Otis Spofford (7 page)

Most of the boys and girls in the class had seen the same movie. They, too, preferred movie Indians to reader Indians. The room buzzed with talk about the movie.

Stewy said, “And there was this Indian creeping up on—”

“Never mind,” said Mrs. Gitler even more sharply, as she glanced at the clock. “You may continue, Otis.”

But Otis had lost the place once more. He was thinking what he would do if he were an Indian. He could see himself covered with war paint, riding down on a wagon train.

Mrs. Gitler sighed and looked at the clock as if she were afraid this day might last forever. “That will do, Otis. Ellen, you may continue reading the story.”

Ellen stood up, but she did not have a chance to read. The buzzer sounded on the telephone that connected Room Eleven with the principal’s office. The class was silent, because it wanted to hear what Mrs. Gitler said.

“Thank you. I’ll be right down,” she said into the telephone. Then she turned to the class. “Boys and girls, Mr. Howe wants me to come to the office for a few minutes. While I am gone, you will continue reading to yourselves. Remember, I’m putting you on your honor.”

This meant the class was supposed to behave, even though no one was watching to see that they did. And they did behave until they were sure Mrs. Gitler was safely out of hearing. Then, except for a few unusually good girls who went on with their reading, the room began to hum with activity. Several children went to the window to see how much snow had fallen since lunchtime. Tommy threw an eraser across the room at George. Gary appointed himself a sentry at the door to watch for Mrs. Gitler’s return.

Austine ran up to the front of the room and sat at Mrs. Gitler’s desk. “Boys and girls, I’m waiting,” she said, the way Mrs. Gitler did when she wanted the class to be quiet.

“Austine Allen, I’m going to tell on you,” said Linda.

Austine made a face at Linda and ducked as Tommy threw an eraser at her.

Otis was still thinking about those friendly Indians in the reader. It wouldn’t be any fun to be a friendly Indian. If he were an Indian, he would be unfriendly. Chief Otis, the unfriendly Indian, that’s what he was. He jumped out of his seat. “I’m an Indian,” he announced. “I’m on the warpath.” He put one hand behind his head and held up two fingers to look like feathers. The other hand he patted over his mouth while he war-whooped.

“You better keep quiet or they’ll hear you in the next room,” someone said.

Otis whooped more softly. Then he did a sort of war dance. “Me heap big chief,” he said. “Me chase ’um paleface.”

“Heap Big Chief Lose-Place-in-Reader,” scoffed Stewy, and pegged him with an eraser.

Otis went on with his war dance. Some of the other boys joined him and pranced up and down the aisles whooping softly.

Stewy ran around the chalk rail, gathering erasers for ammunition. He passed them out to the other boys, who pelted the Indians with them. The Indians dodged these bullets. Two who were hit clutched their chests and fell to the floor, where they died before they got up and grabbed some chalk to throw back at the palefaces.

Otis looked around for a weapon. A pair of snub-nosed scissors lay on Mrs. Gitler’s desk. He snatched them and held them like a hunting knife. “Paleface squaw better run or big chief scalp ’um,” he said to Austine, who was still sitting at the teacher’s desk.

“I’m not a squaw,” Austine giggled. “I’m a beautiful maiden.”

The boys hooted at this, and Austine let Otis chase her back to her seat.

“Austine,” whispered Ellen, “be careful. Mrs. Gitler will be back any minute.” Then she went on reading, and as she read she tugged at a lock of hair to make it grow faster.

Now I’ll have some fun, thought Otis, as he watched Ellen tug at her hair and look so neat and clean and well behaved. He had not forgotten about those two shirt buttons. Advancing with his scissors, he said, “Big chief scalp paleface maiden.”

Ellen glanced up from her book. “Otis Spofford, you stop it,” she said, and went on reading.

“Ugh,” answered Otis, disappointed at not getting a rise out of Ellen.

“Woo-woo,” whooped the braves. Ellen continued to ignore Otis.

“Paleface maiden better run for her life,” he ordered, trying not to laugh. That ought to make her forget her old reader.

“Otis Spofford, stop being silly,” said Ellen, and turned a page.

Otis flipped her book shut and danced down the aisle and up the other side of the row of desks.

“Big Chief Pink Underwear,” Ellen scoffed, as he passed her desk. Then she and Austine began to giggle.

Otis held up the scissors threateningly. “Take it back!” he demanded. Maybe Ellen did pull the buttons off his shirt, but she was not going to call him Big Chief Pink Underwear and get away with it.

Ellen pulled away from the scissors. “I take it back,” she cried.

She better, thought Otis, as he started to prance away from her desk. He guessed he’d showed her.

Then Ellen took her right hand out from under her desk and held it up with two fingers crossed. “I fooled you,” she said. “I had kings when I took it back.”

The class laughed. Otis could see everyone was delighted to have Ellen get the better of him. He felt his face grow hot and he quickly grabbed a handful of Ellen’s hair.

Ellen halfway stood up in her seat. “Ouch,” she protested. “Otis Spofford, you stop it. You’re pulling my hair.”

“Do you really take it back?” Otis raised the scissors. What would it feel like to cut off a big hunk of hair?

Ellen tried to jerk her hair out of his hand. “Ouch!” she said again, as silence fell over the class.

Otis opened the blades of the scissors. He knew the class waited breathlessly. They thought he wouldn’t dare…or would he?

He watched Ellen’s horrified stare as the scissors came closer and closer. Much as he had always wanted to cut someone’s hair, he wouldn’t really cut Ellen’s. He would just tease her a little.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Otis saw Austine spring from her seat. “You leave Ellen alone,” she shouted. “You’re not going to cut her hair!”

Otis twisted out of Austine’s grasp. “Ouch!” shrieked Ellen. “You let go of my hair!”

“Aw, he won’t cut your hair,” Stewy said. “He’d be scared to.”

Oh, I would, would I, thought Otis. I’ll show him. Without taking time to think, Otis brought the scissor blades together on Ellen’s hair. They cut easily through a few hairs on the edge of the handful he held. It was a wonderful feeling.

Ellen, frozen with horror, did not move, but she gasped, and her gasp made Otis hesitate.

“Well, go on,” said Stewy. “I thought you were going to scalp her. What are you waiting for?”

Stewy needn’t think Otis was going to back out now. He couldn’t. Anyway, now that he had started, he had to know what it felt like to cut that hair. With all the strength he had, he forced the blades together on the thick locks in his hand. Triumphantly he held up a brown handful. “Me scalp ’um,” he announced.

Then Otis saw Ellen staring at that handful of hair, her eyes round with horror. She felt the side of her head with her hand. “My pigtails!” she whispered, as if she couldn’t believe what had happened.

Otis stopped being an Indian and stared too. Ellen’s pigtails. Why, she had been waiting months for her hair to grow long enough to braid. What had he been thinking of, anyway? It had all happened so fast.

Otis looked uneasily around the silent classroom. Why didn’t somebody say something? Why did everyone sit there staring at him?

Then Stewy said, “Boy, you’ve sure done it now.”

No matter how guilty he felt, Otis wasn’t going to let Stewy know he was the least bit worried about what he had done. He held a lock of Ellen’s hair under his nose and turned his lip up as far as it would go. Twirling the ends of his mustache he grew more and more uncomfortable. Something was wrong. Nobody laughed. Nobody even smiled.

Otis turned to Ellen again. He waited for her to tell him to stop, to stamp her foot, or burst into tears. Instead, she stared back at him, her cheeks flaming.

Suddenly Otis noticed that all the others were bent over their readers. Then he saw Mrs. Gitler and Mr. Howe in the doorway. As he felt Mrs. Gitler’s angry glance take in everything, his lip uncurled and Ellen’s hair fell to the floor. Otis shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Why didn’t Ellen burst into tears and tell Mrs. Gitler all about it and get it over?

Instead, Ellen turned on him so fiercely that he stepped back. “Otis Spofford!” she shouted, in front of Mr. Howe and everyone. “You’re going to be sorry for what you’ve done!” Then she flung herself angrily into her seat and bent over her reader.

Otis had never known Ellen to behave this way. He looked at the two red spots that flamed in her cheeks and at the hair that fell against one side of her face and stuck out rough and jagged on the other. If only there were some way he could stick her hair back on!

Mr. Howe spoke quietly. “Otis, you may come with me to the office.”

Trying to walk with just enough swagger to make the class think he wasn’t worried, Otis started toward the door, where the teacher and the principal were standing.

Mrs. Gitler no longer looked angry. “Well, Otis,” she said, as he followed Mr. Howe into the hall, “I have a feeling that this time you’re going to find out what comeuppance means.”

And as Otis glanced back at Ellen’s jagged hair and flaming cheeks, he had a feeling Mrs. Gitler was right.

O
tis Spofford could not think of a time when he had been as uncomfortable as he was this Saturday morning. He was shivering in his undershirt, waiting for his mother to iron him a shirt so he could go skating at the lake. Mrs. Spofford always put off ironing shirts until the last minute. This time Otis couldn’t wear a T-shirt, because she had painted the kitchen cupboards yellow, and somehow both his T-shirts had been used for paint rags.

Worse than being cold, however, was the thought of yesterday—how he cut Ellen’s hair, and the lecture the principal gave him, and how he squirmed on his chair while he had to listen to Mr. Howe telephone Mrs. Tebbits and tell her what had happened to Ellen’s hair.

Otis listened to his mother’s wet finger sizzle against the iron and watched her pull a shirt out of the clothesbasket and unfurl it over the ironing board. “Gee, Mom, can’t you hurry?” he begged. “I want to get to the lake before the crowd.” Otis did not say he was especially anxious to get to the lake because this was his only chance to skate. The principal had told him he would have to stay after school every day for the next week.

Mrs. Spofford pushed the iron rapidly back and forth while Otis rubbed his arms to keep warm.

“Otis,” she said, “I want to have a talk with you.”

Otis was not surprised. Grown-ups were always wanting to have talks with him. This time he knew what it was about. Mrs. Tebbits had phoned his mother at the dancing school about Ellen’s hair. Now he was going to catch it all over again.

“It’s about Ellen,” said his mother.

“Yeah, I know,” answered Otis.

Mrs. Spofford continued. “When Mrs. Tebbits came to the studio to pay for Ellen’s dancing lessons last week, she said Ellen is upset because you chase her. I don’t think that is a very nice thing to do, do you?”

“But she runs,” said Otis, kicking at a fluff of dust on the floor to hide his surprise. Something was wrong. Maybe his mother hadn’t heard about Ellen’s hair. “If she didn’t run, I couldn’t chase her, could I?”

“Just the same, Mother would rather you didn’t. If you upset Ellen, she might stop taking dancing lessons and we can’t afford that. We need all the pupils we can get.”

“Aw, she won’t stop taking lessons. She’s always talking about being a famous ballerina when she grows up. Anyway, I stopped chasing her.” Otis did not bother to tell his mother why he had stopped. He wished Mrs. Tebbits
had
phoned about the hair. He wanted to get it over with so he could forget the whole thing.

“That’s a good boy.” Mrs. Spofford handed Otis his shirt. “There are still some wrinkles in it, but I can’t spend any more time on it or I’ll be late for my class.”

Otis hurriedly put on his shirt, which was still warm from the iron but damp at the collar and seams. “Bye, Mom,” he called, as he put on his jacket, picked up his skates, and hurried out of the apartment. He wasn’t going to let Ellen’s hair spoil his skating. There was plenty of time to worry when he came home. He ran down the street past the Spofford School of the Dance and the Payless Drugstore, to the bus stop.

When Otis got off the bus he ran two blocks to the park, where he waded through the snow to the edge of the lake. There he sat on a bench to take off his boots and shoes and put on the old skates someone had given him. With three pairs of socks they were a pretty good fit.

Otis left his boots under the bench and, after knotting the luminous laces of his shoes together, hung them on a bush. There was no danger of anyone’s taking his shoes by mistake—not with a green lace in one and a pink lace in the other. Anyone at Rosemont School would know those shoes belonged to Otis Spofford. As for his boots, they were plainly marked with his name in indelible pencil. Mrs. Gitler had seen to it that there would be no mix-ups over boots and rubbers in her cloakroom.

Otis, who practiced at Iceland whenever he had enough money, was a fairly good skater. Eagerly he stepped on the ice and started around the lake. It seemed strange to skate without organ music, but it was fun to be outdoors and watch snowflakes drift down on the ice and the trees around it. Around and around the lake he skated. His troubles over Ellen’s hair no longer seemed important. Otis was enjoying every minute, but he could hardly wait for some of the other fellows to arrive. Then he would really have some fun.

Otis tried darting in front of skaters to see how close he could come without hitting anyone. Here there was no attendant to tell him to stop, the way there was at Iceland. Ahead of him was a girl on white figure skates, who was moving timidly along the edge of the lake. Her ankles wobbled and she held out her hands, ready to grab a bush if she started to fall. Otis noticed that she had short brown hair that curled around her red earmuffs.

Otis darted in front of the girl and then looked over his shoulder to see what was happening. The curly-haired girl started to fall. As she grabbed a bush, Otis saw who she was. He was so surprised that his feet flew out from under him and he sat down on the ice so hard he bit his tongue.

The girl with the curly brown hair was Ellen Tebbits!

“Otis Spofford, you leave me alone,” said Ellen furiously, as she clung to the bush. “I’ve had enough of you!”

Otis sat on the ice and stared. “Your hair,” he gasped. “What did you do to your hair?”

Ellen glared. “My mother cut it off even and gave me a home permanent, so now my hair will be curly while I wait for it to grow long enough for pigtails,” she answered, as Austine coasted across the ice to her side.

Austine pretended not to see Otis. “Come on, Ellen,” she said. “There are some people around here we don’t want to have anything to do with.”

“But just the same,” Ellen said fiercely to Otis, “you’re going to be sorry for what you did. You’ve been teasing me ever since you came to Rosemont School and I’ve had enough! You’re just a…a pest, that’s what you are!”

Otis recovered from his surprise and got to his feet. “Aw…” he muttered, not wanting to let on he was already sorry. So that was why Mrs. Tebbits hadn’t phoned his mother. She had been busy curling Ellen’s hair.

Ellen’s brown eyes flashed. “And you know something else?” she asked. “I’m not scared of you anymore.” She stepped forward, put her hands on Otis’s shoulders, and pushed as hard as she could.

Otis staggered backward and sat down hard on the ice a second time. The wind was knocked out of him. Unable to speak, he stared up at Ellen in amazement. Ellen Tebbits pushing him! Ellen, of all people.

“So there!” said Ellen.

“Yes, so there!” repeated Austine, joining hands with Ellen. “So there, tee-hee!” Ignoring Otis, the two girls skated shakily away along the edge of the lake.

Dazed, Otis stared after them. He would not have been surprised if Austine had pushed him, but Ellen…When he finally got to his feet, something made him glance over his shoulder. Ellen and Austine, no longer shaky on their skates, had circled the lake and were behind him once more.

Maybe I better sort of disappear in the crowd, Otis thought, but before he had a chance, Austine spotted him. She scooped up a handful of snow, wadded it into a ball, and threw. Otis ducked too late. The snowball slammed against his shoulder. Some of the skaters in the crowd laughed. I bet that old brother of Austine’s taught her to throw, Otis thought crossly.

“Pie-face,” said Austine haughtily, as she and Ellen skated by. “You just wait.”

Otis skated unhappily around and around the lake. He was careful to stay out of the girls’ way. Skating wasn’t so much fun after all. Maybe he should leave and go coasting instead. Then Otis caught a glimpse of George and Stewy through the crowd. Eagerly he skated toward the two boys. Now he would have some fun. “Hi, fellows,” he said, dragging one toe on the ice to slow himself down. “Gee, I thought you’d never get here.”

“Hi,” answered George and Stewy.

They sound sort of funny, thought Otis, but he said, “Come on, I’ll race you round the lake.”

Stewy looked at him coldly and said, “Why don’t you go find somebody to pick on? Somebody littler than you.”

“Yes,” agreed George. “Some
girl
.”

For a minute Otis was unable to believe what he heard. “But…” he said weakly. He couldn’t find words to finish the sentence. Without so much as a backward glance, George and Stewy skated off into the crowd.

“Aw, hey, fellows…” Otis called, but no one heard. Dazed, he stood and let the crowd skate around him. Gee whiz, didn’t he have any friends left? Just because he cut off a hunk of Ellen’s hair when he didn’t really mean to, did the whole world have to turn against him? And Stewy—why, it was old Stewy who egged him on. If it hadn’t been for Stewy, he wouldn’t be in this mess at all. Some friend he turned out to be!

“Out of the way, stupid,” said a skater.

Still dazed, Otis made his way through the crowd to the edge of the lake. Now he had to avoid not only the girls, but George and Stewy as well. He guessed he wouldn’t skate around the lake any more. Half-heartedly, he tried skating backward, but it wasn’t any fun alone.

While Otis was trying to think what to do, he caught the sound of his name above the scrape of skate blades on the ice. It was Linda speaking to two girls he did not know. “See that boy over there? His name is Otis Spofford,” Otis heard her say. “He’s in my room at school and yesterday he did the awfulest thing. There’s a girl who’s been trying to grow pigtails for months and he…”

Otis moved away. He didn’t want to hear how terrible he was. Couldn’t anybody see he hadn’t meant to cut Ellen’s hair? Things just happened too fast, was all. Otis practiced skating with his hands in his pockets awhile, but he didn’t enjoy it. A light flurry of snow fell and the wind grew colder. Otis knew it was time to start home for lunch. He might as well. He wasn’t having any fun, anyway.

But when Otis went to the bench to get his shoes and boots, he found Ellen and Austine there ahead of him. Their noses were red and their fingers looked numb, as they unlaced their skates and put on their shoes.

Otis started to slip away before they saw him. Then he suddenly changed his mind. Why should he be scared of a couple of girls? Maybe he had done something he shouldn’t, but what could they do to him besides push him and throw a few snowballs at him? Nothing, that’s what!

“Frizzletop!” Otis yelled at Ellen. There! That ought to show them he wasn’t worried.

The girls ignored him. Ellen leaned over to find her boots in the pile that had collected under the bench. Otis could see snowflakes clinging to her new curls.

“Hey, Frizzletop, leave my boots alone,” Otis yelled, and clapped his damp gloves together to warm his hands. Otis Spofford worried by a couple of girls? Ha! What a joke!

“Nobody wants your old boots.” Ellen pulled two pairs of red rubber boots out from under the bench and gave one pair to Austine.

Otis skated around in a circle. Brrr, it was cold. He wished the girls would hurry up and leave, so he could put on his shoes and go home.

When Otis looked at the girls again, Ellen was whispering in Austine’s ear. Austine looked surprised and then delighted, as she nodded her head. Both girls glanced at Otis and giggled.

Now what are they up to? Otis wondered, as he looked down at his feet and tried to cut a figure eight on the ice. He lost his balance on the first stroke and when he looked up again he was horrified at what he saw.

Ellen was holding his shoes by the pink and green laces. Austine held one of his boots in each hand. “Good-bye, Otis,” they both called, as they waved his footwear. Then they turned and started across the snow.

“Hey!” yelled Otis. “Come back here.” He skated so fast to the edge of the lake that he tripped and almost fell. “Hey, you! Come back here,” he called.

Giggling, Ellen and Austine waved the shoes and rubber boots.

Of course, they were just teasing him. They wouldn’t dare go off and leave him without his shoes. Otis decided to go along with their joke. “So long,” he called. That would show them he wasn’t worried.

“So long,” answered Austine cheerfully.

“You’ll be sor-ree,” Ellen sang out, as she smiled and waved the scuffed Oxfords with the gleaming laces.