Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы - Клири Беверли (бесплатные книги онлайн без регистрации .txt) 📗

Today I was supposed to have an egg. But at lunchtime when I opened my lunchbag, my egg was gone. We leave our lunchbags and boxes (mostly bags because no sixth-grader wants to carry a lunchbox) along the wall under our coat hooks at the back of the classroom behind a partition.

Are you writing another book? Please answer my letter so we can be pen pals.

Dear Mr. Henshaw,

I was surprised to get your postcard from Wyoming, because I thought you lived in Alaska.

Don’t worry. I get the message. You don’t have much time for answering letters. That’s OK with me, because I’m glad you are busy writing a book.

Something nice happened today. When I was walking around behind the bushes at school waiting for the ten minutes to come before the first bell rings, I was watching Mr. Fridley raise the flags. Maybe I better explain that the state flag of California is white with a brown bear in the middle. First Mr. Fridley raised the U.S. flag and then the California flag below it. I saw that the bear was upside down with his feet in the air. So I said, “Hey, Mr. Fridley, the bear is upside down.”

This is a new paragraph because Miss Martinez says there should be a new paragraph when a different person speaks. Mr. Fridley said, “Well, so it is. Would you like to turn him right side up?”

So I got to pull the flags down, turn the bear flag the right way and raise both flags again. Mr. Fridley said maybe I should come to school a few minutes early every morning to help him with the flags, but asked me to stop walking backwards because it made him nervous. So now I don’t have to walk quite so slow. It was nice to have somebody notice me. Nobody stole anything from my lunch today because I ate it on the way to school.

I am still thinking about what you said on your postcard about keeping a diary. Maybe I’ll try it.

Dear Mr. Henshaw,

I bought a composition book like you said. It is yellow and has a spiral. On the front I printed

When I started to write in it, I didn’t know how to begin. I felt that I should write “Dear Composition Book” or “Dear Piece of Paper,” but that sounds stupid. The first page still looks the way I feel. Blank. I don’t think I can keep a diary. I don’t want to be a nuisance to you, but please tell me how to do it. I am stuck.

Dear Mr. Henshaw,

I got your postcard with the picture of the bears. Maybe I’ll do what you said and pretend my diary is a letter to somebody. I suppose I could pretend to write to Dad, but I wrote to him before and he never answered. Maybe I’ll pretend I am writing to you because when I answered all your questions, I always used the beginning “Dear Mr. Henshaw.” Don’t worry. I won’t send it to you.

Thanks for the tip. I know you’re busy.

Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw,

This is a diary. I will keep it, not mail it.

If I eat my lunch on the way to school, I get hungry in the afternoon. Today I didn’t, so the two muffins Mom packed in my lunch were gone at lunch period. My sandwich was still there so I didn’t starve to death, but I surely missed those muffins. I can’t tell the teacher because it isn’t a good idea for a new boy in school to be a snitch.

All morning I try to keep track of who leaves his seat to go behind the partition where we keep our lunches, and I watch to see who leaves the room last at recess. I haven’t seen anybody chewing, but Miss Martinez is always telling me to face the front of the room. Anyway, the classroom door is usually open. Anybody could sneak in if we were all facing front and Miss Martinez was writing on the blackboard.

Hey, I just had an idea! Some authors write under made-up names. After Christmas vacation I’ll write a fake name on my lunchbag. That will fool the thief.

I guess I don’t have to sign my name to a diary letter the way I sign a real letter that I mail.

Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw,

This is the first day of Christmas vacation. Still no package from Dad. I thought maybe he was bringing me a present instead of mailing it, so I asked Mom if she thought he might come to see us for Christmas.

She said, “We’re divorced. Remember?”

I remember all right. I remember all the time.

Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw,

Still no package from Dad.

I keep thinking about last Christmas when we were in the mobile home before Dad bought the truck. He had to avoid the highway patrol to get home in time for Christmas. Mom cooked a turkey and a nice dinner. We had a small Christmas tree because there wasn’t enough room for a big one.

At dinner Dad said that when he was driving he often saw one shoe lying on the highway. He always wondered how it got there and what happened to the second shoe.

Mom said that one shoe sounded sad, like a country song. While we ate our mincemeat pie we all tried to make songs about lost shoes. I’ll never forget them.

Mine was worst:

Dad made this:

Mom’s song really made us laugh. It was the best:

Stupid songs, but we had a lot of fun. Mom and Dad hadn’t laughed that much for a long time, and I hoped they would never stop. After that, when Dad came home, I asked if he had seen any shoes on the highway. He always had.

Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw,

Last night I was feeling low and was still awake after the gas station stopped pinging. Then I heard heavy feet coming up the steps, and for a minute I thought it was Dad until I remembered he always ran up the steps.

Mom is careful about opening the door at night. I heard how she turned on the outside light and knew she was looking out from behind the curtain. She opened the door, and a man said, “Is this where Leigh Botts lives?”

I was out of bed and in the front room in a second. “I’m Leigh Botts,” I said.

“Your Dad asked me to take this to you.” A man who looked like a trucker gave me a big package.