following Tuesday, when Mr. Turner brought her down to Mrs. Myers' fifth-grade class at
Lark Creek Elementary.
Leslie was still dressed in the faded cutoffs and the blue undershirt. She had sneakers on
her feet but no socks. Surprise swooshed up from the class like steam from a released radiator
cap. They were all sitting there primly dressed in their spring Sunday best. Even Jess wore his
one pair of corduroys and an ironed shirt.
The reaction didn't seem to bother her. She stood there in front, her eyes saying, "OK,
friends, here I am," in answer to their open-mouthed stares while Mrs. Myers fluttered about
trying to figure where to put the extra desk. The room was a small basement one, and five
rows of six desks already filled it more than comfortably.
"Thirty-one," Mrs. Myers kept mumbling over her double chin, "Thirty-one. No one else
has more than twenty-nine." She finally decided to put the desk up against the side wall near
the front. "Just there for now, uh, Leslie. It's the best we can do for now. This is a very
crowded classroom." She swung a pointed glance at Mr. Turner's retreating (disappearing) form (shape).
Leslie waited quietly until the seventh-grade boy who'd been sent down with the extra
desk scraped it into position hard against the radiator and under the first window. Without
making any noise, she pulled it a few inches forward from the radiator and settled herself into
it. Then she turned once more to gaze at the rest of the class.
Thirty pairs of eyes were suddenly focused on desktop scratches. Jess ran his forefinger
around the heart with two pairs of initials, BR + SK, trying to figure out whose desk he had
inherited (received or gotten money from someone who is a relative or a friend who died). Probably Sally Koch's. Girls did more of the heart stuff in fifth grade than boys.
Besides BR must be Billy Rudd, and Billy was known to favor Myrna Hauser last spring. Of
course, these initials might have been here longer than that, in which case...
"Jesse Aarons. Bobby Greggs. Pass out the arithmetic books. Please." On the last word,
Mrs. Myers flashed her famous first-day-of-school smile. It was said in the upper grades that
Mrs. Myers had never been seen to smile except on the first and the last day of school.
Jess roused himself (woke up) and went to the front. As he passed Leslie's desk, she grinned and
rippled her fingers low in a kind of wave. He jerked a nod. He couldn't help feeling sorry for
her. It must be embarrassing to sit in front when you find yourself dressed funny on the first
day of school. And you don't know anybody.
He slapped the books down as Mrs. Myers directed. Gary Fulcher grabbed his arm as he
went by. "Gonna run today?" Jess nodded. Gary smirked (smiled in a confident way). He thinks he can beat me, the
dumbhead. At the thought, something jiggled inside Jess. He knew he was better than he had
been last spring. Fulcher might think he was going to be the best, now that Wayne Pettis was
in sixth, but he, Jess, planned to give old Fulcher a little surprise come noon. It was as though
he had swallowed grasshoppers. He could hardly wait.
Mrs. Myers handed out books almost as though she were President of the United States,
dragging the distribution process out in senseless signings and ceremonies. It occurred to Jess
that she, too, wished to postpone regular school as long as possible. When it wasn't his turn to
pass out books, Jess sneaked out a piece of notebook paper and drew. He was toying with the
idea of doing a whole book of drawings. He ought to choose one chief character and do a
story about it. He scribbled several animals and tried to think of a name. A good title would
get him started. The Haunted Hippo? He liked the ring of it. Herby the Haunted Hippo? Even
better. The Case of the Crooked Crocodile. Not bad.
"Whatcha drawing?" Gary Fulcher was leaning way over his desk.
Jess covered the page with his arm. "Nothing."
"Ah, c'mon. Lemme see."
Jess shook his head.
Gary reached down and tried to pull Jess's hand away from the paper. "The Case of the
Crooked- c'mon, Jess," he whispered hoarsely (with a rough voice). "I ain't gonna hurt nothing." He yanked at
Jess's thumb.
Jess put both arms over the paper and brought his sneaker heel crashing down on Gary
Fulcher's toe.
"Ye-ow!"
"Boys!" Mrs. Myers' face had lost its lemon-pie smile.
"He stomped my toe."
"Take your seat, Gary."
"But he - "
"Sit down!"
"Jesse Aarons. One more peep from your direction and you can spend recess in here.
Copying the dictionary."
Jess's face was burning hot. He slid the notebook paper back under his desk top and put
his head down. A whole year of this. Eight more years of this. He wasn't sure he could stand
it.
The children ate lunch at their desks. The county had been promising Lark Creek a
lunchroom for twenty years, but there never seemed to be enough money. Jess had been so
careful not to lose his recess time that even now he chewed his bologna sandwich with his lips
tight shut and his eyes on the initialed heart. Around him conversations buzzed. They were
not supposed to talk during lunch, but it was the first day and even Monster-Mouth Myers
shot fewer flames on the first day.
"She's eating clabber (milk that has gone bad and harden)." Two seats up from where he sat, Mary Lou Peoples was at work
being the second snottiest girl in the fifth grade.
"Yogurt, stupid. Don't you watch TV?" This from Wanda Kay Moore, the snottiest, who
sat immediately in front of Jess.
"Yuck."
Lord, why couldn't they leave people in peace? Why shouldn't Leslie Burke eat anything
she durn pleased?
He forgot that he was trying to eat carefully and took a loud slurp of his milk.
Wanda Moore turned around, all priss-face. "Jesse Aarons. "That noise is pure repulsive (yucky,... not tasting, or smelling, or looking good)."
He glared at her hard and gave another slurp.
"You are disgusting."
Brrrrring. The recess bell. With a yelp, the boys were pushing for first place at the door.
"The boys will all sit down." Oh, Lord. "While the girls line up to go out to the
playground. Ladies first."
The boys quivered (shook) on the edges of their seats like moths fighting to be freed of cocoons.
Would she never let them go?
"All right, now if you boys . . ." They didn't give her a chance to change her mind. They
were halfway to the end of the field before she could finish her sentence.
The first two out began dragging their toes to make the finish line. The ground was rutted
from past rains, but had hardened in the late summer drought (very dry weather), so they had to give up on
sneaker toes and draw the line with a stick. The fifth-grade boys, bursting with new
importance, ordered the fourth grad- ers this way and that, while the smaller boys tried to
include themselves without being conspicuous (seen).
"How many you guys gonna run?" Gary Fulcher demanded.
"Me-me-me." Everyone yelled.
"That's too many. No first, second, or third graders ex- cept maybe the Butcher cousins
and Timmy Vaughn. The rest of you will just be in the way."
Shoulders sagged, but the little boys backed away obediently.
"OK. That leaves twenty-six, twenty-seven-stand still- twenty-eight. You get twenty-
eight, Greg?" Fulcher asked Greg Williams, his shadow.
"Right. Twenty-eight."
"OK. Now. We'll have eliminations (cuts like in a championship) like always. Count off by fours. Then we'll run all the
ones together, then the twos - "
"We know. We know." Everyone was impatient with Gary, who was trying for all the
world to sound like this year's Wayne Pettis.
Jess was a four, which suited him well enough. He was impatient to run, but he really
didn't mind having a chance to see how the others were doing since spring. Fulcher was a one,
of course, having started everything with himself. Jess grinned at Fulcher's back and stuck his
hands into the pockets of his corduroys, wriggling his right forefinger through the hole.
Gary won the first heat easily and had plenty of breath left to boss the organizing of the
second. A few of the younger boys drifted off to play King of the Mountain on the slope
between the upper and lower fields. Out of the corner of his eye, Jess saw someone coming
down from the upper field. He turned his back and pretended to concentrate on Fulcher's high-
pitched commands.
"Hi." Leslie Burke had come up beside him.
He shifted slightly away. "Umph."
"Aren't you running?"
"Later." Maybe if he didn't look at her, she would go back to the upper field where she
belonged.
Gary told Earle Watson to bang the start. Jess watched. Nobody with much speed in that
crowd. He kept his eyes on the shirttails and bent backs.
A fight broke out at the finish line between Jimmy Mitchell and Clyde Deal. Everyone
rushed to see. Jess was aware that Leslie Burke stayed at his elbow, but he was careful not to
look her way.
"Clyde." Gary Fulcher made his declaration. "It was Clyde."
"It was a tie, Fulcher," a fourth grader protested. "I was standing right here."
"Clyde Deal."
Jimmy Mitchell's jaw was set. "I won, Fulcher. You couldn't even see from way back
there."
"It was Deal." Gary ignored the protests. "We're wasting time. All threes line up. Right
now."
Jimmy's fists went up. "Ain't fair, Fulcher."
Gary turned his back and headed for the starting line.
"Oh, let 'em both run in the finals. What's it gonna hurt?" Jess said loudly.
Gary stopped walking and wheeled to face him. Fulcher glared first at Jess and then at
Leslie Burke. "Next thing," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm (mocking), "next thing you're gonna
want to let some girl run."
Jess's face went hot. "Sure," he said recklessly. "Why not?" He turned deliberately (not by accident or by chance) toward
Leslie. "Wanna run?" he asked.
"Sure." She was grinning. "Why not?"
"You ain't scared to let a girl race are you, Fulcher?"
For a minute he thought Gary was going to sock him, and he stiffened. He mustn't let
Fulcher suspect that he was scared of a little belt in the mouth. But instead Gary broke into a
trot and started bossing the threes into line for their heat.
"You can run with the fours, Leslie." He said it loudly enough to make sure Fulcher could
hear him and then concentrated on the runners. See, he told himself, you can stand up to a
creep like Fulcher. No sweat.
Bobby Miller won the threes easily. He was the best of the fourth graders, almost as fast
as Fulcher. But not as good as me, Jess thought. He was beginning to get really excited now.
There wasn't anybody in the fours who could give him much of a race. Still it would be better
to give Fulcher a scare by running well in the heat.
Leslie lined up beside him on the fight. He moved a tiny bit to the left, but she didn't
seem to notice.
At the bang Jess shot forward. It felt good-even the rough ground against the bottom of
his worn sneakers. He was pumping good. He could almost smell Gary Fulcher's surprise at
his improvement. The crowd was noisier than they'd been during the other heats. Maybe they
were all noticing. He wanted to look back and see where the others were, but he resisted the
temptation. It would seem conceited (too proud, feeling too sure, too smart) to look back. He concentrated on the line ahead. It was
nearing with every step. "Oh, Miss Bessie, if you could see me now."
He felt it before he saw it. Someone was moving up. He automatically pumped harder.
Then the shape was there in his sideways vision. Then suddenly pulling ahead. He forced
himself now. His breath was choking him, and the sweat was in his eyes. But he saw the
figure anyhow. The faded cutoffs crossed the line a full three feet ahead of him.
Leslie turned to face him with a wide smile on her tanned face. He stumbled and without
a word began half walking, half trotting over to the starting line. This was the day he was
going to be champion - the best runner of the fourth and fifth grades, and he hadn't even won
his heat. There was no cheering at either end of the field. The rest of the boys seemed as
stunned as he. The teasing would come later, he felt sure, but at least for the moment none of
them were talking.
"OK." Fulcher took over. He tried to appear very much in charge. "OK, you guys. You
can line up for the finals." He walked over to Leslie. "OK, you had your fun. You can run on
up to the hopscotch now."
"But I won the heat," she said.
Gary lowered his head like a bull. "Girls aren't supposed to play on the lower field. Better
get up there before one of the teachers sees you."
"I want to run," she said quietly.
"You already did."
"Whatsa matter, Fulcher?" All Jess's anger was bubbling out. He couldn't seem to stop
the flow. "Whatsa matter? Scared to race her?"
Fulcher's fist went up. But Jess walked away from it. Fulcher would have to let her run
now, he knew. And Fulcher did, angrily and grudgingly (without really wanting to do it).
She beat him. She came in first and turned her large shining eyes on a bunch of dumb
sweating-mad faces. The bell rang. Jess started across the lower field, his hands still deep in
his pockets. She caught up with him. He took his hands out and began to trot toward the hill.
She'd got him into enough trouble. She speeded up and refused to be shaken off.
"Thanks," she said.
"Yeah?" For what? he was thinking.
"You're the only kid in this whole durned school who's worth shooting." He wasn't sure,
he thought her voice was quivering, but he wasn't going to start feeling sorry for her again.
"So shoot me," he said.
On the bus that afternoon he did something he had never thought he would do. He sat
down beside May Belle. It was the only way he could make sure that he wouldn't have Leslie
plunking herself down beside him. Lord, the girl had no notion of what you did and didn't do.
He stared out the window, but he knew she had come and was sitting across the aisle from
them.
He heard her say "Jess" once, but the bus was noisy enough that he could pretend he
hadn't heard. When they came to the stop, he grabbed May Belle's hand and dragged her off,
conscious that Leslie was right behind them. But she didn't try to speak to him again, nor did
she follow them. She just took off running to the old Perkins place. He couldn't help turning
to watch. She ran as though it was her nature. It reminded him of the flight of wild ducks in
the autumn. So smooth. The word "beautiful" came to his mind, but he shook it away and
hurried up toward the house.
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