“It better not be the whole play,” Delilah said. She came in, carrying her picket sign. “There’d better not be any ghosts in it. Or cockles.”
“Did you need some Solarcaine, Delilah?” I asked her.
“I need a Magic Marker,” she said with dignity.
I got her one out of the desk. She left, walking a little stiffly, as if it hurt to move.
“You can’t just take parts of the play out because somebody doesn’t like them,” Wendy said. “If you do, the play doesn’t make any sense. I bet if Shakespeare were here, he wouldn’t let you just take things out—”
“Assuming Shakespeare wrote it,” Rick said. “If you take every other letter in line two except the first three and the last six, they spell ‘pig,’ which is obviously a code word for Bacon.”
“Snow day!” Ms. Harrow said over the intercom. Everybody raced to the windows. “We will have early dismissal today at nine-thirty.”
I looked at the clock. It was 9:28.
“The Overprotective Parents Organization has filed the following protest: ‘It is now snowing, and as the forecast predicts more snow, and as snow can result in slippery streets, poor visibility, bus accidents, frostbite, and avalanches, we demand that school be closed today and tomorrow so as not to endanger our children.’ Buses will leave at nine thirty-five. Have a nice spring break!”
“The snow isn’t even sticking on the ground,” Wendy said. “Now we’ll never get to do Shakespeare.”
Delilah was out in the hall, on her knees next to her picket sign, crossing out the word “man” in “Spokesman.”
“The Feminists for a Fair Language are here,” she said disgustedly. “They’ve got a court order,” She wrote “person” above the crossed-out “man.” “A court order! Can you believe that? I mean, what’s happening to our right to freedom of speech?”
“You misspelled ‘person,’ ” I said.