Mostly Monty (2 page)

Now Monty was in first grade. Before school started, he had been very nervous. Staying at school all day seemed like a long time to be away from home. Even having his own packed lunch with a sandwich and drink, a piece of fruit, and a treat wasn’t enough to make Monty glad to be in first grade. He was used to eating lunch at the kitchen table in his own house. So on the first day of first grade, he felt scared. He sat quietly in his seat while many of his classmates chattered together. He recognized a few faces from kindergarten, but there were many new faces too. He put his hand in his pants pocket to feel for his inhaler. It was good to know that it was handy if he had an asthma attack.

On that first morning, the teacher clapped her hands for attention. “My name is Mrs. Meaney,” she announced to the students.

Monty shuddered.
Mrs. Meaney.
That sounded as if she would be a mean teacher. He glanced around to see if the other boys and girls in his class were worried about that too. Everyone sat at attention looking at the teacher, so it was hard to tell.

For the rest of the day and the days that followed, Monty sat quietly in his first-grade classroom, answering questions only when he had to. Usually he just watched everyone else. Even at lunchtime, he sat quietly chewing his sandwich and watching the other students. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be Gregory Lawson, who could run faster than anyone in the whole grade. He wondered what it felt like to be Joey Thomas, who lived down his street and owned not one but two dogs, which he walked every day after school. And he tried to imagine being his classmate Ilene Kelly, who had a twin sister named Arlene in a different section of first grade. The Kelly sisters lived down the street from Monty too.

It seemed to Monty that it would be more fun and more interesting to be someone else. He didn’t enjoy being Monty at all.

There was one good thing, however. It turned out that Mrs. Meaney wasn’t mean at all. She smiled a lot. She didn’t scold when the students talked with one another when they should have been doing their work. And she didn’t shout — even when she saw Paul Freeman drawing on his arm with a blue marker.

“What are you doing?” she asked Paul.

“I’m making a tattoo,” Paul responded.

“A tattoo? What in the world do you need a tattoo for?” she asked him.

Monty looked at his classmate in amazement. No one should write on their skin. They should write on paper. Somehow, Paul hadn’t learned that in kindergarten. Monty would never do anything as silly as that.

On Friday of the first week of first grade, Monty began to have trouble breathing. He dropped his pencil and grabbed his inhaler out of his pocket. He put it in his mouth and breathed deeply. Of course, the kids sitting near him noticed at once.

“What is that?” asked Cindy Green.

“Is it something to eat?” asked Paul Freeman.

Monty didn’t answer. He just shook his head and continued breathing deeply. He was relieved when Mrs. Meaney came over. She told the students to pay attention to their workbooks and not to Monty. Then she asked Cora Rose to accompany Monty to the nurse’s office.

“Do you feel horrible?” asked Cora Rose. She had been in Monty’s kindergarten class last year.

Monty shook his head. Actually, he was feeling much better already.

“Do you think you are going to die?” asked Cora Rose.

“Of course,” Monty responded, taking the inhaler away from his mouth. “Everyone is going to die someday. But not for a long, long, long time. Don’t you remember how our class rabbit died last year when we were in kindergarten? Everyone’s got to die sometime.”

“Me too?” asked Cora Rose.

“You too,” Monty told her. Then he felt sorry that he had said anything. Cora Rose began to look upset. In fact, she started to cry.

At that moment, they reached the nurse’s office. The nurse’s name was Mrs. Lamb.

“Good morning,” she greeted the two first-graders. She looked at Cora Rose. “Don’t you feel well?” she asked her. “Where does it hurt you, honey?”

“Monty says I’m going to die,” Cora Rose reported, sniffing back her tears.

“But I told her not for a long, long, long time,” Monty protested.

It took a couple of minutes for Mrs. Lamb to sort it all out. Cora Rose was not sick. And by now, neither was Monty. His slight asthma attack had passed. Mrs. Lamb assured them that they were both healthy and going to live for a long, long, long time. Then the two students returned to their class.

Later that same day, when the children were taking turns reading aloud, Mrs. Meaney complimented Monty on his reading ability. “You are an excellent reader,” she told him. “I’ll have to find a more difficult book for you.”

Monty beamed with pride. He had learned to read all by himself during the summer.

He looked forward to the following week, when the class was scheduled to go to the school library. Last year, when the students were in kindergarten, they went once a week to hear stories. This year, they would hear stories, and they could borrow books to take home too. Monty loved reading, and he was looking forward to this new privilege.

A week later, when they went to the library, Mr. Harris, the school librarian, showed the students where the picture books were shelved. “This is the section where you will find the books for your age,” he told the first-graders. “You may even recognize some of the stories that I’ve read to you. Today you can take one home and ask your parents to read it to you.”

At once, the students began looking through the books. Not Monty. He didn’t want a storybook with pictures. He wanted a book with lots of information in it. During the summer, when he went to the public library, he had learned about the special numbers on the information books that arranged them by subject. He knew where to find science books, so this was a chance to pick out one of those. Mr. Harris didn’t say the students must borrow a storybook, but he hadn’t said anything about looking at the other books. Timidly, Monty walked across the room.

He looked for the books about animals in the 500 section of the shelves.

Mr. Harris saw him and came over. “I don’t think you’ll like these,” he said. “They are much too difficult for a first-grader. They’ll be waiting for you in a couple of years when you can read them.”

Monty swallowed hard. He took a deep breath and reached for the inhaler in his pocket just in case he needed it. He felt his eyes filling with tears. He didn’t want to cry like a baby, but he knew he could read these hard books. Reading was one thing he could do without worrying about his breathing.

Luckily, at that moment, Mrs. Meaney came over to them. “Monty is a wonderful reader. I think he could read almost any book he wants to,” she told the librarian.

“Really?” asked Mr. Harris. “Good for you, Monty. You’re my kind of guy. Just show me what you want before you check it out.”

Monty smiled at both his teacher and the librarian. Mrs. Meaney patted him on the shoulder. “Are you interested in anything special?” she asked. “Sharks, dinosaurs, planets, or something like that?”

“I’m interested in everything,” said Monty softly.

“Great,” said Mrs. Meaney. “That’s wonderful. Just look around, then. And if you need assistance, either Mr. Harris or I will help you.”

Monty picked out a large book filled with pictures and information about dinosaurs. Next time, he might get a book about New York City. That’s where his mother had lived when she was his age. He thought it would be interesting to learn more about it.