Belle Teal

Belle Teal Read Free Page B

Book: Belle Teal Read Free
Author: Ann Martin
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out of it in a few places. I jam my feet into my old brown boots. They are the only shoes I ever wear, no matter what the season, when I bother with shoes at all.
    â€œPrecious, why don’t you let me braid your hair?” is Mama’s greeting to me as I sit down to Gran’s breakfast of eggs and biscuits.
    â€œOh, Mama,” I say. Braiding always takes so long.
    â€œJust for your first day of school,” she says.
    I think of standing there while Mama tugs and pulls. “I look okay,” I tell her finally, and Mama gives up.
    I suspect I am not looking my best for the first day of school. I don’t think Miss Casey will mind loose hair, though.
    When breakfast is over (I always eat a good, big breakfast), I rush around gathering up the things I will need for school: notebook, pencil case, changepurse, lunch in a bag.
    â€œBye, Mama! Bye, Gran!” I call as I run out the door. I fly across our yard and wait by the road. I can see the school bus wheezing up our hill.
    The bus draws to a stop and I wave madly at Bernette, the driver, before she even opens the door.
    â€œHello, Bernette!” I cry as I board those three steps.
    â€œWelcome back, Belle Teal,” she says, and she flashes me a wide grin.
    Bernette and me, we never get to see each other over the summer.
    I give Bernette a peck on the cheek and then I stand at the head of the aisle and look at the faces in the bus, trying to spot Clarice. Just as I see her waving to me from the third row of seats I hear something like a little snort down at my side. Sitting in the very first row of seats, directly behind Bernette, is a girl I have never seen before.
    Lordy, she is proper looking.
    I glance at my shift with the stitches popping apart and the stain on the hem, and at my dusty boots. Then I look at the new girl again. Her blonde hair is silky and shiny and pulled back from her face with a yellow-and-white-striped ribbon. And she is wearing an outfit I think I might have seen in the Sears catalog — a yellow skirt-and-sweater set, very soft looking. And black shoes that are patent leather like Mama’s belt. And white tights. By lunchtime this girl is going to be roasting.
    I can’t help myself. I stare at her. I look at her hair ribbon, and then my eyes glide all the way down to those shoes, then back up to the ribbon.
    The girl looks me in the eye and snorts again. Snorts like a pig.
    I frown at her.
    â€œNice dress,” she whispers as I start to pass by her.
    â€œWho are you?” I ask.
    â€œI am Vanessa Mathers, and I come from Mechanicsville.”
    â€œNice to meet you,” I reply. I head for Clarice.
    While this has been going on, Bernette has been engaged in the daily struggle that takes place in front of my house. She has to turn the bus around. I am the only kid who lives up here on the hill, so after Bernette reaches my stop, she groans and pants and lets out sighs that puff up her gray bangs while drips of sweat form on her temples. She turns and turns and turns that steering wheel as she swings the bus into our drive, backs it up, and heads us down the hill again.
    I am fully settled next to Clarice before Vanessa Mathers realizes what Bernette has been up to. Vanessa turns around and glares at me. “You mean we had to drive all the way up here just to pick you up?” she asks.
    I think about my conversations with Mama the night before — about being nice to new kids and hate creating hate and all. I don’t want to judge Vanessa on her appearance, but I believe she is judging me on mine. Which I don’t like it. Chas and Vernon, for instance, they got to know me before they showed their mean selves. Still, I decide to hold my tongue for the present. I just smile sweet-like at Vanessa Mathers.
    Vanessa, she makes quite a face at me before she swings her shiny hair around and rides the rest of the way to Coker Creek Elementary with her eyes fixed on the back of

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