Last Summer with Maizon by Jacqueline Woodson Read Free Book Online Page A

Li’l Jay. Maybe she could write about that. No, Margaret thought, looking down at the blank piece of paper in front of her. It was too much to tell. She’d never get finished and Ms. Peazle would scold her—making her feel too dumb to be in 6-1. Margaret chewed her eraser and stared out the window again. There had to be something she could write about quickly.
    â€œMargaret Tory!” Ms. Peazle warned. “Am I going to have to change your seat?”
    â€œMa’am? I was just ...”
    â€œI think I’m going to have to move you away from that window unless you can prove to me that you can sit there without being distracted.”
    â€œI can, Ms. Peazle. It helps me write,” she lied.
    â€œThen I take it you should be ready to read your essay in”—Ms. Peazle looked at her watch—“the next seven minutes.”
    Margaret started writing frantically. When Ms. Peazle called her to the front of the room, her sheet of notebook paper shook in her hand. She pulled nervously at the hem of her maroon dress she and Maizon had picked out for school and tried not to look out at the twenty-six pairs of eyes she knew were on her.
    â€œLast summer was the worst summer of my life. First my father died and then my best friend went away to a private boarding school. I didn’t go anywhere except Manhattan. But that wasn’t any fun because I was taking Maizon to the train. I hope next summer is a lot better.”
    She finished reading and walked silently back to her desk and tried to concentrate on not looking out the window. Instead, she rested her eyes on the half-written page. Margaret knew she could write better than that, but Ms. Peazle had rushed her. Anyway, she thought, that is what happened last summer.
    â€œI’d like to see you after class, Margaret.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Margaret said softly. This is the end, she thought. One week in the smartest class and it’s over. Maizon was smart enough to go to a better school and I can’t even keep up in this class. Margaret sighed and tried not to stare out the window for the rest of the day.
    When the three o’clock bell rang, she waited uneasily in her seat while Ms. Peazle led the rest of the class out to the school yard. Margaret heard the excited screams and laughter as everyone poured outside.
    The empty classroom was quiet. She looked around at the desks. Many had words carved into them. They reminded her of the names she and Maizon had carved into the tar last summer. They were faded and illegible now.
    Ms. Peazle came in and sat at the desk next to Margaret’s. “Margaret,” she said slowly, pausing for a moment to remove her glasses and rub her eyes tiredly. “I’m sorry to hear about your father ...”
    â€œThat’s okay.” Margaret fidgeted.
    â€œNo, Margaret, it’s not okay,” Ms. Peazle continued, “not if it’s going to affect your schoolwork.”
    â€œI can do better, Ms. Peazle, I really can!” Margaret looked up pleadingly. She was surprised at herself for wanting so badly to stay in Ms. Peazle’s class.
    â€œI know you can, Margaret. That’s why I’m going to ask you to do this. For homework tonight ...”
    Margaret started to say that none of the other students had been assigned homework. She decided not to, though.
    â€œI want you to write about your summer,” Ms. Peazle continued. “I want it to express all of your feelings about your friend Maizon going away. Or it could be about your father’s death and how you felt then. It doesn’t matter what you write, a poem, an essay, a short story. Just so long as it expresses how you felt this summer. Is that understood?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” Margaret looked up at Ms. Peazle. “It’s understood.”
    Ms. Peazle smiled. Without her glasses, Margaret thought, she wasn’t that mean-looking.
    â€œGood, then I’ll