Free Judy's Journey by Lois Lenski

houses, they think they’re better’n we are. We’ll show ’em!”
    The children stopped calling names and began to play games, with Bessie their leader. Bessie had more ideas and more initiative than all the others put together.
    Judy stood off on one side and watched. Then she slipped over to the gate. She didn’t like this school, after all. She decided to go home. Suddenly she turned and ran. Hearing footsteps behind her, she ran harder than ever. Then she felt a jerk on her arm and there was Bessie.
    â€œWhere you think you’re goin’?” panted Bessie.
    â€œHome,” said Judy, frowning. “Don’t like your ole school.”
    â€œYes, you do,” replied Bessie. “Them kids don’t mean a thing. You gotta get used to ’em. You gotta talk back to ’em, to shut ’em up.”
    â€œWhat did you call ’em?” asked Judy.
    â€œCrackers—they’re mostly Crackers, born in Georgia or Florida. There’s other kids from all over everywhere, too. They all shut up when I call ’em Crackers. You come on back with me.”
    Judy’s heart sank. For the first time she was homesick for Alabama and the cotton fields and the little country school on Plumtree Creek. But Bessie marched her back to the school-ground. When the bell rang, Judy stayed close behind Bessie. Bessie took her in her own room, the Fifth Grade, and put her down beside her in her own seat. There were no empty seats.
    The teacher, Miss Garvin, gave her one look and said: “Another new girl. From a crop family, I suppose. She won’t know a thing.”
    She asked Judy her name and where she came from. Judy told her.
    â€œIf this class gets any larger,” said Miss Garvin, “I don’t know where we’ll put the children. Where do you live?”
    â€œOn the … drainage … right next to Bessie Harmon,” said Judy.
    â€œDirty bean-picker! Lives in a dirty ditch,” whispered a boy behind her, loud enough for everybody to hear.
    His taunts made Judy angry, and her shyness left her. She jumped up and faced the boy. “If you had to carry all your water, you’d be dirty yourself,” she cried. “Plenty people in the United States don’t have bathtubs with a million gallons of hot water to wash in.” The words of the fortune-teller at the Alabama carnival came back to her. “Circus and carnival people don’t have bathtubs. They travel around like folks who harvest the crops. They wash in buckets and keep clean, and so do we.”
    The boy in the seat behind her was scared now. He hid his face in a book. Judy sat down. She was trembling all over.
    â€œThat’s tellin’ ’em!” whispered Bessie.
    â€œHot temper—no self-control,” said Miss Garvin in a low voice. “Chip on her shoulder like all the rest.”
    Bessie handed Judy a Fifth Reader. “Study it,” she said.

    A shadow fell on the book and Miss Garvin was pointing to a sentence at the top of the page. “Well, let’s see if you can read,” she said.
    Judy rose unsteadily to her feet. The words on the page danced up and down. She could hardly see them. It had been so long since she had looked at words in a book. Bessie jerked her dress and said, “Read it out loud.”
    The word refused to stand still. Judy’s hands shook so she nearly dropped the book. Miss Garvin lost patience and turned back to the first page. “Read that ,” she said, pointing.
    When no response came from Judy’s lips, Miss Garvin stared at her coldly. “How old did you say you are?”
    â€œTen,” whispered Judy.
    â€œJust as I thought. About ready for Third Grade,” said Miss Garvin.
    â€œBut I finished the Third Reader at home and read part of the Fourth,” Judy burst out.
    â€œDown the hall, last door on your left, Third Grade, Miss Norris, teacher.” Miss Garvin opened the