Free Belle Teal by Ann Martin

“I HATE VERNON.” I pick up my pencil and erase that. “Hate just creates more hate,” Mama said. And she is right.

O n the morning of October 17, I wake up as a thought springs into my head: Just two weeks to Halloween, and I don’t have any idea about my costume. Every year I make my own. A lot of kids buy theirs. I have seen the stacks of costume boxes on the shelf near the cash register at Sherman’s in Coker Creek. On each box is a picture of the costume — Frankenstein, a gypsy, a devil, a cat, a princess, a skeleton — and inside is a plastic mask or a cloth hood and a little suit you can slip into. Gran says we can’t be paying for foolishness like that, and I am glad. The fun of Halloween is dreaming up a costume and then figuring out how to make it. Last year I was a caboose and I turned a cardboard box into a train car and wore it around my middle. Gran said, “My land, Belle Teal. I have never seen anything like it before.”
    At lunch I ask Clarice and Darryl if they know what they are going to wear to our school Halloween party. Clarice says, “I have no idea. Maybe I’ll be a fox.”
    â€œHow are you going to be a fox?” I ask her.
    Clarice shrugs. Our fourth-grade teacher wrote on Clarice’s report card that Clarice needs to work on carrying out her ideas.
    Darryl, he looks uncomfortable. “I’m not sure I’m going to come to the party.”
    â€œBut Darryl, you have to come. It’s the best school party of the year,” I tell him. “Except for the Christmas program.”
    Darryl is fiddling with his straw paper. “It’s at night, isn’t it?”
    â€œOf course,” Clarice replies. “You can’t have a Halloween party in the daylight.”
    â€œNo . . .”
    We finish our lunches and go out to the playground. Instead of working on City Lights, Clarice and me spend all of recess telling Darryl how wonderful the Halloween party is. The three of us just huddle up and talk. By the time the bell rings and we are standing on line, I think we have pretty much convinced Darryl to go. “I could be a fireman,” he says. “I even have a red fireman’s hat.”
    So that is the good thing. The bad thing is that as Clarice and me are about to get on our bus that afternoon, Vernon calls us that name again.
    The way he hisses the words makes them sound even dirtier than they already are.
    A funny look travels across Clarice’s face. Then she marches up the steps of the bus and says to Bernette as we walk by, “Belle Teal is coming home with me this afternoon, so you can skip driving up the hill.”
    Bernette looks awful relieved, not to mention HRH, who has overheard Clarice. But I grab the back of Clarice’s jacket and say, “What are you doing?”
    When Clarice doesn’t answer me right away, I can tell this is one of those things that she is not sure how she’s going to carry it out.
    â€œYou’ll see,” she says as she flumps down in a seat. Bernette drives straight into Coker Creek, and at the second stop, Clarice, me, Chas, Vernon, and two other kids get off. The door of the bus has barely closed when Clarice plants herself in front of Vernon and just stands there.
    â€œWhat,” says Vernon.
    â€œSay it again,” says Clarice. “Call me and Belle Teal what you’ve been calling us.”
    I am shocked. I have never seen Clarice do something like this.
    Vernon allows a small smile to twitch his mouth up. “Why? Are you going to fight me?” he asks. He raises his fists to Clarice’s face.
    Clarice looks uncertain. So I step in. “Only if you want to fight a girl,” I tell him.
    Now Vernon looks uncertain. He drops his fists, but he says, “Okay. Niggerloversniggerloversniggerlovers.”
    â€œMy father —” Clarice starts to say, but her face just crumples.
    I am feeling all cool and calm.