Seven Dead Pirates by Linda Bailey Read Free Book Online Page B

Before first grade, it was just him and his parents and his nanny, Judith, who had looked after him when he was little. Judith was nice, but, like his parents, quite old, and looking back, Lewis figured that she must have been shy herself. At any rate, she never spoke to the other adults in the playground, so Lewis didn’t talk to the kids, either. Not until first grade.
    By then, it was too late. He knew nothing. He got everything wrong. Clothes, of course. He wore a
coat
that first year—a long blue coat that came down past his knees.
    You couldn’t play games in a coat! So tag and dodgeball were among the things he got wrong. Some of the other things were lunch foods, recess, birthday presents, names of cars, taking turns, TV shows, sharing, Halloween costumes and talking.
    Talking was the worst. He’d gotten that wrong immediately. He had talked way too much, he could see that now, and he didn’t talk the way other kids did or about the same things. So they had stopped talking to him. They had stopped listening. They had stopped even seeing that he was there. He couldn’t blame them, really.
    But Lewis wasn’t stupid, and he understood—even at six—that the other kids didn’t like him, even if he didn’t know why. So, little by little, he had given up. Eventually, he had ended up like that guy in the TV movie—terminally shy. He couldn’t speak anymore in class. Not at
all
! In the past few years, he had said so little that his school voice had rusted right over. If he forced himself, what came out was the caw of a crow, or—like this morning—a rodent squeak.
    When the recess bell rang, Lewis followed his classmates outside. He found a place to stand, beside the front stairs. Over the years, he’d developed a talent for finding corners of the schoolyard to hide in, walls to lean against. He was good at stillness, too—so good,kids ran past without seeing him, as if he were a stump. If Danny Divers were there, they might stand beside each other. Two stumps. They might say a few words now and then.
    But Danny Divers was gone.
    Lewis kept his head down, as if he had a powerful interest in his own shoes. A picture of an ostrich popped into his head—he’d heard that ostriches hide their heads in the sand, believing this makes them invisible. He smiled to think that he was really no smarter than an ostrich.
    “What’s so funny, Lewissssser?” said a voice to his right.
    Seth.
    Lewis didn’t answer.
    “I guess he won’t talk to us,” said Seth. “Maybe it’s because he’s so
special
.”
    Lewis stared at the shoes in the semi-circle around him. He knew Seth’s shoes well. White trainers, heavily scuffed, with a couple of blue stripes. White pants. Lewis knew without looking up that the T-shirt was white, too. This had been Seth’s uniform ever since he’d turned up after Christmas the previous year. White shirt, white pants, every day. Nobody had ever dressed that way at Tandy Bay Elementary before. But Seth was the opposite of Lewis. He made friendseasily. Soon there were two more boys dressing in white. And by June, two more.
    Now, glancing around, Lewis could see, above the shoes, six pairs of white pants. Maybe they were on sale, he thought, and his mouth once again betrayed him with a smile.
    “Must be hilarious, Lewissssser,” said Seth. “You’re a regular comedian.”
    The other boys laughed.
    “But guess what’s
not
funny. You’re standing in my square again.”
    Yes, thought Lewis, this was how it started.
    The front of the schoolyard was covered in paving stones, each about the size of a desk top. It didn’t matter which square Lewis stood on—that was the one Seth would want. It didn’t help, either, to leave the paving-stone area. Seth would draw a square around Lewis in the dirt if he had to. Just so he could claim it.
    “I don’t suppose you’d mind
moving
, Lewisssser. I mean, I know you’re
fragile
and all, but even us ordinary guys who aren’t so
special
need a