"Babysitters Club 122 Kristy In Charge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Babysitters Club)

"They won't be spelled wrong because someone else will fix the misspellings," Vanessa informed her.
Margo wasn't buying this. "Like who?"
"Like a secretary or an editor or someone like that," Vanessa replied. "Besides, spelling was made up by a bunch of crazy people who wrote words in the strangest ways they could think of, just to confuse everyone else."
"That's the truth!" said Claudia. At last, someone who understands the problem, she thought. Vanessa might only be nine, but she was on to something. At least in Claudia's opinion.
"I can spell, but I think worrying about spelling gets in the way of making great poems," Vanessa said. "The first thing you must know about a poem is that it has to rhyme."
"My teacher says it doesn't," Margo protested. "Haiku poems, written in Japan, don't rhyme."
"That's Japanese poetry," Vanessa replied irritably. "The rules are different in America."
"I don't think all American poems rhyme either," Claudia said gently. She remembered learning this in English class.
Vanessa stamped one foot. "My poems rhyme and that's what I'm teaching - rhyming poems."
"I like rhyming poems," Claire said. "I know one - 'Little Miss Muffet/Sat on a tuffet/Eating her curds and whey . . .' " She stopped and made a confused face. "What's a tuffet?"
'And what's curds and whey?" Margo asked.
Claudia shrugged. "I've always wondered about that myself."
'A tuffet is something you sit on and curds and whey are something you eat," Vanessa said in a patient voice.
Margo scowled at her. "We knew that! What we wanted to know was - "
" 'Miss Muffet' is a nice poem, Claire," Vanessa cut her off. "But it's not a great poem. In my class, you will learn to make up great poems that express your true feelings." She propped her poster board against the TV and
used her marker to print the word fly. "Today we will make a poem by rhyming the word fly. Class, what rhymes with fly?"
"Sky!" Claire shouted.
"My," Margo said.
"Eskimo pie," Claudia offered.
"Very good," Vanessa commended them. She wrote their suggestions on her poster board. "Now more suggestions."
After they filled the board with rhyming words, they worked together to compose a poem using them. Claudia told me she had a great time. If real school were as much fun as Vanessa's school, Claudia might not mind attending.
At five-thirty, Mrs. Pike returned with Mallory, whom she'd picked up at school. As they walked through the door, Mrs. Pike was saying to Mal, "You're so good at English, I'm sure it won't make a bit of difference to the eighth-graders that - "
She was cut off by Claire, who hurled herself excitedly into her mother. "Mom, oh, Mom, how the time does fly/Just moments ago we said good-bye/Did you bring home an Eskimo pie?/Did you even try? I say with a sigh/I want to cry/No Eskimo pie/For poor little I."
Mrs. Pike stared at Claire, stunned.
Mallory's hand flew to her cheek. "Oh, no, Mom! She's turned into another Vanessa!"
Margo joined them and began to recite. "Why, oh, why do the songbirds fly?/Soaring so lovely up in the sky/Wish I could too - I try/I try/But no wings have I with which to fly."
Mallory turned to Claudia, who stood beside the very pleased-looking Vanessa. "Claudia, what did you do to them?" she cried.
Claudia grinned as she replied, "To false conclusions do not fly/It 'twas Vanessa, but not I."
Chapter 6.
Friday afternoon, after school, my friends and I arrived at the auditorium, ready for our second day of training. We expected Mr. Ziz-more to be there. Maybe Mrs. Amer too. What we didn't expect was the fifty or more teachers who sat waiting for us.
Mr. Zizmore quieted everyone down and then spoke. "Today you will meet with your master teacher to discuss the class you will be teaching," he explained.
I glanced at Ms. Walden. She sat with her arms folded, wearing a bland expression. She must have known, by now, that I was her student teacher. It would have been nice if she had nodded or smiled at me.
After our unpleasant meeting in the hall the other day, I didn't know what to expect. How would she feel about my teaching her seventh-grade gym class? Did she suspect that I'd take them all for a run down the hall?
Of course she didn't. But still . . . did she think I'd be a bad influence on the class?
Yesterday, when I'd gotten the assignment, I'd told myself it didn't matter. I could handle Ms. Walden. Now, though, looking at her face, it seemed a little scarier.
'All right, students please find your teachers," Mr. Zizmore instructed.
Seats creaked as everyone stood up. I noticed Mallory stepping from side to side nervously as she spoke to my English teacher, Mrs. Simon.
"Thomas," a voice barked from behind me. I knew it was Ms. Walden.
"Hello, Ms. Walden," I said, forcing a smile.
"So, you'll be teaching my class," she said flatly, taking me in with her steely eyes. "Sit down. I'm going to give you a few tips you'll find helpful."
I nodded and sat.
"First of all, don't expect much from these girls," she advised. "This group isn't especially athletic."
Maybe if they had a teacher who believed in them they'd do better, I thought. What an attitude - the girls can't do anything so don't even try. How awful!
"Second," she continued, "some of them will try to fool you. They'll say they feel sick or they hurt their ankle. Things like that. Don't believe them. It's just a con job."
If the class was fun they might not be so desperate to escape.
"I don't think it will be a big problem," I commented.
Ms. Walden's eyes narrowed. "Don't be so sure," was all she said.
"Third," she went on, "keep firm discipline at all times. The moment you let the class get out of control, it's all over. Gym isn't like other classes, where students are confined to their desks. There's room to move in a gym, and that inspires kids to act up. Don't let them. Keep them busy and keep them in line."
With her attitude, it was no wonder she had problems with the class. Hopefully, she'd learn a better way to deal with the students after she watched me. No matter what I did, it had to be better than the way she was conducting this class.
"We're working on the soccer unit," she told me. "As I recall, you're a good player."