The Cat Ate My Gymsuit Read Online Free PDF Page B

abused.”
    “I’m careful. Look, Marcy, what happened?”
    So I told her about what had happened. I started to cry when I got to the part about Ms. Finney and Smedley. She held me.
    “Honey, do you love Miss Finney more than me?”
    “No . . .It’s different. She’s not afraid, and she’s helping me not to be afraid. And she teaches good stuff in class. It’s not fair. Mr. Stone is an idiot.”
    “Oh, honey, don’t talk like that.”
    “It’s true. He’s an idiot, a dope. He’s just rotten.”
    “Marcy, he’s a human being. Remember that.”
    “Nothing you say can make me believe that. Stone’s not human. There’s not one nice thing about him.”
    “You know, Marcy, life’s not like that. No one is all bad or all good—not Mr. Stone, not your father, not me, no one. You’ve got to learn that.”
    I just shook my head. “Stone’s a fool.”
    Just then, Stuart came running into the house. He’d been riding his bike, and had fallen. We ran over to him.
    “Stuart, where does it hurt?”
    He just kept crying.
    My mother looked for broken bones and blood. Finding none, she said, “I think you’ll live. Did you break the sidewalk?”
    Stuart shook his head.
    “Would you two like some ice cream?”
    We said yes and headed for the kitchen.
    “Wolf wants some orange pits.”
    “We’re out of oranges. We’ll get some later.”
    I decided to say something. “Stuart, I love you.”
    He smiled, and I smiled back. It’s so easy to love him sometimes. He’s a little weird, but he’s a good person, for a four-year-old. Ms. Finney says that age doesn’t matter, but sometimes it’s hard to talk to a little kid. But the thing with Stuart is that we say a lot without talking.
    We heard a car door slam, a scary sound when you know that it means your father is home. My mother went to the front door to meet him.
    “What a rotten day,” he said. That’s what he always says. It’s always the same. My mother then kisses him and hands him a Scotch and soda. It’s one of our few family traditions.
    “Martin, I want to talk to you about something. Please, stay calm.”
    My mother has a fantastic sense of timing. It got quieter, and then I heard my father scream, “Marcy Lewis, get in here!”
    I ran into the living room and tripped on the rug, but didn’t fall.
    “You’re such a klutz. I thought sending you to dancing school was supposed to make you more graceful.”
    “I wanted drum lessons, not dancing.”
    “You’d probably give yourself a concussion with the drumsticks,” my father said. “What’s this I hear about school?”
    “Mr. Stone’s wrong. Ms. Finney’s a good teacher.”
    “How many times must I tell you to respect your elders?”
    “But he’s wrong.”
    “I doubt that, but even if he were, you must learn to respect those in authority. How do you expect to get ahead?”
    “I don’t care about that. All I care about is Ms. Finney.”
    “I never did like her, young lady. She’s been feedingyou a lot of garbage, with that sensitivity-training crap and calling herself Ms. What’s wrong with Miss? Just be good and play by the rules and you’ll be a much happier person. Your mother and I know that.”
    “Martin, I think Miss Finney has helped Marcy.”
    “Don’t you start. Look. I know what’s best for this family. Don’t I support you and take care of you?”
    Stuart came over, hugged me, and smiled.
    “Why is the kid so dirty?” my father asked.
    “I fell off my bike,” Stuart remembered.
    “Just what we need. Another clumsy kid in this family.”
    My mother said, “Let’s all wash up for dinner. Marcy and Stuart, let’s go set the table.”
    We went into the kitchen while my father sat down to read the paper in the living room.
    Once the table was set and dinner ready, we all sat down. My father talked about how hard his job was. Stuart kept sucking his thumb. I stared at my plate, and my mother suggested how nice it would be for all of us to go on a weekend