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Abel took a deep breath. “Okay, fine,” he said. “What happens next year?” he asked. “She’ll be in the sixth grade all over again, won’t she, with Mrs. Hardlick?”
“Who knows where she’ll be next year?” said Melissa. “Right now, she’s smart enough to be in college, yet emotionally, she needs to be with kids her own age. That’s the whole problem. She doesn’t fit anywhere.”
Angeline agreed with that. She was always on the outside, even now, behind the door.
“So why the fifth grade?” Abel asked.
“Because,” Melissa said, shrugging modestly, “because, like you said”—she smiled—“I’m a nice teacher.”
“Yes, I bet you are,” said Abel.
They decided to leave it up to Angeline. She bolted out from behind the door. “I want to be in Mr. Bone’s class,” she announced.
“Okay, fine,” said Abel.
Miss Turbone told Angeline that she might have to wait a couple of days before all of the administrative stuff could be completed. In the meantime, she would have to return to Mrs. Hardlick’s class.
“Okay, fine,” said Angeline.
It didn’t occur to any of them, at the time, that Angeline might have been better off waiting at home or at the aquarium or anyplace else except Mrs. Hardlick’s class, until the administrative stuff could be completed.
They didn’t think that one or two days would matter.
Fifteen
Otherwise Known as Mr. Bone
Abel offered to walk Melissa out to her car. She said it wasn’t necessary but he insisted. “I don’t know how safe the streets are this time of night,” he said.
They didn’t speak, or even look at each other, as they rode down in the elevator. Elevators do that to people. But once outside in the cool night air, Abel finally asked the question he had wanted to ask all night.
“Melissa, why do you call yourself Mr. Bone?”
She wasn’t sure she understood his question. “At school,” she replied, “the students are not supposed to call their teachers by their first names, although I really wouldn’t mind if they wanted to call me Melissa.”
He wasn’t sure he understood her answer. “No. Why Mister?” he asked.
“What?”
“Why Mr. Bone? Why not Miss Bone?”
“Miss Bone?” she questioned. “Mr. Bone?” She looked at him with utter astonishment. “Mr. Bone,” she repeated. “Mr. Bone!” she exclaimed. She laughed so hard she had to grab his arm to steady herself.
Abel didn’t know what to think.
“Does Angeline call me Mr. Bone?” she asked. She couldn’t believe it.
“Yes,” said Abel. He felt embarrassed but didn’t know why.
“And you call me Mr. Bone, too?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I guess. You answered to it.”
She laughed again and buried her face in his shoulder.
He wished he knew what was so funny.
Just for a moment she felt like kissing him. Instead, she squeezed his arm. “Abel,” she said, “my name is Melissa Turbone, otherwise known as Miss…” She paused for emphasis. “Turbone.” Her mouth dropped open. Just then, when she had said her name, even with the pause for emphasis, it did sound to her like she said “Mr. Bone.” “You know, you’re right!” she remarked. “No matter how you try to say it, it still comes out Mr. Bone!”
