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

"I don't think so."
"Sure he was. Who doesn't know what a goalie is? We've all played soccer in gym. Even if you don't know any other position, you know the goalie. He just wanted to make you crazy."
"He succeeded," I muttered. "He thinks TOT is a big goof!"
"He treats a lot of things that way," Abby re-
minded me. "Sometimes he's kind of funny."
"Yeah, well, you're not stuck with him. I am."
"Just keep a sense of humor about him and you'll be all right," she advised. I decided she was probably right. If I led the way and didn't take him too seriously, I could survive this.
When I reached my locker, I found Mallory waiting there, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. "Hi," I said.
She spoke in a shaky, nervous voice. "Kristy, what can you tell me about the class? I need to know what the kids are like. Maybe if I know I'll be prepared."
"They're the usual mix," I told her. "Some jerks, some angels, most in the middle."
"It's the middle kids that make me nervous," Mallory said tensely. "They could go either way. If I start to stumble or forget something, they'll band together with the jerks. Then I'll be faced with a majority of jerks, all united against me." As she spoke, she actually grew pale. For a second, I worried that she might faint.
I grabbed her shoulders. "Hold on, Mallory. Calm down. You're prepared, aren't you?"
She flipped open her three-ring binder. "I... I think so." She turned the binder around so that I could see what she had. "Twenty-four photocopies of 'The Jumblies' by Edward Lear. It wouldn't have been my first choice, but Mrs.
Simon wanted to cover story poems, and this one is a story poem."
"It sounds interesting," I said.
Mallory shot me a twitchy half smile, then continued showing me her papers. "I also made twenty-four copies of my notes about the poem. And here are pages of biographical information on Lear, and some limericks Lear wrote. Do you think I have enough?"
I laughed. "Mallory, the class is only forty-five minutes long. Of course you have enough. Don't worry. Mary Anne and I will ask questions. We'll be helpful."
"Okay. All right," she said, trying desperately to reassure herself. "It will be fine. It will."
"Sure it will," I said. I saw kids hurrying to class. "We'd better get to homeroom before we're late."
"Homeroom?" Mallory repeated vaguely.
"Yes, you remember homeroom," I said with a smile. "The first class of every school day."
Mallory laughed nervously. "Oh, yeah, homeroom." She wandered off in the direction of her homeroom.
Wow! I thought. I've never seen such a bad case of nerves.
When it came time to teach my gym class, I felt pretty calm. Why be nervous? This was something I could handle.
I arrived at the locker room early, since I didn't think it was very teacherly to change with the students. I didn't put on my regular gym outfit either. The gym teachers didn't wear the same T-shirt and shorts we wore, so why should I?
I wore plaid pleated shorts and a white short-sleeve polo shirt. Over the weekend I'd woven a blue-and-white lanyard and attached a whistle to it. I wore it around my neck like the other gym teachers did. I'd even gone over my sneakers with some white shoe polish so that they'd be super-white, like Ms. Walden's sneakers.
I glanced at myself in the mirror and was pleased with my appearance. I looked exactly like ... a gym teacher. Perfect.
The seventh-grade girls began entering the locker room. A few of them looked familiar. Some peered at me curiously. One girl asked, 'Are you the TOT teacher?"
"Yes, that's me," I said. "We're going to have a great class."
She rolled her eyes and several girls giggled.
"You'll see," I assured her. "This will be the best gym class you ever had."
"Yeah, sure." She turned toward her locker.
I wasn't going to let some some snippy seventh-grader rattle me. I went to the phys. ed. office in the locker room and took out the
boom box the teachers use whenever music is needed. Since I was now, technically, part of the phys. ed. staff, I didn't think I needed permission.
Holding the box with one hand and twirling my whistle with the other, I walked out the locker room door and into the gym, where I met Gary. He was slumped against the wall, his arms folded.
"Oh, hello, Kristin," he said, pushing away from the wall. (He knows very well that everyone calls me Kristy.) "You're just the person I wanted to see."
"Hello, Gary," I replied. "Why did you want to see me?"
I put the boom box near an outlet and kept walking, thinking it was best to make him follow me. You know - to set the tone for the rest of class.
He fell into step just behind me as I headed for the middle of the gym. "After our friendly phone call yesterday, I got the idea that maybe you might not want to work with me. That maybe you don't even like me."
His observation shocked me. I didn't realize I'd been so obvious. It was probably better to smooth things over right away. I did have to work with the guy, after all. "Oh, I wouldn't say - "
"I don't want to work with you either."
The out-and-out insult took me by surprise. I stopped walking and whirled toward him. "Fine," I snapped. "Let's go tell Ms. Walden and Mr. De Young that we won't be working together."
"Fine," he agreed with a smug smile, as if this were all very humorous. "Let's do that."
I charged over to the gym teachers, who were standing at the other end of the gym. I had the annoying sense that Gary was mimicking my walk. From the corner of my eye I saw him taking long steps and swinging his arms in an exaggerated way. Any time I stopped short and turned sharply to him he stopped and smirked infuriatingly at me.
I tried to ignore him and continued on to the teachers. "Ms. Walden," I began, "Gary would rather not work with me and that is completely okay."
Mr. De Young stared hard at Gary. "Is that so, Retlin?"
"Yeah, I don't think it would work," Gary replied.
"It wouldn't," I agreed. "So we'll keep our classes separate."
"No," Ms. Walden said. "Mr. De Young and I work together on this unit, and that's how we want it taught."
"This is our class, isn't it?" I objected. "We're the teachers."