Flying Solo Page 9
I told him: “We got out the Ouija board and used it to try to contact the spirit of Tommy Feathers, a kid in our class who died in October.”
The man asked: “Really?”
I told him: “No, I’m kidding. We did our work, read, wrote. It was just like any other day.”
He seemed disappointed, and hung up.
Here’s the saddest fact of all: Nothing happened. Don’t worry about whether or not we were good. Believe me, we were too good. No rock music, no party, no nothing. For about twenty minutes some of us played a computer game. Big deal!
Pathetically,
Christopher
Missy
Dear Mr. Fabiano,
Friday was an important day. We proved that kids could have fun and still act a lot more responsibly than most grownups (like my parents) ever thought we could.
Did we do the right thing? Tough question. In the Revolutionary War the colonists dumped tea into Boston Harbor. Was that wrong? My mother thinks that’s not a fair comparison, but I disagree. We saw the chance for more freedom. We took that chance. And we were willing to pay the price.
Sincerely,
Missy
P.S. Did you see the photograph of our class in the newspaper? That’s the best picture of me I’ve ever had taken!
Karen
Dear Mr. Fab,
You’ve been telling me all year that I’m a leader but I don’t think I realized it until Friday. It was me who went to the office and decided not to tell Mrs. Pierce that they forgot to send us a sub. It was me who gave the class the idea in the first place. I talked the other kids into it. I take full responsibility for what happened.
I went to the office to tell them that we had no teacher. But when I got there I realized that all they would do is send us some stranger to tell us what we were supposed to do. Who needed that? We knew what to do. I figured: Hey, we can run the class ourselves.
Jessica thought it was really dangerous for us to be without a teacher. My parents say the same thing. I thought and thought about it all weekend and I still respectfully disagree. We handled every problem that came up until the rock ritual when Rachel and Bastian got into that awful argument. I’ll admit it: That was very, very scary. That was the only time I wished you were with us. But then again, if you were with us I seriously doubt we ever would have talked and written about Tommy Feathers.
Sincerely,
Karen Ballard
Bastian
Today is Friday. (You won’t read this till Monday.) Today has been BASTIAN’S TERRIBLE HORRIBLE NO GOOD DAY.
We just did a rock ritual. (This is my last day in class.) Rachel accused me of picking on Tommy Feathers. She’s right. But it was nothing against him. That’s my style. I picked on lots of kids when I moved here, and I’ll probably do the same thing in Hawaii. It’s like what they say in the Air Force: “The best defense is a good offense.”
Today I cried in school. I haven’t done that since first grade! Kids probably think I got upset because of what Rachel said. Wrong! It was because of Barkley, my puppy. I can’t take him to Hawaii. It’s too cruel to quarantine him for so long, so after school I’m going to give him to Sean O’Day. It’s the best thing for Barkley (even though it’s a bad thing for me).
Your former student,
Bastian Fauvell
P.S. I’m going to ask Dad if I can get a new puppy when we get to Hawaii.
P.P.S. It’s okay if you let Rachel White read this letter.
Sean
Dear Mr. Fabiano,
When Mr. Peacock found out we been alone all day he jammed us into his office and bawled us out for about fifteen minutes. He said we might get suspended.
But I didn’t mind. I was in a double good mood, first because I knew I was going to be walking home with Rachel. And second because Bastian told me he was giving me his puppy!
Me and Rachel walked home without saying anything. Her mom got us homemade cookies and milk and put them on a little coffee table in front of the TV, but I was too excited to eat. I ran almost the whole way over to Bastian’s. I was half thinking that Bastian was kidding me, but he wasn’t. He cried when he gave me Barkley. And I felt sorry for him.
When Barkley came into the house he ran over to the couch and jumped up on Dad and started licking his face like a lollipop. The puppy likes Dad and Darlene but he’s crazy about me. He follows me all over the place. Dad made a little bed for him in the corner of my bedroom but today when I woke up Barkley was sleeping curled up on my bed. And I got a feeling like Christmas morning.
Yours truly,
Sean
Rachel
Dear Mr. Fabiano,
Last night Mom ordered two small pizzas, one with black olives, one with pepperoni. “Which one do you want?” she asked. And it hit me. It probably sounds stupid but when she asked that pizza question a little light went on in my head. I had a choice. Last fall I decided to stop talking. But I didn’t have to keep quiet for the rest of my life. I could choose to speak when I was ready. Today it felt like the right time.
I can’t wait to tell Mom. And call my father.
I believe we accomplished something important on Friday. Maybe Class 6-238 won’t get a place in the Guinness Book of World Records. But for almost six hours we were on our own. Jessica thought it was dangerous, and she was 100% right Of course it was dangerous. The first time Amelia Earhart soloed, she nearly crashed. But she survived and so did we. Deep down I believe we did the right thing.
You’re going to hear all about me and Bastian fighting during the rock ritual. I still don’t completely understand what happened. All I know is, it was the six-month anniversary of Tommy’s death, so all day I was thinking of him, and all of a sudden my feelings just bubbled over. I was unfair to Bastian, and I wrote him a note to apologize. Lots of times I wasn’t very nice to Tommy, either. I snubbed him the night before he died. I can’t change that. But over the weekend I said to myself: “I can live with what I did. I’m not a terrible person.” And now I can say it out loud.
Love,
Rachel
About the Author
RALPH FLETCHER is the author of many well-received books for children. His books include Spider Boy, Fig Pudding, and Twilight Comes Twice (all Clarion), as well as books of poetry for young adults. Mr. Fletcher received his B.A. from Dartmouth College and his M.F.A. from Columbia University. He lives in Birmingham, Alabama.