Weird Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

into an envelope with the school’s logo on it, and a
name was quickly written on the outside.
     
    Mrs. Heinz handed the envelope to Cleo and said, “Lucy, I
expect you to give this to your mother when you arrive home today. If she
wishes to call me, my home phone number is at the bottom of the second page.
Otherwise, I will be in my office all day tomorrow awaiting her response.”
     
    Cleo took the envelope and put it between the last page and
back cover of her notebook to keep it flat. “Okay,” she said.
     
    Mrs. Heinz frowned. “And furthermore, on the subject of this
paper that you submitted this morning, I need to say that I am both concerned
and very disappointed. This is not the sort of research that a child your age
has any business doing, and I can only suspect that, based on the title, as
well as the questionable content, you approached the assignment with an
unnecessary amount of humor and disrespect.”
     
    Cleo was shocked. “You didn’t like it?” she asked. “Do you
have any particular critiques that would be beneficial for revision before I
submit it to The American Journal of Sex for publication?”
     
    “You are not submitting this anywhere for publication!” Mrs.
Heinz snapped. “You are not to allow anyone, ever , to read this. You are
going to rewrite this assignment, Miss Gardener, and you are going to make it
appropriate for an elementary school environment. I will leave it to your tutor
to set a deadline for this, but I suggest that you get started immediately.”
And then she picked up Cleo’s paper and tore each page neatly down the center.
     
    Cleo felt her blood pressure rising. She tried to
rationalize with herself—this is just a bump in the road; you pick yourself up
and dust yourself off; these are the days of our lives—but it didn’t work.
     
    “You’re a damn Nazi!” she yelled (which is what her father
always said when he was on the phone with his publisher), and threw a stapler
right at Mrs. Heinz’s head.
     
    ***
     
    Mrs. Harrison couldn’t get the parents to collect their
daughter early from school. “I called her house seven times,” she said, “but
the woman who answered would only yell at me in Chinese.” (Meanwhile, across
town, Mrs. Fhang was cursing a blue streak in her native language. She was
trying to watch her stories, and some crazy white lady kept calling and trying
to give her a little girl.)
     
    Mrs. Harrison looked at Cleo with narrowed eyes. “Maybe you
should talk to her.”
     
    Cleo smiled sweetly. “Mrs. Harrison, I’m only nine years
old. What opportunity would I have had to learn Chinese as a second language?”
     
    “Well, somebody at your house speaks Chinese,” said Mrs.
Harrison. “Maybe you can at least tell them to come get you.”
     
    That afternoon at 2:30, Vera came, as usual, to take Cleo
home from school. Cleo wasn’t very talkative during the drive, but Vera never
liked to push. When they arrived at the house, Cleo claimed that she had tons
of homework, and went straight to her room. She climbed onto Achillea’s bed
with her backpack and pulled out the two letters she had been given at school.
Using a letter opener carved from a human femur, she quickly opened them.
     
    The first was the one Mrs. Heinz had given her earlier in
the day. “Mrs. Gardener” was scrawled on the outside. Cleo scowled. Sometimes
an alternate identity was a pain in the rear. She was used to being called Lucy
Gardener at school, but she forgot that everyone assumed her mother’s last name
would be Gardener also. She thought about the Chinese lady and smiled. Cleo had
forgotten about the fake phone number, too.
     
    Dear Mrs. Gardener,
                Educators strive to touch every child in a
special way, guiding them to a better understanding of the pleasures that can
be found in new experiences. As principal of New Bridge Elementary School, I am
a firm believer in the value of thorough instruction. Watching