Free Someday Angeline by Louis Sachar Page B

lifted a metal can and dumped it in the back of the truck. “Light as a feather,” he commented.
    Gus smiled at his partner. “Oh yeah?” he said.
    Angeline awoke on her sofa bed and instantly sat up, as if from a terrible dream. “Why do I have to go back to Mrs. Hardlick’s class at all?” she asked aloud, although she knew her father was already at work. “Why can’t I just wait a couple of days, until everything is straightened out, and then go straight to Mr. Bone’s class?” She frowned. “I mean Miss Turbone’s class,” she muttered.
    Last night, her father had told her Mr. Bone’s real name. He had come in whistling, and humming the parts he couldn’t whistle; she had never seen him so happy. It made her smile and laugh just to look at him. But when he told her Mr. Bone’s true name, the smile dropped from her face.
    “Miss…Turbone,” Abel had explained.
    “Oh,” said Angeline. “That’s too bad.”
    It was like he had told her there was no Santa Claus.
    She got out of bed and tried to get ready forschool as quickly as she could, but it seemed to take her forever. She knew that everyone would look at her funny and stare at her when she returned to class after all that had happened. She didn’t want to call extra attention to herself by walking in late. Yet she couldn’t get herself to move quickly. She nearly missed her school bus.
    When the bus stopped in front of the school, she was the last one to get out of her seat. Very slowly she walked down the aisle between the rows of seats, and then stepped down the stairs to the parking lot. She put both feet on one step before moving down to the next one.
    She continued to walk slowly across the parking lot and into the school yard. “You better walk faster,” she told her feet, “so I’m not late.”
    She walked so slowly she was almost walking backward. On all sides, kids hurried past her to their classrooms, until, at last, she was the only one still outside. Then the bell rang.
    “See?” she said. “Now I’m late.”
    She stood outside Mrs. Hardlick’s door. She stood outside Mrs. Hardlick’s door. She stood outside Mrs. Hardlick’s door.
    She opened it.
    “…the capital of—” Mrs. Hardlick broke offin the middle of her sentence when she saw Angeline. She watched her walk to her seat in the back of the room. Everyone stared at her, just as she knew they would. “You’re late,” said Mrs. Hardlick.
    She didn’t say anything. She saw Christy Mathewson give her a tiny wave, and that made her feel a little better.
    “All right,” said Mrs. Hardlick, “let’s see if we can get through the rest of the day without your disrupting my class again, shall we?” Mrs. Hardlick looked down at her book. “Where was I? Okay. Who can tell me the capital of France?”
    Nobody raised a hand. Angeline knew the answer but she didn’t dare raise her hand.
    “Oh, come on class,” urged Mrs. Hardlick. “What’s the capital of Paris—er, I mean what’s the capital of France?”
    Still nobody raised a hand.
    “Geez!” thought Angeline. “She even told them the answer!”
    Philip finally raised his hand. “Chicago?” he tried.
    “No, I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Hardlick, “but that was a good guess. Chicago is the capital of Illinois.”
    Springfield was the capital of Illinois, but Angeline knew better than to tell that to Mrs. Hardlick.
    Judy Martin raised her hand. “Cleveland?” she tried. “Or Massachusetts?”
    “No, but those were both very excellent choices, Judy,” said Mrs. Hardlick. “It shows you’re thinking. Cleveland is the capital of Ohio and Massachusetts is a state.”
    Columbus was the capital of Ohio.
    Finally Mrs. Hardlick proudly told the class that the capital of France was Paris. “Write that down in your notebooks so you don’t forget.”
    Angeline realized something she knew all along. Mrs. Hardlick liked it when the class gave wrong answers. Mrs. Hardlick liked to be able to give the right answer