The Best Man Read Free

classroom.
    A smiling lady in a corduroy skirt stood there.
    Grandpa told her I was his grandson. His hat was off. He waited till I reached up to shake the teacher’s hand.
    She was Mrs. Bird, and she checked me off a printout, so there was no going back.
    I was trying to figure out how Grandpa knew where first grade was when Mrs. Bird gave him another look. “Sir, are you Mr. Addison Magill?”
    Grandpa nodded a little bow.
    â€œWhat an honor to meet the architect of Westside Elementary. I had no idea you were still—I mean, what a pleasure!”
    No wonder Grandpa knew where the first-grade room was. It was where he’d put it. He wasn’t a carpenter. He was the architect. This was a lot to learn before school even started.
    Grandpa gave me a little boost on my backpack. Then he was gone. Now you see him, now you don’t.
    â€¢ • •
    We began Mrs. Bird’s first grade in a circle on the floor, holding our ankles. And guess who was sitting next to me? The new girl with all the red hair. Lynette Stanley.
    â€œWhy are you sitting next to me?” I asked, not moving my lips.
    â€œYou’re the only one here I know.”
    The Stanleys were new in town. I’d gone to kindergarten with everybody else. All seven boys named Josh were here. Josh Hunnicutt had been the smallest kid in kindergarten and still was. And that meant I wasn’t. Russell Beale was back. We’d heard he’d flunked kindergarten and had to repeat it. But it was only a rumor.
    It was your regular first grade. Three people were crying. There were a few thumb-suckers. One kid was in some kind of superhero costume with a cape. Two girls had brought their Madame Alexander dolls. The security guard had taken a knife off Jackson Showalter. He’d brought a hunting knife in his backpack to the first day of school.
    â€œIs that the kid they had to disarm?” Lynette nodded across the circle at Jackson. It wasn’t nine o’clock yet, and he was famous already. I nodded back. There were missing teeth in every mouth around the circle, but Jackson looked like he’d lost his in a fight.
    â€œAnd who have I got on my other side?” Lynette said in my ear. I looked.
    â€œNatalie Schuster,” I muttered.
    Lynette crossed her eyes and held her nose. “She’s wearing perfume.”
    â€œShe could read before kindergarten,” I explained. “Books without pictures. She thinks she’s a grown-up.”
    â€œWeird,” Lynette said. “Spooky.”
    â€œYou think you’re a grown-up too,” I told her.
    â€œNo, I don’t,” Lynette said. “I’ve got a fifth-grade vocabulary, but I’m in first.”
    â€œCan you read?”
    â€œIsn’t that what first grade’s
for
?” she said.
    Now the teacher was settling on a small chair. She tucked her corduroy skirt. “Boys and girls, my name is Mrs. Bird, so you are my little birds.”
    Natalie groaned and poked two fingers down her throat.
    â€œWho knows a good word for a little bird?” Mrs. Bird asked.
    â€œChick,” said Natalie. “Birdy. Something like that.” Natalie was always first with an answer. She never had to think about it.
    â€œFledgling,” Lynette said.
    Mrs. Bird looked really happy. “Fledgling! That’s a very good word. That’s a fifth-grade word, Lynette.”
    We had name tags pinned on our shirts.
    â€œExcept it’s not a word,” Natalie said into Lynette’s other ear.
    Lynette turned to her. “
Fledgling
’s a word.”
    â€œNo, it happens not to be,” Natalie said. “If it was, I’d know it. I was reading before kindergarten. I’ve read every one of the American Girl books. They ought to write one about me. And I hate your hair.”
    And so our journey through grade school began. It was already happening in that first circle of Mrs. Bird’s fledglings.
    In grade school,