A Dream for Addie by Gail Rock

February afternoon I sat impatiently at my desk, watching Mr. Davenport write our English assignment on the blackboard. I wasn’t paying much attention to what he was saying, because it was almost time to dismiss school for the day and I was rehearsing what I would say when I went up to his desk after class. I was returning one of the art books he had loaned to me, and I wanted to say something intelligent about the French Impressionists.
    Instead of writing down the assignment, I was drawing a sketch of him in my notebook. My notebook was almost full of sketches of him and endless pages with his name written over and over in different styles of handwriting. I had never let anyone else see it. They could tease me about Billy Wild, but not about this.
    The 3:30 bell finally rang, and I sat there, tightly clutching Mr. Davenport’s book and waiting for everyone else to clear out so I could have a private talk with him. It was just my luck that everyone was hanging around in the classroom. Our big seventh-grade Valentine’s Dance was the next week, and everybody was gossiping about it and buying tickets from the kids who were assigned to sell them.
    Just as Carla Mae and Tanya came over to talk to me, I saw Mr. Davenport get up from his desk and head for the door.
    â€œMr. Davenport,” I called, getting quickly out of my seat.
    â€œBe right back, Addie,” he said, and went out the door.
    â€œMr. Davenport, Mr. Davenport, sweetie,” said Tanya in her ickiest voice, mocking me.
    â€œOh shut up, Smithers,” I said.
    â€œDon’t tell me you’re borrowing his books again!” said Carla Mae, grabbing at the art book. “You should get a library card from him!”
    Sometimes I wondered why she was my best friend.
    â€œDon’t maul that book!” I said, grabbing it back from her. “This is a very rare volume, and practically irreplaceable!”
    â€œWell, la-de-da!” said Tanya. “Why don’t you hire a bodyguard?”
    â€œI wouldn’t expect you to understand,” I said. “You don’t know anything about art.”
    â€œHa!” Tanya said. “You’re not half as interested in art as you are in Mr. Davenport.”
    â€œYeah,” said Carla Mae. “She’s been slaving away for weeks creating the world’s most gorgeous valentine for him.”
    â€œI have not!” I said hotly. “How do you know who I’m going to give it to?”
    â€œWho else?” asked Tanya.
    â€œYour other true love, Billy Wild!” said Carla Mae.
    â€œOh, you’ve gotta be kidding!” I said. “Yuck! I wouldn’t give him the time of day … let alone a valentine.”
    â€œOh, yeah?” said Carla Mae. “I bet you go to the Valentine’s Dance with him.”
    â€œYeah, you always go everywhere with him,” said Tanya.
    â€œWell who else is there in this dumb class?” I said, sounding disgusted. “I can’t help it if he always asks me to everything.”
    â€œOh come on,” said Carla Mae. “After Mr. Davenport, Billy Wild is your second favorite.”
    â€œThat’s what you think!” I said. “I just may not go with him this time.”
    â€œWell, who else will you go with?” asked Tanya. “I hope you’re not waiting for Mr. Davenport to ask you for a date!”
    â€œYeah,” laughed Carla Mae. “You could wait forever! He’s a bit old for you.”
    â€œI’m not waiting for anybody to ask me for a date!” I said. “And for your information, Mr. Davenport is only eleven years older than us. That’s not so much.… When we graduate from high school we’ll be eighteen, and he’ll only be twenty-nine.”
    â€œTwenty-nine!” said Carla Mae. “Yuck! That’s so old! I wouldn’t want to go out with somebody who’s an ancient twenty-nine!” I knew my father had been ten years