me.”
I lead Benji up the stairs and into Mom’s room.
“Are you sure we should be in here?” Benji whispers.
“The door was open,” I explain. “If she didn’t want peopleto wander into her room she should have locked the door. Or at least shut it.”
Mom keeps all her outgoing mail, bills and such, in a box on her desk marked
To Mail
. Right next to it is a roll of stamps. It looks like there are at least fifty on the roll; surely she won’t miss one tiny little stamp. I slip the letter into an envelope, run my tongue over the edge to seal it and then press the stamp in the corner.
“Now, you find the school’s address,” I instruct Benji. “There should be a letter from the school around here somewhere.”
“I think it’s illegal to open someone’s mail,” Benji says.
“But we’re not opening it,” I reason with him. “We’re not even really reading it. We’re just looking at the outside. If that were illegal then every single mail carrier would be in jail right now.”
This seems to calm him down.
“Here it is,” Benji says.
“Do you think I should address it to Principal Donner or Mrs. Donner?” I ask.
“Maybe Mrs. Donner, then comma, then Principal,” Benji suggests.
“Perfect.”
I copy the address in my neatest handwriting and slip the letter carefully into the back pocket of my jeans.
“Come on, let’s go.”
***
I practically skip all the way to the 7-Eleven and back. It feels good to be doing something about Mr. Campbell.
“I think we should take turns writing the letters,” I say, popping a yellow sour ball into my mouth.
“Why?” Benji asks.
“Because that way they’ll sound different. It’s more authentic.”
Benji looks uncomfortable. “I don’t know if I want to write any of them,” he admits.
“Benji, do you want to effect change or not?”
A wrinkle appears above his nose as he frowns.
“What do you mean, effect change?”
I sigh.
“It’s a political thing. You wouldn’t understand. Do you want Miss Ross back or not?”
“Do you really think the letters will help?” Benji asks.
“Better than nothing. How’s your sour key?”
Benji rips a big piece with his teeth and grimaces.
“A little stale,” he admits. “How’s your sour ball?”
I open the mail box and drop in the letter, closing and reopening the chute twice to make sure it goes all the way in.
“Never been sweeter.”
***
Every time Mr. Campbell says something stupid or irritates me, I make a note in my workbook so I can refer to it later when I’m writing my latest letter. I’m getting really good at writing letters. I was reading them aloud to Benji, but he’s gotten cold feet about the whole letter campaign, so lately I’ve been writing them after he goes home and mailing them myself. He probably thinks I’ve stopped.
It’s good practice for when I’m an actress. Each time I pretend I’m someone else, a stay-at-home mom, a nurse, a lawyer, a real estate agent — I even pretended to be Denise once, but I never signed her name. I used lots ofexclamation marks and phrases like “well I never,” and “believe you me.” I never sign any names, not even fake ones. Names can be looked up and checked against school records. Instead I use “anonymous” or “a concerned parent.” If the school found out the names were fake, they wouldn’t take the letters seriously. I use the thesaurus on the computer to find new words and make each letter sound slightly different. It makes me feel better to know that I am doing something about the problem instead of just sitting back and letting things happen like everyone else in the world.
***
“Have you chosen your modern day hero?” Benji asks.
“Not yet. You?”
Benji scratches his nose and passes his paper to me without a word, a sure sign that something is up. Across the top he has written the title
Annette Delaney: Local Wonder Woman,
with the words “wonder woman” done up in fancy lettering, just
I lead Benji up the stairs and into Mom’s room.
“Are you sure we should be in here?” Benji whispers.
“The door was open,” I explain. “If she didn’t want peopleto wander into her room she should have locked the door. Or at least shut it.”
Mom keeps all her outgoing mail, bills and such, in a box on her desk marked
To Mail
. Right next to it is a roll of stamps. It looks like there are at least fifty on the roll; surely she won’t miss one tiny little stamp. I slip the letter into an envelope, run my tongue over the edge to seal it and then press the stamp in the corner.
“Now, you find the school’s address,” I instruct Benji. “There should be a letter from the school around here somewhere.”
“I think it’s illegal to open someone’s mail,” Benji says.
“But we’re not opening it,” I reason with him. “We’re not even really reading it. We’re just looking at the outside. If that were illegal then every single mail carrier would be in jail right now.”
This seems to calm him down.
“Here it is,” Benji says.
“Do you think I should address it to Principal Donner or Mrs. Donner?” I ask.
“Maybe Mrs. Donner, then comma, then Principal,” Benji suggests.
“Perfect.”
I copy the address in my neatest handwriting and slip the letter carefully into the back pocket of my jeans.
“Come on, let’s go.”
***
I practically skip all the way to the 7-Eleven and back. It feels good to be doing something about Mr. Campbell.
“I think we should take turns writing the letters,” I say, popping a yellow sour ball into my mouth.
“Why?” Benji asks.
“Because that way they’ll sound different. It’s more authentic.”
Benji looks uncomfortable. “I don’t know if I want to write any of them,” he admits.
“Benji, do you want to effect change or not?”
A wrinkle appears above his nose as he frowns.
“What do you mean, effect change?”
I sigh.
“It’s a political thing. You wouldn’t understand. Do you want Miss Ross back or not?”
“Do you really think the letters will help?” Benji asks.
“Better than nothing. How’s your sour key?”
Benji rips a big piece with his teeth and grimaces.
“A little stale,” he admits. “How’s your sour ball?”
I open the mail box and drop in the letter, closing and reopening the chute twice to make sure it goes all the way in.
“Never been sweeter.”
***
Every time Mr. Campbell says something stupid or irritates me, I make a note in my workbook so I can refer to it later when I’m writing my latest letter. I’m getting really good at writing letters. I was reading them aloud to Benji, but he’s gotten cold feet about the whole letter campaign, so lately I’ve been writing them after he goes home and mailing them myself. He probably thinks I’ve stopped.
It’s good practice for when I’m an actress. Each time I pretend I’m someone else, a stay-at-home mom, a nurse, a lawyer, a real estate agent — I even pretended to be Denise once, but I never signed her name. I used lots ofexclamation marks and phrases like “well I never,” and “believe you me.” I never sign any names, not even fake ones. Names can be looked up and checked against school records. Instead I use “anonymous” or “a concerned parent.” If the school found out the names were fake, they wouldn’t take the letters seriously. I use the thesaurus on the computer to find new words and make each letter sound slightly different. It makes me feel better to know that I am doing something about the problem instead of just sitting back and letting things happen like everyone else in the world.
***
“Have you chosen your modern day hero?” Benji asks.
“Not yet. You?”
Benji scratches his nose and passes his paper to me without a word, a sure sign that something is up. Across the top he has written the title
Annette Delaney: Local Wonder Woman,
with the words “wonder woman” done up in fancy lettering, just
Similar Books
