Free Mostly Monty by Johanna Hurwitz Page A

inhaler out of his pocket. He put it in his mouth and breathed deeply. Of course, the kids sitting near him noticed at once.

    “What is that?” asked Cindy Green.
    “Is it something to eat?” asked Paul Freeman.

    Monty didn’t answer. He just shook his head and continued breathing deeply. He was relieved when Mrs. Meaney came over. She told the students to pay attention to their workbooks and not to Monty. Then she asked Cora Rose to accompany Monty to the nurse’s office.
    “Do you feel horrible?” asked Cora Rose. She had been in Monty’s kindergarten class last year.
    Monty shook his head. Actually, he was feeling much better already.
    “Do you think you are going to die?” asked Cora Rose.
    “Of course,” Monty responded, taking the inhaler away from his mouth. “Everyone is going to die someday. But not for a long, long, long time. Don’t you remember how our class rabbit died last year when we were in kindergarten? Everyone’s got to die sometime.”
    “Me too?” asked Cora Rose.
    “You too,” Monty told her. Then he felt sorry that he had said anything. Cora Rose began to look upset. In fact, she started to cry.
    At that moment, they reached the nurse’s office. The nurse’s name was Mrs. Lamb.
    “Good morning,” she greeted the two first-graders. She looked at Cora Rose. “Don’t you feel well?” she asked her. “Where does it hurt you, honey?”
    “Monty says I’m going to die,” Cora Rose reported, sniffing back her tears.
    “But I told her not for a long, long, long time,” Monty protested.

     
    It took a couple of minutes for Mrs. Lamb to sort it all out. Cora Rose was not sick. And by now, neither was Monty. His slight asthma attack had passed. Mrs. Lamb assured them that they were both healthy and going to live for a long, long, long time. Then the two students returned to their class.
    Later that same day, when the children were taking turns reading aloud, Mrs. Meaney complimented Monty on his reading ability. “You are an excellent reader,” she told him. “I’ll have to find a more difficult book for you.”
    Monty beamed with pride. He had learned to read all by himself during the summer.
    He looked forward to the following week, when the class was scheduled to go to the school library. Last year, when the students were in kindergarten, they went once a week to hear stories. This year, they would hear stories, and they could borrow books to take home too. Monty loved reading, and he was looking forward to this new privilege.
    A week later, when they went to the library, Mr. Harris, the school librarian, showed the students where the picture books were shelved. “This is the section where you will find the books for your age,” he told the first-graders. “You may even recognize some of the stories that I’ve read to you. Today you can take one home and ask your parents to read it to you.”
    At once, the students began looking through the books. Not Monty. He didn’t want a storybook with pictures. He wanted a book with lots of information in it. During the summer, when he went to the public library, he had learned about the special numbers on the information books that arranged them by subject. He knew where to find science books, so this was a chance to pick out one of those. Mr. Harris didn’t say the students must borrow a storybook, but he hadn’t said anything about looking at the other books. Timidly, Monty walked across the room.
    He looked for the books about animals in the 500 section of the shelves.
    Mr. Harris saw him and came over. “I don’t think you’ll like these,” he said. “They are much too difficult for a first-grader. They’ll be waiting for you in a couple of years when you can read them.”
    Monty swallowed hard. He took a deep breath and reached for the inhaler in his pocket just in case he needed it. He felt his eyes filling with tears. He didn’t want to cry like a baby, but he knew he could read these hard books. Reading was