The Pencil Box :: essays research papers

THE PENCIL BOX     Nobody care Jane. As soon as Emily Sweet found that copy of Anne of jet-propelled plane Gables& international ampere8212a ternary-hundred-page-long book &8212in Janes faded purpleness kindergarten backpack, that was it. Any hope Jane had for a normal life, for swing on the swings, for qualification a life long friend, any(prenominal)one to share secrets and giggles with, someone to toddle totter with, was over, because cypher likes the smart girl. Nobody likes someone who totes a three hundred page long book to read on the bus. That is the hobo camp gyms unwritten rule.     Well, maybe its not tot all toldy accurate to say that nobody liked Jane. Thats not an entirely true statement. Teachers liked Jane. Teachers loved Jane, even so though Jane thought they had a funny way of showing it, self-aggrandising her another lay downsheet to do when she finished the assigned worksheet fifteen minutes in the beginning th e rest of the class, telling her parents that Jane was a special child, maybe they should move her to a higher grade and her parents invariably saying no, we want our daughter to energise a normal childhood. It became quite normal for them to have these conversitions while Jane sat outside the door wit ha garage sale, dog worn copy of Gone With the Wind&8212a five-hundred-page-long book &8212swinging her patent leather Mary Jane shoes because they didnt reach the fuse and she had to do something to keep her attention through the first twenty pages, pages she always found sub-standard to an otherwise exhilarating book. Yes, supposedly teachers just loved Jane. Thats what all the other children accused them of, love, favoritism, unfair grading, and things like that. They just loved Jane, even though they showed it weird ways.     It took Janes second grade teacher, Mrs. Terada to really show some Jane some love. Jane thought Mrs. Terada was an absolute ni twit, with her long skinny arms and legs, smell down at all the children through a tiny brace of glasses perched on the end of her nose. And oh, it took all the acting Jane could muster to grinning and nod, to not roll her eyes and stick out her tongue when Mrs. Terada presented her with the boxful. The box sat next to the rattling heat register (that always seemed to work in September, never in December). Under its hot pink handle were rows and rows of manila files, each containing a set of math worksheets, maybe a short story with comprehension questions at the end.