Free Isabelle and Little Orphan Frannie: The Isabelle Series, Book Three by Constance C. Greene Page B

a very sensible person,” she said.
    â€œSince when?” Herbie sneered. “Who says?”
    â€œMrs. Stern, that’s who,” Isabelle replied.
    â€œWhat she know, an old lady like that?”
    â€œPlenty. She’s very smart and you know it. Besides, old people know more than young people because they’ve been around longer.”
    â€œTell it to the Marines,” Herbie snorted.
    Behind Mrs. Esposito’s back, Isabelle made another grab for Herbie. In retaliation, he bit her on the hand.
    â€œIf it gets infected, I might have to have a rabies shot!” Isabelle howled.
    Herbie leaned close to get a good look.
    â€œI didn’t even break the skin,” he said. “Too bad my teeth aren’t sharper. Besides, you wouldn’t get a rabies shot, dumbhead. You’d get a tetanus shot.” Herbie was an authority on shots. His mother was on the nervous side, and whenever Herbie so much as looked a little green around the gills, she dragged him to the doctor. Herbie said if there was one thing he didn’t want to be when he grew up it was a doctor.
    â€œAll those little squirts being dragged into the office when they get their head caught in a swinging door,” he said darkly. “Who needs it?”
    The bell rang at that instant. Mrs. Esposito said, “Class, come to order. Everyone sit in his or her seat. I’ll warn you now, I’ve had a tough day and won’t put up with any more nonsense.”
    Mary Eliza Shook waved her hand, wanting to be heard.
    â€œYes, Mary Eliza,” Mrs. Esposito said wearily.
    â€œBut, Mrs. Esposito,” said Mary Eliza, “this is morning. The day is still in front of us all. We’ve got a long way to go.”
    â€œYou’re telling me,” said Mrs. Esposito.

EIGHTEEN
    Next morning when Isabelle got to school, a burly youngish man was sitting on the edge of Mrs. Esposito’s desk, swinging his leg, acting completely at home there.
    â€œWhere’s Mrs. Esposito?” Isabelle asked.
    â€œNot here, that’s for sure,” he said, grinning at her. “No, seriously, she’s out sick. I’m the substitute.”
    â€œWe never had a man substitute before,” Isabelle said, looking him over.
    â€œYeah, I’m one of a kind,” he said.
    Isabelle sat down at her desk and checked him out. She noticed the part in his hair started about an inch up from his left ear and his hair went up and over his scalp to the other ear in carefully arranged strands. Idly, she wondered what would happen if he got caught in a high wind.
    The only substitute teachers they’d had before were women who wore big black shoes and walked slowly and looked as if they might burst out crying at the drop of a hat. The class usually got totally out of control when one of these substitutes showed up. They raced around the room, throwing things and shouting until the substitute often did burst out crying. Isabelle always felt bad when that happened, even though she’d contributed in large part to the general mayhem.
    This guy was different, though. He knew what was what. There’d be no nonsense with him in charge.
    That’s what he told them. When the bell rang and everyone was seated, he introduced himself.
    â€œRay Rooney here,” he said. “I’m not so long outa fifth grade myself, kids, so no nonsense, okay? I know my way around. I know a substitute means you guys take off and do your thing. Not today, kids. That’s not what I’m here for, right? I’m here to give you guys the word on English, arithmetic, social studies, you name it.” He got up from the desk and strolled up and down the aisles.
    â€œI’ve got this terrific memory,” he said. “Once I see a face, I never forget that face.” He stared hard at Isabelle, who wriggled in her seat. “Also,” he said, “I never forget a person’s name. Okay, now I’m going to