Heads or Tails Read Free

through the pages, and when I reached my new writing, I saw a big red X across every page, “DO YOUR OWN WORK,” she had written, “SEE ME AFTER GLASS.” My heart was pounding. I tried not to cry, but I could feel the tears filling my eyes. I put my head down on my desk as Mrs. Marshall began to draw lines around the room.
    At lunchtime I waited until everyone left the classroom before I went up to her desk.
    “I don’t respect cheaters,” she said to me.
    “But I did write this,” I protested. “I changed my writing.”
    “Don’t argue with me,” she replied, “I’ve already made up my mind. I don’t know who copied this into your book, but you can’t fool me.”
    I didn’t know what else to say. I was being cheated by my teacher and there was nothing I could do about it. I turned and walked to my desk.
    “I expect from now on you’ll do your own work,” she scolded. “Let this be a lesson to you.”
    The rest of the afternoon I copied her as best I could in my old handwriting. She overlapped me five times. I imagined myself failing sixth grade because I was unable to write fast enough. Betsy was right. A trained monkey could do what I do, only better.
    When I returned home I went straight to Betsy’s bedroom. “You’ve got to help me,” I blurted out. “Look at this.” I opened the notebook and showed her Mrs. Marshall’s comments.
    “Well, that’s what you get for being a copycat,” she said.
    “But I did do the work,” I Cried.
    “What do you want me to do?” she asked.
    “Write her a note and tell her I copied you,” I begged. “She’ll believe you.”
    “I’m not your mother,” said Betsy. “You copied me, now suffer the consequences.”
    “But I promise never to copy you again. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
    “Even your promises are copies of promises,” she said scornfully. “Beat it.”
    I retreated to my bedroom. I thought I could take a book and copy it in my new handwriting and prove to Mrs. Marshall that it was my work. But she could say someone else had done it, and fail me. I knew what I had to do. I unlocked my diary and with my new handwriting began to write down anything that came into my mind. I wrote between the bugs and stamps and cards and fortunes. At first, my writing didn’t make sense. No two sentences had much in common. Then I suddenly began to write out all the lyrics to
The Sound of Music.
There were a lot of those songs stuck in my head. After I cleared them out, I settled down and started to write all about my lousy school year.
    I woke up early and caught myself humming a few bars from
The Sound of Music
as I got dressed. It didn’t seem to bother me as much.
    I rode my bike up to the classroom door. Mrs. Marshall was in the back of the classroom washing out her white cotton gloves, and hanging them across a line she had strung over the sink.
    “You’re awfully early,” she said, turning to look at me as she dried her hands on a towel.
    “I wanted to talk privately with you,” I said.
    “I thought you might,” she replied.
    “This is my diary,” I said and handed it to her. “I’m the only one with a key.” I removed the string with the key on it from around my neck and held it out for her. “Go ahead and open it,” I said. “You’ll see my handwriting is the same.”
    She unlocked it. The pages fanned open and stopped at a gummy mouse skin I had peeled off the street. It still smelled fresh. “That’s disgusting!” she cried and dropped the book. “Unsanitary!”
    “But you can see my new handwriting,” I said, retrieving the book. I held it open for her. “See, it slants left.”
    She glanced at it. “Yes,” she snapped. “It’s the same. Now go take your seat.”
    I sat down and flipped open the diary. It would be fifteen minutes or so before kids started filing in. I turned to a page with a squished beetle. I drew curly hair on it like Mrs. Marshall’s. I added little white gloves on its arms and legs. I put