think
about since Ms. Finkleman had summoned her and Tenny to the food court on Monday night and they had made their