The Wednesday Wars: September–October

But last summer, Ben Cummings moved to Connecticut so his father could work in Groton, and Ian MacAlister moved to Biloxi so his father could be a chaplain at the base there instead of the pastor at Saint Andrew’s — which is why we ended up with Pastor McClellan, who could have called Isaiah a personal friend, too.

We listened to Walter Cronkite report on the new casualty figures from Vietnam, and how the air war was being widened, and how two new brigades of the 101st Airborne Division were being sent over, until CBS finally threw in a commercial.

I kept a perimeter of about ten feet or so around me, and stayed in Mrs. Sidman’s line of sight.

Doug Swieteck’s brother wouldn’t even come near me, and I would foil Mrs. Baker’s nefarious plan.

His voice was cracking, probably because he was imagining the propulsion of a soccer ball as it left Doug Swieteek’s brother’s foot and hurtled toward the goal, and wondering what it might do to his chest.

And Doug Swieteck’s brother veered toward me.
I ran back a bit and stepped even closer to the sideline.
And he veered toward me again.

So I glanced up at Mrs. Baker’s window — she wasn’t there, probably so she wouldn’t be accused of being an accomplice — and then I ran toward the goal, turned, and stood.

She probably saw “Negligent Playground Monitor” headlines in her future.

Mr. Guareschi’s long ambition had been to become dictator of a small country.

His voice was high-pitched and a little bit shrill, like he had spent a lot of time standing on balconies screaming speeches through bad P.A. systems at the multitudes down below who feared him.

She kept her face as still as Mount Rushmore, even when Doug Swieteck’s new pen broke and spread bright blue ink all over his desk, or when the Rand McNally Map of the World fell off its hangers as she pulled it down, or when Mr. Guareschi reported during Afternoon Announcements that Lieutenant Tybalt Baker would soon be deployed to Vietnam with the 101st Airborne Division and we should all wish him, together with Mrs. Baker, well.

Do you think Mrs. Baker looks like an evil genius?”
“Not unless you’re paranoid."

There was only the delicious, extravagant, warm, tasty scent of buttery baking crust, and of vanilla cream, and of powdered sugar, still drifting in the heated air.

Even Mai Thi looked at me with narrowed eyes, and said, “I know your home.” Which sounded pretty ominous.

The cloud of chalk dust wafted higher.