Free The Divorce Express by Paula Danziger

saying things like “I love hot dogs . . . . What’s wrong with processed cheese? . . . So what if potato chips have a little grease?”
    “Any suggestions besides the things that Phoebe told us they did at her old school?” Rosie picks up a notebook and pen.
    “Why don’t we have a commando raid on the kitchen, take it over, and make our own meals?” Sarah practices a ballet step as she talks.
    “Illegal,” Rosie says. “We want to stay within the law.”
    “I thought of a new one.” I raise my hand, forgetting that we’re not in school. “I guess by now that most of you know I have this weird habit of rearranging letters in words so that they mean other things.”
    “Those are called anagrams,” Steve Gleason says, pushing his glasses back.
    “An A-plus for the Poindexter.” Pete waves a piece of cauliflower.
    Rosie shakes her head. “Yeah, you rearranged my name, and I ended up with I SORE. What a friend.”
    Abby stops making out with Harry long enough to call out, “See what our two names are when they are put together.”
    “Your two names together are going to spell out BABY if you aren’t careful.” Garbage Gut cradles his arms as if he’s got an infant in them.
    Harry makes an obscene gesture to Garbage Gut.
    Then he and Abby go back to making out.
    “Continue.” Rosie nods to me, trying to get back to the subject.
    “Well, I tried it with CAFETERIA and ended upwith several things.” Taking out my list, I read from it. “Here are some . . . I TEAR FACE . . . EAT FAR ICE . . . AFTER I, ACE.”
    “That would be good to use when someone cuts in front of the cafeteria line,” Sarah calls out, using a chair to practice leg extensions.
    “Better than flat tires, even,” Jill says, braiding Wendy’s hair.
    Garbage Gut does flat tires a lot. That’s when someone behind you steps on the back of your shoes and the shoes come off.
    I continue to read from the list. “I CEE A RAFT . . . I.E. FAT RACE . . . I.E. RAT FACE . . . FACE IT, EAR . . . I CARE, FEAT . . . .”
    “Not bad.” Pete Redding does his imitation of Mr. Morley, the math teacher. “But could you get to the point? Remember the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, Ms. Brooks. You’re taking the long cut.”
    “Okay. Listen to this one . . . CITE A FEAR. That’s it. We can write that on a piece of paper and everyone can tell what their worst fear is about the cafeteria.”
    “I like it,” Willow Smith says.
    Holly and Meredith agree. So do the other kids.
    Dave walks in the door. He’s out of breath. His blond hair is flopping in front of his brown eyes.
    I’d love to go over to him and brush the hair off his face but decide that would be a bit much.
    He walks through the crowd and sits down next to me. “Sorry I’m late. I had to do some errands before I could get the car to come over here.”
    Rosie looks at me and smiles.
    Jill says, “I’ve made up a list of committees to work on. Everyone sign up and get to work.”
    As people get up to look at the paper, Dave turns to me. “I have an idea too. I stopped at the library to get a copy of ‘Trees.’”
    “I figure you should know it by heart, since we have to sing it in assemblies all the time.”
    “No one pays attention to the stuff they make you memorize in school . . . . Look, let’s work together on it.”
    “Okay. So what’s the idea?” I really want to brush the hair out of his eyes.
    “You know how English teachers are always telling us that parodies make fun of an established work. Well, I think we should do one of ‘Trees’—and thenwe can get the whole school to sing it at an assembly when we’re supposed to do the school song.”
    “I love it,” I say. “Let’s get to work.”
    We pick up two pillows and go sit in a corner. Kids all over the room are working. Even though there’s a lot of joking, everyone’s serious, except maybe Garbage Gut. It’s interesting. In Woodstock a