The Secret Life of Ms. Finkleman by Ben H. Winters Read Free Book Online Page B

still thy lover true, come once again and love me….”
    As they sang, Ms. Finkleman glanced anxiously at the clock. She knew that this magical period, like the romance depicted in the song, would soon have to end.
    Actually, it ended early. At 1:53, seven minutes before the period bell, the door of the Band and Chorusroom abruptly swung open, revealing Jasper Ferrars, the assistant principal. Ms. Finkleman lowered her baton, and the children grew quiet. “Excuse me, children,” said Jasper, rubbing his thin hands together rapidly. “Ms. Finkleman, Principal Van Vreeland would like a moment of your time. Immediately after class. If you don’t mind.” He shut the door, and the little voice in Ms. Finkleman’s head returned:
I told you so.

10

THE TINIEST CHANCE IN PLAN
    Bethesda Fielding
was having a tough time getting down the hall. She was on her way to her seventh-period class, Pre-algebra with Mr. Carlsbad, but everywhere she turned she was thronged by excited kids. They tugged on her elbow, tapped on her shoulders, stood in her way.
    “So, wait—Ms. Finkleman?” they asked.
    “The music lady?”
    “She was in a band?”
    “A punk band? ”
    “Seriously?”
    “Yup,” answered Bethesda with a wide smile.
“Seriously.
All documented by numerous primary sources.”
    Her whole day had been like this. At lunch, between classes, during classes, she had explained about the magazine articles, about the tattoo, about the set list. And all day long, she had gotten the same response.
    “Awesome!” “Cool.”
“So
cool.”
    “Thank you,” she said, grinning, bouncing a little on her heels. “I know.”
    Bethesda’s friends were nearly as worked up by the whole thing as she was. “Man,” said Chester Hu, shaking his head with glee. “You’re a detective! You’re like whatever-his-face! The guy with the hat!”
    “Sherlock Holmes,” murmured Victor Glebe.
    “You should do all the teachers! ” Chester continued, ignoring him. “You should do Mr. Vasouvian next! I bet he’s a former serial killer!”
    “Bethesda, you realize you’re famous now, right?” said Suzie. “I mean, like,
world
famous. Right, Shelly?”
    But Shelly was busy explaining to a tall eighth grader named Rick Triplehorn that she had been the visual assistant and was therefore an important part of the whole discovery. “Nice work,” said Rick, causing Shelly to blush bright red and drop her backpack on her foot.
    Just then, Pamela Preston approached and offered her congratulations, which sounded the tiniest bit like they weren’t congratulations at all. “Bethesda!” Pamela said in a slight singsong. “Have I even
said
to you yet how
amazing
your Special Project was?” (She hadn’t.) “No, it was
really
good, Bethesda. It really was. It’s just too bad Ms. Finkleman didn’t turn out to be related to someone really interesting. Like, oh, I don’t know, Jesse James or someone. Not to be, like, negative.”
    Bethesda thought it was a bit, like, negative, but she didn’t let it bother her. She said thanks, and kept on grinning. She felt like she had been grinning all day.
    Ida Finkleman sat in a gray rolling chair in Principal Van Vreeland’s office. Jasper, thin and wiry, stood just behind her, his arms crossed.
    “So,” said Principal Van Vreeland, smiling with pursed lips and leaning back in her own chair, which was just like the one Ms. Finkleman was in, except twice as big.
    “Ida.”
    “Yes, Principal Van Vreeland,” said Ms. Finkleman. “Ida, Ida, Ida.”
    “Yes, Principal Van Vreeland,” said Ms. Finkleman again.
    This was very odd. Just as in eight years at Mary Todd Lincoln Ms. Finkleman had never had a class full of respectful children, she had also never been called in for a sit-down meeting with the principal. Ms. Finklemanwas surprised, in fact, that Principal Van Vreeland even knew her first name. But now here she was, saying it over and over, in a fashion clearly intended to be friendly—but which