When Mrs. Ellis left the room to fetch Susie, Mrs. Barrows smiled warmly
at me, then changed her expression to one of great interest and asked Miss
Carswell how she happened to become a consultant for the math test given
to sixth graders. “After all, you were a high school math teacher,
weren’t you?” she asked.
Miss Carswell smiled. “Yes, I was. Who better to advise what foundation
needs to be in place prior to the beginning of high school?”
“
I see,” Mrs. Barrows replied, a look of disbelief on her face.
Miss Carswell’s smile turned into a smirk. “In addition, I regularly
tutored young children. Many former students sent their children to me. Even
those students who’d found me too strict valued the mathematics they
learned from me.”
Mrs. Barrows raised her eyebrows but said nothing. I shifted in my seat,
but every part of me that touched the chair felt so tender I almost gasped.
I was hoping the rest of the meeting wouldn’t take too long when Susie
marched in, followed by her mother. Susie eyed the chair her mother had been
sitting in and then, with a slight grimace, sat down on the only seat she
knew wasn’t occupied, the space on the sofa between Miss Carswell and
me.
“
Move over!” she ordered me. “You’re taking up the whole
sofa.”
I edged sideways, but I wasn’t fast enough, so she elbowed me. Her pointy
elbow landed right on my bruised rib, and I nearly gagged. “Jeez, Susie,” I
whined.
She glared at me for a moment until she remembered. “Oh, my God! I’m
so sorry, Buzz!” she yelped. Her eyes got very big and round. “Are
you okay?”
“
I’m fine,” I mumbled, wishing I could control the sweat that was
dotting my upper lip.
“
You don’t look fine,” she said.
Mrs. Barrows cleared her throat. “Are you ill, Buzz?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I have a few bruises from a slight accident. I’ll
be okay.”
Miss Carswell snorted softly and murmured, “Accident indeed!”
“
He didn’t have an accident,” Susie piped up. “He was in
a fight. He has some really big bruises. I mean, really huge! You ought to
see them!”
Miss Carswell smirked, and I could tell she was trying hard not to laugh.
Mrs. Barrows didn’t find what Susie had said funny however. She looked
startled and then suspicion passed over her face.
“
How do you know that, Susie?” she demanded sharply.
“
I saw them,” Susie replied. “Boy, they are big and ugly.”
Mrs. Barrows caught her breath. She struggled to keep her voice even. “How
did you see them? Did he take off his clothes?”
Susie snorted. “No,” she answered in a tone that was as disdainful
as I’d ever heard anyone use, “he didn’t take off his clothes.
He pulled up his shirt a little.” Her lip curled as she mumbled just
barely loudly enough for me to hear, “What a creep she is!”
Miss Carswell’s lips twitched, but she didn’t say anything.
“
What was that, Susie?” Mrs. Barrows snapped.
“
I said that he didn’t take off his clothes. He just pulled up his shirt
a little show me his bruises,” Susie said loudly and very slowly.
Mrs. Barrows’ face grew red, and I wanted to head her off before she
could yell at Susie or resume her interrogation. I turned to Susie and said, “Miss
Carswell has a math test for you. She wants to see if you’ve learned
anything.”
It was the wrong thing to say. I wished I could have grabbed the words
back before they reached Susie’s ears. Too late. Susie went absolutely
ballistic.
“
A math test!” she shrieked. “Isn’t it bad enough that I
have a stupid math test tomorrow? Are you all nuts? What am I? A math slave?” She
was so upset that her face turned white.
Miss Carswell glared at me reproachfully and shook her head in exasperation.
Then she turned to Susie.
“
It’s not a math test, Susie. Buzz is wrong,” she said firmly.
Susie quivered in silent fury.
“
I have a problem,” Miss Carswell continued, “and I would really
like it if you helped me solve it.”
Susie gave her a very cold and dubious glance. “A math problem?”
“
Not exactly,” Miss Carswell replied, “though using math could
help.”
“
Why should I help you?” Susie demanded. “What are you going to
give me if I do?”
“
Susie, your manners!” Mrs. Ellis exclaimed. “Can’t you please
cooperate?”
Mrs. Barrows frowned. “That’s what comes of coddling her,” she
announced.
Miss Carswell ignored Susie’s hostility and continued, “Let me
tell you a little about the problem, Susie, and then you can decide, all right?”
Susie shrugged. “I can’t stop you from talking.”
Mrs. Ellis sighed, but a look from Miss Carswell quelled her comment.
“
Okay then,” Miss Carswell began. “I got a phone call the other
night from a girl named Millie. Millie is about your age. Her grandmother
is my friend and sometimes Millie comes to visit me with her grandmother.
Millie called me because she has a problem and she knows that I’m good
at solving problems.”
“
You can’t be all that good,” Susie interjected, “if you
have to ask me for help.”
“
The problem is that Millie’s mother thinks Millie spends too much time
playing with her new puppy and not enough time doing her homework and helping
around the house.”
Susie sighed loudly as if bored. After a few seconds her curiosity got
the better of her. “What kind of dog is it?” she asked “How
long has she had it?”
Mrs. Barrows hissed, “Oh, for heaven’s sake! This is absurd. The
dog’s breed is irrelevant.”
Susie fixed her with a baleful glance. “It is too relevant,” she
objected. “If the puppy is really young and big and active, Millie would
be helping by playing with it and keeping it out of trouble.”
Miss Carswell grinned at her, but the teacher just sniffed and muttered, “Ridiculous!”
“
Not at all ridiculous,” Miss Carswell said calmly. “However, even
though the puppy is young and big and very active, it is not very destructive
or messy, so I doubt that Millie’s mother would consider time spent
playing with it as a contribution to housework. Good try though!” Her
grin grew broader.
“
Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Barrows repeated. “Would you
please get on with it?”
Miss Carswell went on as if she had not spoken. “What Millie’s
mother actually said to her was that she, Millie, was spending more than half
of her waking hours playing with Hershey. She told Millie that the dog would
have to go if she couldn’t be responsible. Millie was very upset and
insisted that she did not spend more than half of her waking hours playing
with Hershey.”
“
Hershey?” Susie interjected. “What a stupid name for a dog!”
“
Hershey is a chocolate Lab,” Miss Carswell explained seriously.
I heard Mrs. Ellis chuckle, but Mrs. Barrows just let out an impatient
grunt. Obviously humor was not her strong point.
“
In any case,” Miss Carswell continued, “Millie and her mother
argued for awhile, but then they finally agreed that if Millie could convincingly
demonstrate that she did not spend more than half of her waking hours playing
with Hershey, the dog could stay.” Miss Carswell took a deep breath. “She
went to her grandmother for help, and her grandmother told her to call me.”
Miss Carswell looked at Susie out of the corner of her eye. “I’m
turning to you for help, Susie, because I think you’d know best what
kind of demonstration Millie might come up with since she’s your age.
We don’t want her mother to think a grown-up told her what to say or
do.”
Susie wrinkled up her nose. “ I have two questions.” She held
up one finger and asked, “When you say ‘demonstration’,
do you mean proof? And” she held up a second finger, “when her
mom says that Millie plays with Hershey too much, does that include walking
the puppy and feeding it? ‘Cause if it does, that’s not fair.”
“
Good questions,” Miss Carswell replied. She thought for a moment. “Let
me try to answer your second question first. I think Millie’s mother
feeds Hershey and Millie’s father takes the puppy for walks. So the
answer to that one is no. As for the first question, I don’t think Millie
can prove she doesn’t spend too much time with the dog, but if she can
make a convincing case, I believe that her mother will give in.”
Susie rested her face on her hand for a few seconds. I looked up and Mrs.
Barrows was staring out into space.
“
I think it was pretty smart of Millie to get her mother to agree that she
would keep Hershey as long as she didn’t spend more than half her waking
hours with the dog,” Miss Carswell said. “That way, even if she
spends half, the dog stays.”
“
Yeah,” Susie agreed. “But it would have been better if her mom
had said she spends more than half her time playing with Hershey. That would
include the time she sleeps and it would be a lot easier to prove she doesn’t.” Susie
sighed. “I guess her mother isn’t a dog lover.”
“
I guess not,” Miss Carswell agreed.
“
Really!” Mrs. Barrows interjected. “I don’t see…”
“
I’m sure you don’t,” Miss Carswell cut her off. “But
if you sit and watch quietly, perhaps you will.”
The teacher threw up her hands and mumbled, “I never heard of such a
thing.” But that was all she had to say.
“
So what do you think we should advise Millie to do?” Miss Carswell asked
Susie.
Susie looked at her blankly. “I dunno,” she mumbled.
“
Well, what would you do if you were in her place?” Miss Carswell pressed
her.
Susie thought for only a second or two. “I’d get out my pencil
and paper and make a list of the things I do during the day and how long they
take.”
“
Let’s do it!” Miss Carswell urged.
Susie stared at her. “But I’m not Millie,” she protested, “and
I don’t know how she spends her time.”
“
She’s your age, and I imagine she spends it a lot like you do,” Miss
Carswell replied.
Susie shook her head. “Oh no she doesn’t! I bet she doesn’t
have a math tutor!”
Miss Carswell chuckled. “And you don’t have a puppy.”
Susie nodded and laughed. “Yeah, that’s right. Buzz isn’t
my puppy, he’s my math tutor.” She laughed even harder and Miss
Carswell joined her.
I blushed, but no one seemed to notice.
“
We’re just making a model for Millie to follow,” Miss Carswell
explained. “It doesn’t have to be exact, but it should be as complete
as we can make it.”
Susie sighed and pulled a pencil out of her pocket. It looked like my pencil,
only this one was thoroughly chewed up. She stared at it for a moment, then
looked over at me. “How did that happen?” she asked in a small
voice.
I rolled my eyes. “Obviously you chewed on it,” I replied.
She shrugged and then sighed. “Oh well, I guess I owe you a pencil.”
“
Can we please get on with this charade?” Mrs. Barrows demanded peevishly. “I
have a math test to construct and homework to correct.”
Miss Carswell reached into her large bag and extracted a pad of lightly
perfumed violet lined paper. I thought it was hideous, but Susie was captivated.
Miss Carswell started to hand the paper to Susie, who reached out to take
it. At the last second, however, Miss Carswell retracted the offered pad. “Would
you like me to take notes?” she asked. “That way you can think
without having to write or spell. I promise I’ll record everything you
say. I’ll be your own personal secretary.”
Indecision flooded Susie’s face. I could tell she wanted that paper,
yet the idea of having her own personal secretary really appealed to her.
She looked at me, then at her mother, then back again at Miss Carswell’s
hand holding the coveted violet paper. “Um, yes,” she said finally, “I’d
like you to take notes.”
Miss Carswell nodded. Susie started to hand her my chewed-up pencil, but
Miss Carswell reached into her tote once again and extracted a fountain pen.
Susie scooted her body over to sit closer to Miss Carswell. Soon she was
almost on top of the old woman. “Let’s see,” she started, “I
sleep nine hours a night during the school week. Write that down! That means
I have fifteen waking hours. Write that down too! I go to school from a quarter
to nine until three-fifteen, and it takes me a fifteen minutes to get there
and fifteen minutes to get back. So how many hours is that?” She glared
at Miss Carswell, who held her tongue and kept her pen at the ready.
Susie counted on her fingers, prompting a told-you-so groan from Mrs. Barrows. “That’s
six hours and a quarter and a quarter makes a half and another half to get
there and back. So all together that makes seven…” She suddenly
stopped in mid-sentence and stared at Miss Carswell’s hand. “What
is that thing you’re writing with?” she demanded, pointing at
the old woman’s fountain pen.
“
Susie!” Mrs. Barrows intervened. “Now is neither the time nor
place. You mustn’t be distracted so easily. No wonder you never finish
any of your work.”
Susie was taken aback and looked at Mrs. Barrows, first with a perplexed
expression, but then with anger.
“
On the contrary,” Miss Carswell said cheerfully, “this is the
perfect time and place to ask a question.” She smiled broadly at Susie. “This,” she
intoned, “is a vintage fountain pen, a Sheaffer Touchdown filler, to
be precise.”
“
What does vintage mean?” Susie asked, still staring at the pen.
“
It means the pen is old,” Miss Carswell replied.
“
How old?”
“
As old as I am.”
Susie’s eyes got wide. “That’s old all right,” she
whispered. “Older than my mom and wow…” She stopped to think
of an appropriately old figure but failed. “Anyway, it’s really
old.”
Mrs. Ellis’ face got very red and she pleaded, “Susie! Be polite!”
“
What?” Susie asked, looking completely confused. “What did I do?”
“
It’s rude to comment on someone’s age,” her mother said.
“
But she started it,” Susie protested.
Mrs. Ellis sighed and turned to Miss Carswell to apologize for her daughter.
“
Susie’s quite right,” Miss Carswell said with a rueful laugh. “I
did start it, and she didn’t mean to be rude. She was just making an
observation in a very emphatic way.”
Susie smiled at her gratefully. “So how does that vintage thing work?”
“
You fill it with ink from an ink bottle,” Miss Carswell said simply, “and
then you write with it.”
“
How many times?” Susie demanded.
“
As many times as it runs out of ink,” Miss Carswell explained. “You
don’t throw it away. If something goes wrong with it, you get it fixed
or fix it yourself.”
Susie sighed. “That’s good. I don’t like to throw things
away. Mommy says I’m a pack rat.”
“
Would you like to try it?” Miss Carswell offered.
Susie’s eyes lit up. “It’s pretty,” she said softly,
holding out her hand. “What do I do?”
Miss Carswell handed her the pad of violet paper and showed her how to
hold the pen. “Don’t press down! Just let the pen glide across
the page.”
Susie wrote her name and several other words I couldn’t make out from
where I was sitting. “I like this,” she murmured, smiling. “When
I grow up, I’m going to have one. And some violet paper too.” She
handed the pen and paper back to Miss Carswell who was trying very hard not
to look like a cat that had swallowed the prized, pet canary.
“
This is all quite delightful,” Mrs. Barrows announced, standing up and
brushing off her skirt, even though there was nothing on it that needed to
be brushed off. “You may have time to play with pens, but I have to
get home.”
She glared at Miss Carswell, then at Susie, and finally at me. Her expression
softened a bit when her eyes came to rest on Mrs. Ellis. “In case you
want my advice,” she intoned pompously, “as an educator and someone
who knows Susie, I recommend that you get a tutor for her who will drill her
on what she is supposed to have learned in class. I don’t care who the
tutor is,” she continued, giving me a smug look, “though obviously
some people are more suitable than others.” She nodded and picked up
her purse. “Good evening to all of you,” she said, and before
any of us could respond, she was gone.
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