“Thank you, Miss McCarthy,” says Mr. March, and continues up the row with his pointer — when he taps a desk, that person has to start reading. Everyone prays he will not tap Grace’s desk, because Grace has to sound everything out. He taps Lisa’s desk.
Lisa reads, barely above a whisper. Mr. March keeps saying, “Speak up, little girl,” but Lisa gets softer and softer, her face redder and redder, until finally she stops and stares at her desk. Madeleine is worried Lisa may have to stay after school for “remedial reading.” Or worse, be demoted from dolphin to tortoise.
Mr. March taps Grace’s desk. An audible groan from the class. Grace hunches over her book and reads, “Wha-at gamms … games do you of-ten p-l-ay that gy … gi-ve you-r mus … moose … musk….”
“Class, what’s the word?” intones Mr. March.
And the class chants in unison, “Muscles.”
Please don’t make Grace sound out the word “exercise.”
“Gordon Lawson, continue reading please.”
Thank goodness. Gordon is an all-round hare.
During recess, Madeleine and Auriel console Lisa, who is still trembling, so when they return to the classroom Madeleine is shocked to see that she herself has been demoted from hare to tortoise. In Reading. What’s up, doc?
Mr. March must have noticed her dismay because after everyone has sat down he says, “It’s for your own good, little girl. Reading aloud is one thing. Comprehension is quite another. That takes concentration.”
Concentration. Madeleine feels slightly ill. A tortoise. No fair. How can she get back up to hares? After school she will tell her dad. He’ll know what to do.
Don’t dwell on it right now. It’s Friday afternoon and the beautiful kindergarten teacher has come into the classroom.
“Hello grade fours, my name is Miss Lang.”
“Hello, Miss Lang,” says everyone.
She is here to announce the beginning of Brownies. The boys refrain from sniggering, she is that pretty. “How many Sixers do we have in the class?”
Several girls raise their hands, among them Cathy Baxter — no surprise, she having emerged as the boss of the girly-girls — and Marjorie Nolan, who has neither emerged nor settled yet in any group. Madeleine is not a Sixer, she is not even a Seconder, she prefers to be a lone wolf in Brownies and not have to inspect anyone’s nails or keep track of dimes — the nifty notebook with pencil attached notwithstanding. Maybe this year they will get to go on a camping trip. She looks at Miss Lang in her A-line dress and pictures her sitting cross-legged roasting a wiener over a campfire.
“Oh my,” says Miss Lang at the show of hands, “it looks as though we have quite a few chiefs and not enough Indians.”
The class laughs sincerely. She has a beautiful figure. But more than that, Miss Lang has charm. What incredible luck that she, and not just someone’s boring old mother, is Brown Owl—“bird of great good fortune.” Like the albatross.
“How many of you expect to fly up this spring?” she asks. All the girls raise their hand, even Grace. She ought to have flown up to Guides by now, or at least walked up. But then she ought to be in grade five too. There are no Brownie badges for cutting the cuffs off your own cardigan with a pair of school scissors.
“Good,” says Miss Lang, in her voice that reminds Madeleine of a jazz record they have at home: Vibes on Velvet. The cover is “adult”: a lot of half-naked chorus girls in a burlesque pose. Burlesque. It sounds like barbecued shrimp, and it means sexy but not really dirty. The album cover is, however, way dirtier than the Sears catalogue, even though the amount of bare skin is about the same. Perhaps that’s because the ladies on the album cover know they are being sexy, whereas the Sears underwear ladies look as though they think they are fully clothed — hmm, think I’ll just hang out the wash in my living bra.
“Madeleine McCarthy?”
Everyone is looking at her, especially beautiful Miss Lang. Madeleine reddens and says, “Pleasant. I mean present.”
The class bursts out laughing. Up at his desk, Mr. March rolls his eyes. Oh no, I’m going to get it. Again.
Miss Lang smiles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Yes to what? Oh no.
But Miss Lang isn’t angry. She has a way of making any girl she talks to seem pretty. When she says, “We’ll have you flying up this spring, Grace, I know it,” in that moment even Grace Novotny seems clean.
At five to three Mr. March stands up and announces, “The following little girls will remain after three …,” and he consults his seating plan. “Grace Novotny …” No one is surprised. Grace is a tortoise only because there is no worm category. Madeleine wonders why Mr. March has to look at his seating plan in order to remember her name when this is her second year in his class. “… and Madeleine McCarthy.” His glasses are still trained on his clipboard.
Madeleine is immediately hot. Her legs, her face — what have I done? I daydreamed about Miss Lang. I pictured her in a bra. But I read perfectly — Susan and her stupid muscles. It’s bad enough to be demoted to tortoise. But to be kept after three….
The bell goes. The rest of the class rattle to their feet; already the smell of failure is clouding around Madeleine’s desk as she remains seated. She has been paired with Grace Novotny. Madeleine germs, needle! Auriel catches her eye as she leaves and Madeleine grins and draws a cut-throat finger across her neck.
“And don’t forget show-and-tell on Monday, boys and girls.” Mr. March sounds disappointed in them already.
Lisa and Auriel are sitting waiting for Madeleine at the end of the school field, and making dandelion bracelets.
“What happened?” asks Auriel.
Lisa is chewing the end of a weed, she offers one to Madeleine. Everything’s going to be fine. Madeleine bites into the tender white shoot where the sweetness is.
“I got a detention,” she says, cool like Kirk Douglas. “First of all he says, ‘Come here, little girl’”—making a triple chin, bugging out her eyes, doing a fat English accent — even though Mr. March doesn’t have an accent. Lisa writhes silently on the grass, Auriel hangs on every word.
“What’d he make you do?”
“Exercises,” says Madeleine and rolls her eyes.
“Exercises?!”
“‘To improve your powahs of concentration, little geuhl,’” she drawls.
“What a creep!” cries Auriel.
“‘What maroon!’” says Bugsy, then Woody Woodpecker takes over. “He-he-HA-ha—!”
“Holy cow, Madeleine, you sound just like him!”
“—he-he-he-he-he-he!”
Auriel and Lisa join in. Although few people can really do Woody Woodpecker, everyone enjoys trying. “He-he-HA-ha!”
They start rolling across the field — we could just roll all the way home instead of walking, want to? Then they stop, sprawled on their backs, and let the sky go topsy-turvy overhead.
“He should have his head examined,” says Auriel, getting up and starting to twirl.
“He should have his head shrunk,” says Lisa, following.
“He should have his stomach shrunk,” says Madeleine, and they are all twirling — now run! Run dizzy all the way home, as the pavement lurches and spins between your footfalls.
When they get to the corner, they agree to meet back here in play clothes in five minutes. “Synchronize your watches, ladies,” says Auriel. And they do, although none of them wears a watch.
“What took you so long?” says Maman.
“Lisa and Auriel and me were playing,” Madeleine answers, running up the stairs into the kitchen — ginger cookies, oh boy!