Just Me. Morley by Jacquelyn Johnson

Author:Jacquelyn Johnson [Johnson, Jacquelyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crimson Hill Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

thirteen

It makes me boiling mad when people think kids are stupid, or dishonest, just because they aren’t grown-ups yet. But that’s exactly what Mrs. Green is doing.

What she’s saying right now is everyone is free to go to recess.

Except me.

Other kids are quick to get out the door. Then I’m standing there, in front of her desk and she’s writing something and frowning.

Making me just stand there and wait.

And then she’s saying that sometimes children tell tales because they don’t know the difference between what really happens and what just happens in their imagination.

“If I’ve learned anything in my 35 years of teaching, Morley, it’s that children exaggerate,” she says. “And they also lie. All the time.”

It’s as if she thinks adults never do this. But I know they do.

“And I know you’re a very imaginative girl, Morley,” she adds, in her stern voice. “With all the little doodles you make and the story-telling.”

“You mean, with my art work. And writing.”

“Well, if you want to call it that. But I’m more concerned about this story you told about a cat…”

“Feather,” I said, not caring that I’m interrupting. “His name is Lucky Feather. He’s a kit...”

“About this cat,” she says, “that you say you saw falling off a balcony, so you brought it to school yesterday, which you know is not allowed. Our classroom is for learning. It’s not a zoo.”

This brings an idea into my mind of drawing a classroom where all the students are animals. Happy animals, so I smile.

“This is no laughing matter,” She says.

I look at her, trying to remember if I’ve ever seen Mrs. Green laugh, ever. About anything. Or even smile.

“So, is that a true story you wrote yesterday? Or just a piece of fiction you made up to get attention?”

If I wanted to get attention, I can think of lots of ways of doing it, but I don’t tell her this.

“It’s non-fiction. That means something that really happened. What you told us we had to write yesterday. Something real that happened in our lives recently, and…”

I expect her to get angry about me being sassy, what she calls “talking back.” Then I’ll just duck out and get outside to recess. But instead, she says, “I see. Tell me this non-fiction of yours again, then.”

I wish she’d just read the story I handed in, because I’d rather be outside, talking to Sam and Jayden and the other kids.

Mrs. Green says tell the story. So I do.

About Daisy taking too long to get ready, like every morning.

About hauling the garbage bin back towards the side of our house, while my mother and Daisy were still getting outside.

About the man yelling, and yanking the woman by the hair, and her shrieking, and him grabbing something and throwing it.

About it coming down and landing on the grass, right at my feet.

About looking closer to see it was a kitten.

About my mom yelling for me to hurry up and get in the car.

About scooping up the kitten and hiding him in the front of my jacket.

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