A Girl Called Al: The Al Series, Book One Read Free

said, biting into my second piece of bread, “but Al wants to take shop instead of sewing and cooking, and they won’t let her.”
    â€œWho won’t let her?” Mr. Richards asked.
    â€œThe principal, that’s who. No girls get to take shop.”
    Mr. Richards scratched his head. “Seems like a perfectly normal thing. A young lady wants to take shop, then I say let her take shop. A girl like Al, she doesn’t want to waste her time with ladylike pursuits. She wants to get out and live life, change a tire or two, cut down a few trees.”
    Mr. Richards was warming up. He started to skate. He tied his rags on and off he went.
    â€œWhy, she wants to scale a couple of mountains, dig for buried treasure, sail to the South Seas in a twenty-foot sloop. Stuff like that.”
    He glided around nice and easy and after five minutes the floor gleamed and he wasn’t even out of breath.
    â€œYou think it would do any good if I went down to this here school and talked to the principal?” he asked.
    I figured he might do more harm than good, so I said, “No, no, that wouldn’t be such a good idea. The only thing is, Al wants to make a bookshelf like the guys in shop are making.”
    â€œWell now,” he said, putting on the pot for soup, “that’s all they’re doing? That’s not so much.”
    When Mr. Richards makes soup it is something to watch. He keeps a bag of stuff in his refrigerator. Like celery tops and old bones and carrots and onions. If it’s around holidays, he throws in the leftover turkey. Then he scrapes plates and if there’s any spinach or mashed potatoes or salad left, he throws it all in.
    I nearly got sick the first time I saw him do it. It looked pretty disgusting. Then I ate some once when he hadn’t told me he had made it and it was the best soup I ever ate. I don’t exactly know how to describe it, but it was delicious.
    â€œI could teach her how to make a bookshelf,” he said, pouring salt into the pot, “if her daddy isn’t handy. I’m no slouch with the tools. I got a hammer, some nails lying around somewhere. I might just hunt them up and teach both you young ladies a thing or two.”
    â€œHer daddy isn’t around,” I said. “He is divorced from her mother. He travels a lot.”
    â€œWell,” said Mr. Richards, “then we will do it.”
    Another thing about him. He doesn’t say he’s going to do something and then forget it. Like lots of people do. Mostly grownups.
    He never says, “Some other time.” He never says that. He does what he says he’s going to do.
    He is really very refreshing.

Chapter Five
    â€œI think Mr. Richards must have been quite handsome when he was a young man,” Al said when I told her he was going to help us make a bookshelf starting next Saturday morning. “If it doesn’t snow, that is. If it snows, Mr. Richards will have to clean the walks.”
    Mr. Richards is practically my best friend, outside of Al, but I do not think he was ever what you would call handsome.
    â€œHe has great character in his face,” Al said. “And his ears are lovely and close to his head.”
    I had never noticed his ears but I made a mental note to check them the next time I saw him.
    Al is saving up for contact lenses.
    â€œMy mother wears contact lenses,” she said. “She’s in Better Dresses, you know, and they like the people in Better Dresses to be chic. And it makes a world of difference when she has to wear a hat or go to a formal affair. In an evening gown.”
    I can’t see Al in either a hat or an evening gown. But that is beside the point.
    â€œNext time you come over, you can watch her,” Al said.
    â€œWatch her what?” I asked. I have only seen Al’s mother a couple of times, outside of the first day they moved in. I do not think she knows my name.
    â€œWatch her slip the