Yours Turly, Shirley Page 3

  Jackie beamed. She understood exactly what “She’s doing beautifully” meant.

  Shirley beamed, too.

  As they walked away from school that day, Shirley said to Jackie, “You know, the next step is for you to make friends.”

  “Friends?” repeated Jackie, looking up at Shirley.

  “Yeah,” replied Shirley. “You need a few. Everyone does.”

  Shirley didn’t have a best friend, but she was friendly with all the students in Mr. Bradley’s class, even Ned Hernandez. And she knew most of the kids in her neighborhood. Jackie, on the other hand, just had Shirley. She stuck with her every possible moment. She stuck with her so much, in fact, that Shirley herself hadn’t invited a friend over since Jackie had arrived. Mrs. Basini had tried inviting one or two of Jackie’s first-grade classmates over, but Jackie had been too new then. She hadn’t known enough English. The afternoons had been disasters. “We’ll just take this slowly,” Mrs. Basini had said. But she’d looked a bit annoyed.

  Now it’s time to do something, Shirley thought. Jackie is ready.

  And on the very next Saturday, she did do something.

  “Jackie,” she said, “today we are going to have a friend over for you.”

  “A friend to pray?” said Jackie, looking worried.

  “To play,” replied Shirley firmly. “It’ll be fun.” She took Jackie by the hand. “I promise.”

  Shirley picked up the phone and dialed Erin Bayard’s house. “Hi, Erin,” she said, “it’s me, Shirley. I was wondering if Sessie would like to come over to play with Jackie today … Oh … Oh … Oh, yeah? Well, that would be fine. Great, in fact. Do you want to come, too? We could bake cookies or something … Oh. Okay, no problem … Yeah, we’ll look for Sessie and Joan in a few minutes. Thanks … Okay, bye.”

  Shirley hung up the phone and turned to Jackie. She felt more grown-up and motherly than ever. “Guess what?” she said.

  By then, Jackie knew enough to say, “What?”

  “Two girls are going to come over to play with you. Their names are Sessie and Joan.”

  “What do we pray?” asked Jackie.

  “Don’t worry so much,” Shirley told her.

  Shirley had chosen Sessie Bayard (whose real name was Susan) because she was seven years old. Seven was a little younger than eight, which might be good for Jackie, but it wasn’t too much younger. Shirley had been hoping Erin could come over, too, since she was Shirley’s age and a lot of fun. But Erin was busy. However, Sessie was already playing with a friend, Joan Novak, and both Sessie and Joan were on their way over.

  “You guys could have a tea party,” Shirley told Jackie. “Or you could play dress-ups in Mom’s old clothes. Or maybe Mom will help you bake cookies or something.”

  “Dress-ups?” said Jackie. “Prease exprain to me ‘dress-ups.’”

  Shirley raised her eyebrows. There was so much Jackie didn’t know.

  As it turned out, she didn’t have to explain “dress-ups.” Sessie and Joan came over, each carrying a trunk full of Barbie dolls and clothes. They’d been playing Barbie over at the Bayards’ house, and they simply moved their game into Shirley and Jackie’s bedroom.

  Sessie opened her trunk, dumped it out, and began to arrange things. Joan did the same.

  “See?” said Sessie. “This is Barbie’s ballroom.”

  “Ballroom?” repeated Shirley. Her eyes glazed over. She hated dolls.

  But Jackie looked fascinated. She’d been sitting on her bed; now she moved to the floor. “And what is this?” she asked Joan, peering at her trunk.

  “Barbie’s movie theater,” replied Joan.

  “Oh,” said Jackie. “See Rady and Tramp. (Lady and the Tramp was the only movie Jackie had seen.)

  “Huh?” said Joan, but she didn’t look up from what she was doing.

  Jackie moved in to examine the Barbies and their clothes. She spotted a long, filmy, sequined evening gown. “Ooh, pretty!” she cried, touching it.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” asked Sessie. “It’s new. And Malibu Barbie is going to wear it to the dance tonight. Here, why don’t you dress her?” Sessie handed the Barbie and the dress to Jackie, whose eyes were shining.

  “Now the other Barbies have to get ready for the dance,” added Joan. She began pulling evening gowns and high heels out of the mess of clothes.

  “Barbie ready,” Jackie announced a few moments later.

  “Perfect,” said Sessie.

  “Now go to dance room!” Jackie cried.

  “Right!” said Joan and Sessie.

  The three girls walked their dressy Barbies over to Sessie’s trunk.

  “And the dance begins!” exclaimed Joan.

  Shirley left the room. How boring, she thought.

  Jackie didn’t even notice that Shirley had left.

  Shirley walked slowly downstairs. She turned on the TV set and watched cartoons for an hour. Then she went back to her bedroom and stood in the doorway.

  Jackie, Sessie, and Joan were still on the floor with the dolls. Jackie was saying, “And then, after zoo, they go to circus!”

  And Joan replied, “Yeah, and Barbie rides a wild horse—bareback!”

  Shirley tiptoed away. She found her mother in the den, writing letters. “Hey, Mom,” she said glumly, “I know what to get Jackie for Christmas.”

  “What?” replied Mrs. Basini absently.

  “Barbie stuff.”

  Shirley didn’t know why she suddenly felt so glum about Jackie and her friends. After all, she had wanted friends for Jackie. Maybe she just hadn’t expected Jackie to get along with the girls so quickly. Maybe she’d thought Jackie would need her a little more—like she’d needed her on her first night at the Basinis’, and during her first weeks in school.

  But Jackie didn’t seem to need Shirley at all just then.

  That was Saturday. On Monday, Shirley forgot all about feeling hurt. Monday was a great day, a red-letter day. It started when Shirley dropped Jackie off at her first-grade classroom. Jackie walked confidently inside. While she was taking off her coat and boots in front of her cubby, her teacher said to Shirley, “You ought to be proud of Jackie and proud of yourself.”

  “Why should I be proud of me?” asked Shirley.

  “Because,” said the teacher, “Jackie is making wonderful progress. Remarkable progress, actually. And you’ve been a big help to her. Do you know that she’s reading as well as the other children in the class? And they’ve been speaking and hearing English all their lives. Your mother told me about the flash cards you made, and the list of Jackie’s words you keep in your room. That’s really terrific. Jackie is a very smart girl, but she wouldn’t be doing so well without you.”

  Shirley smiled. Then she grinned. She wished her parents and Joe and Mr. Bradley could hear Jackie’s teacher.

  “Bye, Jackie!” Shirley called. “I gotta go now. I’ll pick you up this afternoon.”

  “Bye, Shirrey!” Jackie called back.

  Shirley also wished Jackie could pronounce her l’s. Jackie spoke with an accent. Oh, well. Shirley decided the accent would go away in time. She strode down the hall and into Mr. Bradley’s room.

  “Good morning, Shirley,” said Mr. Bradley pleasantly from behind his desk. “May I see you for a moment?”

  Uh-oh. Now what? What test had Shirley failed? What stupid mistake had she made?

  Shirley smiled. “Can’t you see me from over there?” she asked sweetly.

  “I meant, I’d like to ask you a question. In private,” said Mr. Bradley. He sounded somewhat less pleasant.

  Shirley put her notebook on her desk, and crossed the room to Mr. Bradley. “Yes?” she said. She bit her lip. She just knew this meant trouble.

  Mr. Bradley pointed to Shirley’s prizewinning Halloween poster that was still hanging on a wall of the classroom. “You did a great job with the poster,” he told her. Shirley nodded. “So I was wondering if you’d like to design a Thanksgiving bulletin board for the class.”r />
  “Design a bulletin board? Oh, I don’t—I mean, I couldn’t—” Shirley stammered.

  “You could work on it during recess if you like, or you could stay after school any day I’m here. If you need it, I could probably give you a little class time. What I’d like you to do is come up with an idea that really shows the spirit of Thanksgiving—just like you did with Halloween.

  “You can work on it by yourself,” Mr. Bradley continued, “or you can ask a few students to help you. But if you do, I want you in charge. By the way, I’ll give you extra credit for this.”

  Shirley’s mouth opened wide. She was sure it had opened so wide her chin was resting on the floor. She made an effort to close it.

  “What do you say?” asked Mr. Bradley.

  “I say yes!” Shirley exclaimed. She could hardly believe what was happening. Mr. Bradley liked her work. He trusted her … He was going to give her extra credit.

  “Great,” said Mr. Bradley. “Let me know what materials you need, and if you want anyone to help you.”

  “Okay,” agreed Shirley. “I think I want to work alone, though.”

  Shirley walked slowly back to her desk. Should she show the first Thanksgiving? Should she show Thanksgiving today? She tried to think how she would explain Thanksgiving to Jackie. Maybe that would help her decide what to do.

  Shirley was deep in thought—but when the bell rang, she sat up straight and paid attention to Mr. Bradley. After all, both he and Jackie’s teacher seemed to think she was responsible and helpful, and Shirley wanted to prove that they were right.

  During social studies that morning, Shirley noticed that Ned Hernandez’s underwear was showing. But she didn’t jump up and shout, “I see London, I see France, I see Ned’s underpants!” She didn’t even pass a note about it to anyone. Getting laughs was nice, but getting praise from teachers seemed better just then. And jumping up and shouting was not going to earn Shirley any praise.

  When Mr. Bradley made the mistake of saying, “I’m now going to pass out …” Shirley kept her mouth shut—even though she knew her classmates were looking at her, waiting for her to call for the nurse and smelling salts.

  During math class, Shirley stared hard at the special work sheet Mr. Bradley set before her. The first problem read: Two dinosaurs meet on the street. Each one has four feet, and each foot has five toes. How many dinosaur toes are there altogether?

  Shirley started to write “Plenty,” but she changed her mind. Instead she drew a picture of two dinosaurs with four feet each and five toes on each foot. Then she counted the toes. Forty! That really was plenty, but all she wrote in the answer blank was 40.

  Shirley finished the rest of the work sheet. She didn’t raise her hand for help, or call out, “Lunchtime!” when the bell rang, even though she knew Ned Hernandez expected her to. And she thought she’d gotten most of the answers right—maybe all of them.

  After recess, Mr. Bradley asked to see her again. Shirley walked over to his desk.

  Mr. Bradley didn’t say a word. He just held up her math paper. A gold star and a big red 90 were on the top. “Only one wrong, Shirley!” said Mr. Bradley. “I’m really proud of you. This is fantastic!”

  Shirley practically fainted. “Could I take this home with me and show it to my parents tonight?” she asked. “Otherwise, they’ll never believe it.”

  “Of course,” replied Mr. Bradley.

  Shirley waited until after dinner before she showed the paper to her parents. The dishes had been cleared away, and Mr. and Mrs. Basini were in the living room. Mr. Basini was grading papers. Mrs. Basini was reading Make Way for Ducklings to Jackie.

  Shirley entered the room.

  “Ahem,” she said.

  Everyone looked at her.

  Shirley held up her math sheet. “Ta-dah!” she cried. “Ninety percent! Only one wrong.”

  “Good for you,” said Mrs. Basini. “I knew you could do it.”

  “So did I, peanut!” said Shirley’s father. “That is fabulous!” He smiled at Shirley and she smiled back.

  “That’s not all,” Shirley went on. She told her family about the Thanksgiving bulletin board and the extra credit.

  “What is Thanksgiving?” asked Jackie.

  Shirley and her parents were trying to explain when the phone rang.

  “I’ll get it!” cried Shirley. She flew into the kitchen. “Hello, Basinis’,” she said. “Joe? Joe! Hi! How are you?” Shirley leaned around the corner and yelled, “Hey, Mom and Dad, it’s Joe!” She stepped back into the kitchen. “When are you coming home?” she asked him. Without waiting for an answer, she told him about the math paper, the bulletin board, and the progress Jackie was making.

  “That’s super, kiddo. Really super,” said Joe. “I can’t wait to see the paper—and you, of course.”

  “And Jackie,” Shirley reminded him.

  “And Jackie.”

  “When will you be home?”

  “In one week.”

  “All right!”

  Shirley had so much to look forward to: her bulletin board, Joe, and all the things she still needed to teach Jackie.

  Chapter Four: December

  “WHAT DO YOU SAY we take a vote?” asked Mr. Bradley.

  “Yes! Yes!” cried Shirley’s classmates.

  It was December second. Shirley’s Thanksgiving bulletin board was about to come down, but no one wanted to see it go.

  Shirley gazed at her work of art. It was good and she knew it. She had decided to show two things in her display—how people get the food for the big meal, from harvesting it in the fields, to serving it at dinner; and how Thanksgiving has changed from the very first holiday to today. So the left side of her bulletin board showed the Indians and the Pilgrims planting seeds, the middle part showed farmers harvesting the fields and then trucks carrying the food to stores, and the right side of the bulletin board showed a modern family (which looked very much like Shirley, her parents, Joe, and Jackie) sitting down to their meal.

  Shirley had worked hard on the project. She had cut the figures out of construction paper and glued them together. She had made clouds out of cotton balls, and dirt out of coffee grounds. She had even pulled a desk up to the bulletin board and arranged a cornucopia on it, so that it looked as if the fruits and vegetables were spilling right out of her picture.

  Her classmates loved it, she had finished it on time, and Mr. Bradley had given her a big fat A+.

  But now it was December and Thanksgiving was over. When the students had come to school that morning and found Mr. Bradley starting to peel the figures off the board, they had protested. Finally Ned Hernandez had said, “I have an idea. Let’s name Shirley our Class Artist. She can make a new bulletin board every month.”

  And that was when Mr. Bradley had said, “What do you say we take a vote?”

  As soon as everyone arrived, they did just that.

  The vote was unanimous.

  Shirley Basini was named Class Artist for Mr. Bradley’s room.

  I better get thinking, Shirley told herself that morning. I better get right to work on the December bulletin board. I’ll do Christmas and Hanukkah, maybe. Or I could do something about winter. Winter starts this month.

  Shirley took her responsibilities seriously. Class Artist. What an honor! She couldn’t wait to tell her parents. They had been overjoyed about the A+ on the Thanksgiving bulletin board. They had even come to school one afternoon to see it. They had admired the Pilgrims and Indians and cotton balls and coffee grounds before they had gone to Jackie’s room for a conference with her teacher.

  That wasn’t the only good news. Shirley had gotten another 90 on a math paper. And she was almost halfway through her second-grade reading book. With any luck, she’d be using a third-grade reader by the time fourth grade was over. Maybe there was hope for her yet. Maybe she wouldn’t have to stay back after all.

  Shirley wasn’t the only Basini who was doing well that December. Jackie was now the best reader in
her class. Her English wasn’t bad either. She and Shirley often had long talks at night after their light had been turned off.

  “Shirrey,” Jackie began one evening from under the warmth of her quilt, “exprain, prease, about Christmas again.”

  Shirley knew that Jackie just wanted to hear a story, so she decided to tell her about Mary and Joseph and Jesus. “A long, long, long time ago,” she said, “there lived a mean ruler.”

  “King Midas?” asked Jackie.

  “No,” Shirley replied, “he was another ruler. And he wasn’t mean, just greedy.”

  “Exprain ‘greedy,’ prease,” said Jackie.

  “Do you really want me to exprain—I mean, explain—or do you want to hear the story?”

  “I want the story, prease,” answered Jackie.

  “All right.” Shirley began again. “A long time ago lived a mean ruler named Caesar Augustus, and he decided that he wanted to count all the people he had conquered. You know, to get the population. So he told everyone to go back to their hometowns,” Shirley rushed on, before Jackie could say, “Exprain ‘popuration,’ prease.” Shirley paused, thinking. The Christmas story was actually sort of complicated. “This one couple, Mary and Joseph, had a long trip to make to their hometown,” she continued, “and when they got there, they couldn’t find any place to stay.”

  “No empty rooms in the motor rodge?” Jackie spoke up.

  “Inn,” Shirley corrected her.

  “In what?”

  Shirley sighed. “Finally, Mary and Joseph asked this innkeeper if they could just sleep in his stable—his barn—that night. It was really important because Mary was going to have a baby.”

  “She was pregnant,” Jackie said proudly.

  “Uh, right.” Shirley told Jackie about the angel Gabriel, the birth of Jesus, the shepherds, and the three wise men. “And that,” she said at last, “is why we celebrate Christmas. Isn’t that a great story?”

  Shirley heard only silence.

  “Jackie?” she said. “Jackie?”

  Jackie murmured something and rolled over.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Shirley, peering across the room at her sister. “Sound asleep.”

  But when Shirley woke up the next morning, Jackie was already up. She was leaning against her pillow, her bedside light on, reading a book called Leo and Emily. Leo and Emily wasn’t exactly a long chapter book like Mrs. Basini was always urging Shirley to read, but it was no picture book either.