Free Burning Questions of Bingo Brown by Betsy Byars Page B

world.
    Can I be ill?
    Can the fact that I have to spend the night with Billy Wentworth bring on a genuine illness?
    Will my mom believe it is a genuine illness or will she claim I am faking?
    Would she realize the seriousness of my not wanting to go to the pencil sharpener?
    Will I stop wanting to do other things?
    Will I end up without even the desire for burning questions?
    He did not get to finish, because Mr. Markham was asking for their attention.
    “I see that some of you are through. Several of you have even attempted to hand in your papers.”
    He stood up and walked around to the front of his desk.
    “Now, gang, here’s part two of the test. I am going to ask you to grade the tests yourself. Put your hands down. Yes, you will grade your own test. No, I do not want you to exchange papers. I am putting you on your honor to grade your own paper. If you are capable of making up your own test, you are capable of grading it.
    “When you are finished, you will hold up your graded paper so that I can record the grade. Please make your A’s large enough for me to read.
    “Now are there questions? Yes, George.”
    “Can we make up all our tests from now on?”
    “We’ll see.”
    All day long Bingo had a hard time concentrating. Every time Billy Wentworth shifted in his seat, Bingo steeled himself for something like, “I hear you’re spending the night with me, Worm Brain.”
    “Yes, I hope you don’t mind,” he would answer.
    “Well, I do mind, so what are you going to do about it,” he would say.
    Then he would say, “I—”
    “Bingo.”
    “What? What?”
    Bingo looked up. School was over. The classroom was empty except for Melissa and him.
    Melissa said, “Hi.”
    “Hi.”
    “I’ve been worried about you all day.”
    “Have you?”
    “Yes, you didn’t go to the pencil sharpener even one time.”
    “I didn’t really feel like it.”
    “Is it because of what I told you?”
    “What?”
    “About Mr. Mark?”
    “No, no, it wasn’t that.”
    “I was worried because—you know—like sometimes you tell somebody something that worries you and it makes you feel better but it makes them feel worse, and I was worried that that was what I did to you.”
    “No, you didn’t make me feel worse. You make me feel better.”
    “Really? You mean that?”
    “Yes.”
    “Anyway, I found out Dawn’s last name.”
    “You did?”
    “It’s Monohan. I asked Mr. Mark and he told me.”
    “Oh.”
    “So now I don’t know whether to call her up or not. I’m really worried about Mr. Mark. If I knew she was his girlfriend, I’d feel better, wouldn’t you?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Because if she’s his girlfriend, she would be helping him through things, and if she’s not his girlfriend, then she wouldn’t.”
    “Yes.”
    “So what do you think? Should I call or not?”
    “I think you should call.”
    “Really? You aren’t just saying that because you know I want to call?”
    “No.”
    “Thank you, Bingo. I’ll let you know what I find out. Bye.”
    “Bye.”
    Bingo got up slowly. Now he knew he was sick. He didn’t even enjoy mixed-sex conversations anymore. With his head hanging, he started for home.

Journal II
    “M R. MARK?”
    “Yes, Bingo.”
    “What are we supposed to do when our journals are full?”
    “Well, let’s worry about that when they are full, all right?”
    “Mine is.”
    Mr. Mark looked up in surprise. “Your journal is full, Bingo?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did you use just one side of the paper?”
    “Both sides.”
    “Both sides are full?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Of writing?”
    “Well, there are some illustrations.”
    “But the journal is full?”
    “Yes, sir. It’s been full for three days, but I didn’t have anything to write, so I wasn’t worried about it.”
    “Is anybody else’s journal full?”
    No hands went up.
    “Is anybody else’s journal halfway full?”
    No hands.
    “A quarter full?”
    Melissa put up her hand. Bingo glanced at her with