The Daring Escape of Beatrice and Peabody (19 page)

Susan is pulling all the papers and crayons and her colouring books out of her desk drawer because she cannot find her glasses. Ruth Ellen skip-hops over to help her and Jonathan uses the time to go over by the coat hooks and look in the trash bucket. A quiver has started in my belly.

‘No, no, no.’ I go over and pull on Susan’s arm. ‘We are late. I have a race to run.’

Ruth Ellen pulls my arm. ‘Bee, she can’t watch without her glasses.’

My belly is beginning to do more than quiver. It is rolling over. My ears pop, ready to explode. ‘Okay, everyone help Susan find her glasses. But we have to hurry. Francine is outside already.’

Miss Healy looks all sympathetic about my situation. I do appreciate that about her: how she seems to know how I am feeling about things. ‘Did you look by the blanket where you were reading?’ Without waiting for anyone to answer, she hurries over and picks up the blanket, shakes it, and Susan’s glasses tumble out.

Of course then we have to listen to Susan telling Miss
Healy she lubs her and Miss Healy has to tell Jonathan to put the eggshells back in the trash. I blow my hair out of my eyes in a loud wet sputter, sounding just like Pauline. I do not want to slow myself down by getting all upset, so I count to ten.

Francine is already at the start line. She gives me the
stare-down
when we walk up. Susan reaches for Ruth Ellen’s hand. Jonathan pushes closer to me.

‘Don’t worry,’ I whisper. ‘She is just trying to make me feel bad so I won’t run fast. Don’t pay attention to her.’

I tell everyone to go to their spectator spots, just like we practised yesterday. Jonathan and Miss Healy are at the start, Thomas and Robert are at the hopscotch squares and Susan and Ruth Ellen are near the end.

Miss Healy steps up to the start line. ‘We want a good, clean race. No cheating.’ She looks longer at Francine than at me. ‘Ready?’

I nod. Jonathan is scraping a stick in the grass. I think he is looking for a worm. ‘Jonathan,’ I say.

‘Get set! Go!’ screams Miss Healy, and I do not have any more time to be thinking about Jonathan.

Francine is very fast. Her legs are long like a colt and when she stretches them out she sails over the grass. I pump my legs hard and we are neck and neck until we get to the hopscotch squares, where Robert and Thomas are jumping up and down and waving their arms and yelling
like I am Jesse Owens. This helps me quite a bit. I move ahead.

Francine is on my tail in two seconds and we are crossing over our dirt playground with me only a foot in front.

I feel her breathing down my neck. I force myself to be fast like LaVerne and not slow like Cordelia. Then I make myself stop thinking about pigs. Francine edges closer. She is close enough to spit on me.

I check to make sure I am not bouncing and that my arms are bent at the right angle, and push on. My work boots slap at the grass as we move off the dirt and head back to the finish line. All along the rest of the way, kids are lined up screaming. The boys from the ball field and the girls who jump rope and the ones who hopscotch and Francine’s friends are all jumping and hollering.

It’s no wonder Francine gets past me, there’s so many kids cheering for her. She glances behind to see where I am. Robert and Thomas are not cheering me on, they are dive-bombing. It looks like Jonathan might be peeing on the tree. My lungs are aching and my blood is pounding in my head and my legs feel heavy like I cannot lift them up any more.

But then I see Ruth Ellen and Susan up ahead and they are screaming, ‘
Bee!
’ and I pump my legs faster, faster, faster and I find my second wind and I fly just the tiniest bit ahead of Francine.

Susan jumps up and down and she lets go of Ruth Ellen’s hand and rushes onto the track and tries to grab me. ‘I lub you, I lub you,’ she says.

Kids everywhere along the racecourse are hooting and hollering and jumping up and down over Susan running on the track and trying to hug me. ‘I lub you,’ she calls, ‘I lub you,’ and she is reaching for me and grabbing hold of my arm.

‘
Susan!
’ I yell, trying to shake her off.

She doesn’t pay any attention, she keeps holding on and I scream for Ruth Ellen and search for Miss Healy. Already I am way behind.

And then Susan’s glasses fall off and she trips on me as I try and not step on the glasses and I step on her foot and we are like a snowball, rolling and rolling until we stop.

Susan wails a high painful shriek and holds her foot. I hold my head, feeling dizzy and seeing stars spatter all over the grass.

I pull myself up just in time to see Francine sprint ahead and cross the finish line, her arms raised. I let my head fall back on the dirt. Ruth Ellen hurries over to Susan and then Jonathan runs up and pats me on the head. I don’t care if anyone sees that I am crying.

Miss Healy has lifted her skirts and is running toward us. She looks me in the eye and tells me how sorry she is that things worked out this way and then she has a look
at Susan’s foot. She lifts Susan in her arms and speeds off for the school. Ruth Ellen helps me up and I lean on her, and then we all follow Miss Healy.

Francine hardly notices that we are leaving. She is too busy being cheered and getting patted on the back.

Susan’s foot gets wrapped in a white plaster cast and she is back after a few days. We all go back to standing on the dirt because the principal came to our class and pulled Miss Healy out in the hall for a discussion as soon as he found out about the race and about Susan’s foot. He slammed the door so we couldn’t hear.

We showed him. We pressed our ears to the wood:

‘What in the world were you thinking?’ His voice is low and gruff and irritated like I am when I am trying to explain chickens to Peabody.

‘We were having a race.’

‘Together? You put the children together?’

‘Phooey.’

‘What?’ The principal is sounding hot under the collar. ‘What did you say?’

‘They don’t need to be separated. It’s not right. They don’t get half of what the other children get.’

We all look at each other. We have to cover our mouths because we are about to giggle and spoil everything. It is hard to do. I am so proud of Miss Healy for standing up for us like this. I am already letting my mind run off and
picture us getting the shady ball field and having the time of our lives and Francine and her friends standing on the hot dirt.

But then the principal answers. ‘I know, Miss Healy, that you do not have much experience teaching children like these, so I will overlook your recklessness. But it is very important that they do not mix.’

‘But why?’ Miss Healy is asking.

‘Because they get teased. Isn’t that obvious?’ Then the principal is saying that if she can’t obey a few simple rules, she’ll have to pack her satchel and leave and not come back.

Susan starts boohooing. She doesn’t like yelling, and Ruth Ellen wraps her in her arms so no one can hear. The principal is making quite a noisy spectacle of himself out there in the hall. Ruth Ellen whispers to Susan how it will be okay, not to worry. Ruth Ellen is very good about things like that. She knows how to make you feel better.

After that all I can do is watch Francine gloat. It is very painful.

A few days later, Jonathan finds a dead sparrow by the bushes. He carries it over and Ruth Ellen screams and Susan sobs and buries her face in her hands.

Jonathan pats the sparrow softly, waiting for it to sing or maybe fly. The bird’s neck is crooked and a wing is bent backward.

‘Oh, Jonathan,’ I say, stepping forward. ‘It can’t sing any more. Look, it can’t move.’

I touch the bird. Its feathers are soft and warm from the sun beating down. It is very still. Jonathan tries to put the sparrow into his pocket.

‘No,’ I say softly, showing him how to cradle the bird in his hands. ‘We need to bury it.’

Miss Healy suggests a funeral and tells us we can dig the grave on our next recess. We give this job to Thomas and Robert. We find a rusted old shovel in the janitor’s closet.

Jonathan leads the way, carrying the sparrow in the old cigar box that held all our broken crayons when Mrs Spriggs was in charge. Ruth Ellen and Susan wrapped the little bird in tissues, but not before Susan cried tears over all the feathers.

We follow behind, and Thomas and Robert carry the shovel. Miss Healy comes last, carrying the Bible. Francine and her friends are already playing hopscotch when we come out.

‘Over there,’ I say, pointing to the spot by the bushes where Jonathan found the bird. ‘Maybe that is close to his home.’

When the hole is dug, I get down on my knees and help Jonathan set the box deep in the ground.

‘Now you can say something nice about the bird,’ I tell him.

Jonathan stands back, his eyes brimming. He looks about to say something and then chokes. He does this twice, and then Miss Healy pulls him to her and lets him cry into her shoulder.

‘Bee? Can you say something about the bird?’ I think back to my mama and papa’s funeral to see if I can remember anything that the preacher said, but all I remember are the angel statues.

Jonathan looks up at the sky for a moment and then whispers, ‘I love birds because they are music,’ and we all stand around thinking on that.

Susan sniffles quite a bit and wants to lub all over Ruth Ellen. I stand up and wipe the dirt off my knees and glare at Francine when she walks past. I know she is wondering what we are doing over by the bushes.

I stay after school to help Miss Healy put all the new books she bought for us on the shelves. There are more than two dozen, all shapes and sizes. We find just the right spot for
Heidi
. Holy moly, our classroom is a library.

Then Miss Healy pulls a paper bag from the bottom drawer of her desk. It is filled with reeds. ‘What do you think if we tried making baskets in this class? I think that learning to do things with our hands can be very relaxing when we are worn out from all the schoolwork.’

She is smiling at me and not looking like a horse at all. I do like her way of looking at things. Miss Healy has a heart full of kindness for children. She knows all about what we have to put up with.

We separate the reeds so the long pieces are in one pile and the shorter ones in another. We put the piles in two baskets and carry them over by the window. When we finish, Miss Healy goes down to the office because the principal wants to talk with her and I close the door to our classroom and walk outside.

I am not expecting Francine and her friends to be
waiting outside for me, but here they are against the building. The cigar box is flipped upside down in the dirt. The dug-up sparrow lies at Francine’s feet.

‘You’re such a loser, Bee,’ Francine sings softly, tapping at the sparrow with the toe of her work boot. ‘You look like crap and you run like crap.’ She kicks the little sparrow from one foot to another.

The bird is covered with dirt from being rolled around, and now the other wing folds at a funny angle. Francine kicks it again.

Sparks inside me ignite. ‘Leave it alone,’ I say, pushing Francine as hard as I can against the building.

It is not hard enough. ‘You little retard,’ she says, pushing me back, and I fall in the dirt beside the cigar box. I look frantically for Miss Healy, or anyone else. But I am alone. Only Francine’s friends are with us, the one with the thick glasses and the one with the ribbons in her hair. They stand like soldiers, waiting for their general’s call. Betsy stands off to the side with a smaller girl, who is crying softly.

Francine looks at me on the ground and laughs.

‘What’s the matter, Bee,’ she says after a bit of silence, ‘you fall out of the ugly tree? That must be what happened, and then you hit every branch on the way down. Isn’t that right?’ She laughs at her own joke.

‘Shut up,’ I say. ‘Shut up. Just shut up.’ I jump up, suck up spit and shoot it at Francine’s face. My aim is true.
Francine screams, ‘Grab her, grab her!’ as she wipes the spit dripping down her cheek. ‘You idiots, hold her.’

One of the girls grabs my arm, but I yank it away. Francine kicks the smaller girl, who isn’t helping, and she falls to the ground. She looks up at me, her eyes tearing, and then Betsy helps her up.

I try to jump away. Francine grabs me.

‘Against the school,’ she yells. ‘Hold her.’ I try to break free, but there are three girls against one. They hold my arm up to the side of the building and then they grab my other arm and I am the butterfly Eldora pinned to a piece of cardboard, its wings fanned so everyone can have a good look.

I want to go home. I want Mrs Potter and Mrs Swift and my high bed. I want to hide under the covers and let Peabody hide with me. I want Cordelia to nuzzle my neck because I am feeling awful bad about everything.

Francine comes closer. I see the mad in her face. ‘How can you even stand to be alive, Bee? You wreck this world for the rest of us who aren’t stained all over our face.’

I squirm, but I can’t break free.

Then she raises her hand and holds it in the air a foot from my face and I turn my head as far away as I can and wait, already wincing, a moth in a web.

And then it comes: a wave of pain against my diamond. My head hits the schoolhouse. I stumble as the ground rises to my knees and I slip to the dirt. I hear Betsy yelling
at Francine and then everything goes dark.

Many minutes later, when I finally pull myself up, I am alone. Even the sparrow is gone.

I take three days to plan my revenge. While I am hiding under my quilt with Peabody tucked up beside me, waiting for my diamond to stop aching so, I decide that with Francine, I will go all out.

I do not tell Mrs Potter or Mrs Swift because I do not want them to change my mind.

On Friday I wait for Francine to walk past as she goes inside after recess. When she gets up to me, I step in her way. I have rehearsed the whole thing over and over in my mind, plus practised with Peabody, and that helps my shaking legs quite a bit.

I pause for a moment while all her friends crowd around so they can hear everything I have to say.

I look Francine square in the face. ‘How’s your daddy?’ I say it sharp like I am a rail spike. ‘Heard from him lately?’

Ruth Ellen gasps behind me, but I hammer on. ‘Yes, we hear your daddy ran off with a showgirl, isn’t that right?’ Ruth Ellen is kicking me with her good leg. I turn back and scowl.

Francine turns beet-coloured and backs up. I am glad she knows what shame feels like. Betsy moves away.

Already, Francine’s eyes are tearing up. My revenge is sweet like sugar frosting and I hardly feel Ruth Ellen yanking on my sleeve. ‘And what about that dress you always wear? Did your papa buy it because he felt so bad about running off?’ She looks at her friends, who are trying to get around her and into the school. ‘Is that why you wear the same dress
all the time
?’

I go on and on because I have tapped a well inside me, and it is bottomless and endless. I don’t stop until Francine runs crying into the school.

Ruth Ellen twists my other sleeve and pulls me around so she can look in my face. ‘My mama told us that secret so we would be kind.’ She flings the words in my face. ‘How could you do that, Bee?’

‘What do you mean? After all Francine did, you want me to be kind? And forget?’ I back up and stare at her. ‘I don’t think so, Ruth Ellen.’

‘You went behind my mama’s back and told a secret she told just to us. And now that’s going to get my mama into trouble. You are not the only one with pain in your life, Bee.’

Then she drops my sleeve and skip-hops away like she can’t get out of my life fast enough.