Читать «Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы» онлайн - страница 6
Беверли Клири
I don’t have a favorite teacher, but I really like Mr. Fridley. He’s the custodian. He’s always fair about who gets the milk first at lunchtime, and once when he had to clean after someone who got sick in the hall, he didn’t even look cross. He just said, “It looks like somebody’s made a mess,” and started putting sawdust around it. Mom got mad at Dad for making a mess too, but she didn’t mean throwing up. She meant that he stayed too long at that truck stop outside of town.
Two more questions to go. Maybe I won’t answer them. Ha-ha.
Leigh Botts
December 1
Mr. Henshaw:
OK, you win, because Mom is still nagging me, and I don’t have anything else to do. I’ll answer your last two questions even if I stay up all night.
What bothers me about what? I don’t know what you mean. I guess I’m bothered by a lot of things. I am bothered when someone steals something out of my lunch bag. I don’t know enough about the people in the school to know who it can be. I am bothered about little kids with runny noses. I don’t mean I am fussy or anything like that. I don’t know why. I am just bothered.
I am bothered about walking to school
Mom tells me to go to school but to walk slowly which is hard work. Once I tried walking around every square in the sidewalk, but that was boring too. Sometimes I walk backwards except when I cross the street, but I still get to school so early that I have to hide behind the bushes so Mr. Fridley won’t see me.
I am bothered when my Dad telephones me and finishes by saying, “Well, keep your nose clean, kid.” Why can’t he say that he misses me, and why can’t he call me Leigh? I am bothered when he doesn’t phone at all which is most of the time. I have a book of road maps and try to follow his trips when I hear from him. When the TV worked I watched the weather on the news so I would know if he was driving through blizzards, tornadoes, hail or any of that fancy weather they have in other places of the U.S.
I wish somebody would stop stealing the good stuff out of my lunch bag. I guess I wish a lot of other things, too. I wish someday Dad and Bandit would stop in front of our house in the rig with a big trailer. Dad would yell out of the cab, “Come on, Leigh. Jump in and I’ll take you to school.” Then I’d climb in and Bandit would wag his tail and lick my face. We’d drive off and all the men in the gas station would stare at us. Instead of going straight to school, we’d go along the freeway looking down on the tops of ordinary cars. Then we would turn around and go back to school just before the bell rang. I guess I wouldn’t look so medium then, sitting up there in the cab. I’d jump out, and Dad would say, “Bye, Leigh. See you,” and Bandit would give a little bark like good-bye. I’d say, “Drive carefully, Dad,” like I always do. Dad would take a minute to write in the truck’s logbook, “Drove my son to school.” Then the truck would drive away and all the kids would stare and wish their Dads drove big trucks, too.