says Leesie.
All I do is pretend to be driving and that shuts her up with a quickness. She rolls her eyes and goes back to studying.
“Anyway, Mama,” I go on, “we’ve got one week left before school’s out. So, we’re hot, hot to summer. Look out Camp Atwater.”
String and I slap hands.
“Has anyone seen my keys?” Mama asks. “My glasses? Who’s fed Shimmy and Shammy? Of all times for Mack to be out of town.”
Daddy and Uncle Jay own a general contracting company—J-2 Engineering. Daddy’s been away a lot this spring. They’re working on a dam along the Mississippi River. I miss doing the Daddy things.
See, there’s stuff I do with Mama. We watch sci-fi videos from the olden days.Back when the monsters were dorky-looking.
Then there are things I do with Daddy. Like, he’s into coin collecting. He takes me hiking. He’s teaching me about both. I miss him.
But I’ve got baseball. That’s my thing. I like coin collecting and sci-fi. But baseball is it. And at sports camp I’m going to play until I drop. Five more days.
I’m hot, hot to summer.
7:28 A.M.
String feeds our fish, Shimmy and Shammy. He’s got a soft spot for animals. He likes taking care of them. People, too.
Mama finds her keys in her pocket. Her glasses are on her head. She’s washing a vitamin pill down with grapefruit juice. Sheturns to Leesie and says, “I’ll pick you up at three for the driver’s test. Don’t be nervous. Try to stay calm.…”
Suddenly Leesie slams the book shut. “Mama! I wasn’t even thinking nervous until you said the word!”
We laugh. Water fills Leesie’s eyes. “You just wait,” she screams at String and me. She grabs her backpack and rushes out the door in a huff. Mama steps to the side and lets all the drama slide past.
I’ve finally got Leesie figured. She’s a homonym. Those are words that are spelled and said the same way. But they’ve got different meanings. Like a
strike
at a baseball game and a
strike
at the bowling alley. That’s my sister. One minute she’s Leesie-Laughing. In a heartbeat, she’s Leesie-Crying. Spelled the same way, saidthe same way, Leesie is never the same. She’s a walking, talking homonym.
Mama’s leaving. She calls over her shoulder, “Give Leesie a break.” She chuckles. “No pun intended.” Mama likes to play with words, too.
She stops in her tracks. Sighs, then turns back to get her briefcase. It’s still sitting on the counter. “What was that you said about being hot …?”
“Hot, hot to summer,” I answer.
“Yes. Thank goodness we’re hot, hot to summer.” She throws us a kiss. Then she’s gone.
Mrs. McCurtle wheels the big yellow school bus around the corner. String gulps the last swallow of milk. He tosses the banana peeling in the trash.
“Hurry up,” I say. “We’re hot, hot to late.”
2
I Hate Destinee Tate
Same day, 8:28 A.M.
There goes Ms. Rollins, standing beside the door to Room 16. She’s been greeting our third grade, Class T, the same way, every day, all year. And there go all the girls hanging around her. Sucking up. Especially the chief suck-up, Destinee Tate.
She’s like the leader of the girls. A real bride of Dracula. I guess I’m sort of like the leader of the boys. The girls think the boys are all maggot brains. We’re too cool for them, that’s all!
Just five more days of Destinee Tate andthe rest of the girls in 3T. Then I don’t have to see them all summer.
But I will miss Ms. Rollins.
Come Friday, Class T is heading for fourth grade. Ms. Rollins is leaving Turner Elementary.
She’s heading for Ghana, West Africa. Going there to teach for two whole years.
Man, are those kids lucky. Ms. Rollins is a great teacher. And looking good, too!
We all hop in our seats just as the bell rings at eight-thirty.
“I hate Destinee Tate,” I mumble under my breath.
String hears me. “You’re still mad ’cause she won the spelling bee. You can’t win everything, Miami!”
Destinee Tate is
All I do is pretend to be driving and that shuts her up with a quickness. She rolls her eyes and goes back to studying.
“Anyway, Mama,” I go on, “we’ve got one week left before school’s out. So, we’re hot, hot to summer. Look out Camp Atwater.”
String and I slap hands.
“Has anyone seen my keys?” Mama asks. “My glasses? Who’s fed Shimmy and Shammy? Of all times for Mack to be out of town.”
Daddy and Uncle Jay own a general contracting company—J-2 Engineering. Daddy’s been away a lot this spring. They’re working on a dam along the Mississippi River. I miss doing the Daddy things.
See, there’s stuff I do with Mama. We watch sci-fi videos from the olden days.Back when the monsters were dorky-looking.
Then there are things I do with Daddy. Like, he’s into coin collecting. He takes me hiking. He’s teaching me about both. I miss him.
But I’ve got baseball. That’s my thing. I like coin collecting and sci-fi. But baseball is it. And at sports camp I’m going to play until I drop. Five more days.
I’m hot, hot to summer.
7:28 A.M.
String feeds our fish, Shimmy and Shammy. He’s got a soft spot for animals. He likes taking care of them. People, too.
Mama finds her keys in her pocket. Her glasses are on her head. She’s washing a vitamin pill down with grapefruit juice. Sheturns to Leesie and says, “I’ll pick you up at three for the driver’s test. Don’t be nervous. Try to stay calm.…”
Suddenly Leesie slams the book shut. “Mama! I wasn’t even thinking nervous until you said the word!”
We laugh. Water fills Leesie’s eyes. “You just wait,” she screams at String and me. She grabs her backpack and rushes out the door in a huff. Mama steps to the side and lets all the drama slide past.
I’ve finally got Leesie figured. She’s a homonym. Those are words that are spelled and said the same way. But they’ve got different meanings. Like a
strike
at a baseball game and a
strike
at the bowling alley. That’s my sister. One minute she’s Leesie-Laughing. In a heartbeat, she’s Leesie-Crying. Spelled the same way, saidthe same way, Leesie is never the same. She’s a walking, talking homonym.
Mama’s leaving. She calls over her shoulder, “Give Leesie a break.” She chuckles. “No pun intended.” Mama likes to play with words, too.
She stops in her tracks. Sighs, then turns back to get her briefcase. It’s still sitting on the counter. “What was that you said about being hot …?”
“Hot, hot to summer,” I answer.
“Yes. Thank goodness we’re hot, hot to summer.” She throws us a kiss. Then she’s gone.
Mrs. McCurtle wheels the big yellow school bus around the corner. String gulps the last swallow of milk. He tosses the banana peeling in the trash.
“Hurry up,” I say. “We’re hot, hot to late.”
2
I Hate Destinee Tate
Same day, 8:28 A.M.
There goes Ms. Rollins, standing beside the door to Room 16. She’s been greeting our third grade, Class T, the same way, every day, all year. And there go all the girls hanging around her. Sucking up. Especially the chief suck-up, Destinee Tate.
She’s like the leader of the girls. A real bride of Dracula. I guess I’m sort of like the leader of the boys. The girls think the boys are all maggot brains. We’re too cool for them, that’s all!
Just five more days of Destinee Tate andthe rest of the girls in 3T. Then I don’t have to see them all summer.
But I will miss Ms. Rollins.
Come Friday, Class T is heading for fourth grade. Ms. Rollins is leaving Turner Elementary.
She’s heading for Ghana, West Africa. Going there to teach for two whole years.
Man, are those kids lucky. Ms. Rollins is a great teacher. And looking good, too!
We all hop in our seats just as the bell rings at eight-thirty.
“I hate Destinee Tate,” I mumble under my breath.
String hears me. “You’re still mad ’cause she won the spelling bee. You can’t win everything, Miami!”
Destinee Tate is
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