. .”
“Well, I think leotards are ugly,” interrupted Ellen, who was glad she knew that leotards were long tight-fitting garments.
“They look just like long underwear and I wouldn’t wear one for anything. I like our dresses better.”
“I don’t,” said Austine flatly. “I don’t even like dancing lessons.At least in California . . .”
“I don’t care what anybody does in California,” said Ellen crossly. “I’m tired of hearing you talk about California and so is everyone at school. So there! If you think California is so wonderful, why don’t you go back there?”
For a second Austine looked hurt. Ellen almost thought she was going to cry. Instead she made a face.“All right for you!” she said, and flounced out of the dressing room, leaving her clothes in an untidy heap on the bench.
Instantly Ellen was sorry. What a terrible thing to say to a new girl! What if she herself were a new girl and someone had said that to her? How would she have felt? She hadn’t really meant to be rude, but somehow it had slipped out. She was so anxious to have Austine leave that she had not thought about what she was saying.
But now that Austine was gone and Ellen was alone, there was not a moment to waste, not even in feeling sorry for what she had done. Feverishly she unbuttoned her sweater. She was starting to unfasten her dress when she heard some of the girls coming through the classroom.
Frantically Ellen looked around the dressing room for a place to hide. She darted behind the costume rack. No, that wouldn’t do. The girls might see her when they took down their costumes.
Snatching her pink dancing dress from the bench, Ellen dashed across the room and into the janitor’s broom closet, just as the girls came into the room. If only there were some way of locking the closet door from the inside! Ellen stood silent and rigid.
When no one came near the door, she relaxed enough to look around by the light of the window high in the closet. She could see brooms, a mop and buckets, and a gunny sack full of sweeping compound.
Careful not to knock over the brooms and buckets, she leaned against the door to listen. She could hear Linda and Janet and Barbara.Then she heard Betsy come in and, after a few minutes, Amelia and Joanne.
Ellen counted them off on her fingers.Yes, they were all there.
Trying to move carefully so she wouldn’t bump into anything, she took off first her starched plaid dress and then her slip. But she was so nervous that she knocked over a broom. She stood terrified and motionless until she realized that the girls were chatter-ing so noisily they did not hear the thud. If one of the girls had opened the door at that moment, they all would have learned her terrible secret.
Ellen was wearing woolen underwear.
She was wearing a high-necked union suit that buttoned down the front and across the back. It did have short sleeves and short legs, so it could have been worse. Ellen didn’t know what she would have done if her mother had made her wear long underwear.
With trembling fingers she slipped her arms out of the despised garment, rolled it as flat as she could down to her waist, and pulled the elastic of her panties over the bulge.
Quickly she slipped into her costume.
“I wonder where Ellen is,” she heard someone ask.
“I don’t know,” someone answered.
“Maybe she isn’t coming today.” Ellen was limp with relief. She was safely in her costume. No one had seen her in her underwear. Nobody could tease her and tell her she was old-fashioned because, besides being the only girl in the third grade who had to wear winter underwear, she was the only girl in the whole school who did.
She took off her shoes and socks, laced her slippers, and waited, shivering, until all the girls left the dressing room. Then she slipped out of the closet and, after piling her clothes neatly on a bench, joined the others in the classroom.
A couple of girls were running and sliding the
“Well, I think leotards are ugly,” interrupted Ellen, who was glad she knew that leotards were long tight-fitting garments.
“They look just like long underwear and I wouldn’t wear one for anything. I like our dresses better.”
“I don’t,” said Austine flatly. “I don’t even like dancing lessons.At least in California . . .”
“I don’t care what anybody does in California,” said Ellen crossly. “I’m tired of hearing you talk about California and so is everyone at school. So there! If you think California is so wonderful, why don’t you go back there?”
For a second Austine looked hurt. Ellen almost thought she was going to cry. Instead she made a face.“All right for you!” she said, and flounced out of the dressing room, leaving her clothes in an untidy heap on the bench.
Instantly Ellen was sorry. What a terrible thing to say to a new girl! What if she herself were a new girl and someone had said that to her? How would she have felt? She hadn’t really meant to be rude, but somehow it had slipped out. She was so anxious to have Austine leave that she had not thought about what she was saying.
But now that Austine was gone and Ellen was alone, there was not a moment to waste, not even in feeling sorry for what she had done. Feverishly she unbuttoned her sweater. She was starting to unfasten her dress when she heard some of the girls coming through the classroom.
Frantically Ellen looked around the dressing room for a place to hide. She darted behind the costume rack. No, that wouldn’t do. The girls might see her when they took down their costumes.
Snatching her pink dancing dress from the bench, Ellen dashed across the room and into the janitor’s broom closet, just as the girls came into the room. If only there were some way of locking the closet door from the inside! Ellen stood silent and rigid.
When no one came near the door, she relaxed enough to look around by the light of the window high in the closet. She could see brooms, a mop and buckets, and a gunny sack full of sweeping compound.
Careful not to knock over the brooms and buckets, she leaned against the door to listen. She could hear Linda and Janet and Barbara.Then she heard Betsy come in and, after a few minutes, Amelia and Joanne.
Ellen counted them off on her fingers.Yes, they were all there.
Trying to move carefully so she wouldn’t bump into anything, she took off first her starched plaid dress and then her slip. But she was so nervous that she knocked over a broom. She stood terrified and motionless until she realized that the girls were chatter-ing so noisily they did not hear the thud. If one of the girls had opened the door at that moment, they all would have learned her terrible secret.
Ellen was wearing woolen underwear.
She was wearing a high-necked union suit that buttoned down the front and across the back. It did have short sleeves and short legs, so it could have been worse. Ellen didn’t know what she would have done if her mother had made her wear long underwear.
With trembling fingers she slipped her arms out of the despised garment, rolled it as flat as she could down to her waist, and pulled the elastic of her panties over the bulge.
Quickly she slipped into her costume.
“I wonder where Ellen is,” she heard someone ask.
“I don’t know,” someone answered.
“Maybe she isn’t coming today.” Ellen was limp with relief. She was safely in her costume. No one had seen her in her underwear. Nobody could tease her and tell her she was old-fashioned because, besides being the only girl in the third grade who had to wear winter underwear, she was the only girl in the whole school who did.
She took off her shoes and socks, laced her slippers, and waited, shivering, until all the girls left the dressing room. Then she slipped out of the closet and, after piling her clothes neatly on a bench, joined the others in the classroom.
A couple of girls were running and sliding the
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