Science Fiction for Young Readers, grade 4 up
Story by Terry Gibson ©

TABITHA'S SECRET, Chapter 14

     "Those who wish to submit book reports 
may bring them up now," Miss Longshanks 
announced softly, and Tab grabbed her desk.  
     "Then you may go."
     "Darn, darn, darn!" said Tab.  It had
happened again.  Fortunately, no one 
noticed that Tab did not rise when the 
others stood.
     Except her teacher.  "Coming Tabitha?" 
she asked.  Having done only a half-dozen 
lines of doggerel, surely Tab wouldn't ask 
for more time again.  At least that's the 
message Tab read on her teacher's face.
     Tab made a display of assembling her 
things.  "Right away," she said.
     "Put out the lights and close the 
door," her teacher said as she mercifully 
left.
     Tab eyed the route to the door.  Yes, 
she could slide on the air; there were 
good hand holds and an unobstructed route.  
Once at the door, the hallway to the 
library would be easy, provided no one 
saw her.  She could push off, and float 
diagonally wall-to-wall-to-wall.  If she 
didn't under-power it and get left in the 
middle of the hallway, that is.


     Outdoors, Rolph asked,  "D'ya s'pose
Longface kept her in?"
     "Naah.  Teacher's pet."
     "I don'no," Karl disagreed.  "She 
did say she'd had an off-day."  A small 
group of tormentors stayed near the door 
just in case.


     In the room, Tab planned to get there 
ahead of the class and choose a corner seat 
at a table, so she could wrap her legs 
around the table leg.  She held her books 
with one arm while using the other for hand 
holds.  Like riding on a million invisible 
ball bearings she nearly shot by the first 
hand hold, and snapped around sharply.
     The trip down the hallway was swift 
and sure until she heard voices.  Teachers' 
voices!  They were around the corner and 
Tab had time, she hoped, to slip undetected 
into the doorway of the library.  Just 
barely.
     "Light on their feet, these kids," 
Mr. Player said.
     "Or I did a better job waxing the 
floor than I thought," Mr. Brown, the 
custodian added.  He looked in and saw 
that it was only Tabitha, sitting at the 
corner table, just opening her books.

     
     For some reason the attack ended 
just as Mrs. Mallow, the Library teacher, 
asked them all to sit down.  Tab was glad.  
     As she considered it, maybe it 
wouldn't be so bad after all, now that 
she was learning how to manage it.  
     She smiled.  Heck, it was almost fun.


     In Math, Tab's new confidence held 
for another day.  On the blackboard was 
a long division question in which the 
decimals had to be cleared first.
                     _______
               8.975 ) 2.866

     To Tab, this was almost 3 divided by 
almost 9, or something close to one third, 
and she could expect the decimal answer to 
be around .33, no sweat.  It was great to 
feel confident, thanks to Mr. Player.  
She cleared the decimal and divided. Then 
she raised her hand.
     "Yes, Tabitha?" Mr. Player asked.
     "How many decimal places?"
     Over the groan, he said, "Two will be 
fine."
     "Would you see if mine is right?" she 
asked, and the groan was multiplied by at 
least four. "Some people will do ANYTHING 
for attention," she heard someone say.
     Mr. Player heard it too.  He turned 
and looked at Maria in surprise.  
     "You have a problem, Maria?"
     "Uh--"  Maria looked uncomfortable.
     "Let me see what you've done so far."  
The teacher glanced at her work and said, 
"Your method is correct, but nine times 
three is 27, not 24." Patiently, he added, 
"Add the digits in the product.  In the 
nine times table, the total is always nine."
     "Oh.  Like 2+7=9  Okay."  Maria smiled.
     "I don't understand it," Karl said.
     "Me neither," said Rolph.
     "All right, anyone else?"
     When several hands went up, he 
explained it all, step by step.  It takes 
longer to explain than to do, Tab thought 
as she went on to do the rest of the 
homework assignment.  Tom-Tom snickered.  
"Show me yours, Tom-Tom."
     "Uh... I can't do it neither."
     He probably wished he had stayed 
quiet, Tab thought, when she heard, 
"Bring me your book, please."
     Tom-Tom took his time.
     "Now, please."
     Tom-Tom heaved out of his chair as if 
he had a heavy load on his shoulders.  He 
stopped to tie his shoelace with slow 
deliberate motions.  He lost his place 
when he picked up his book.
     Tab hid an irrepressible smile behind 
her hands as Mr. Player pretended to take 
out a small pair of scissors, his thumb 
and forefinger moving the imaginary handles.  
He examined his nail, as if looking for a 
ragged edge or hangnail, and with slow 
motion, pretended to trim it off.  So 
elaborate was the action that everybody 
watched what Mr. Player would do next.
     Tom-Tom, having been upstaged, just 
stood there as his teacher carefully 
examined each finger in turn, and on one, 
performed some major surgery.  "Geez," 
Tom-Tom said.
     "Your work please," Mr. Player said, 
"or I'll see you after school."  He held 
out his hand.
    "Not," said Tom-Tom, but he slowly 
handed it over anyway.  Rolph and Karl 
suddenly were very busy doing their Math, 
and Tab saw several people exchange 
loaded looks.  Maybe, she thought, it 
was a page of pictures with--as Greggy 
called them,-- body parts.  "Geez," she 
heard, as Mr. Player flipped through the 
pages.  His face was absolutely still 
as he stopped.
     "So much for the honour system," 
was all he said.  The class was silent, 
scarcely breathing. They had no idea how 
bad it was, except that Mr. Player said, 
"Your parents will, of course, be 
invited to school to view your art work."
     "Geez," Tom-Tom said.
     "Meanwhile, I'll keep your book, 
and I want to hear your explanation after 
school.  We will decide then, how we will 
tell Mrs. Meander."
     "Geez."
     "Hoo-boy!" said Rolph.  He obviously 
knew how bad the pictures were.
     "Class dismissed."
     Tab smiled; her homework was done.  
The kids didn't know that her smile was 
not because of Tom-Tom's book.                     


     Later, as Tab sat cross-legged on 
her bed, patting Muffet, she was surprised 
to find that she felt sorry for Tom-Tom.  
He'd be with Mr. Player still.  The rat 
deserved it, and she should feel glad to 
see his trouble, but she did not.  
Very strange.  She hardly knew herself 
anymore.
     It was time to take out her Journal, 
and explore the problem of identity.  
Why didn't she hate him anymore?  It 
could best be described as indifference, 
because it didn't seem to matter all that 
much.  After an hour she was still as
confused as ever.
     She felt better writing about Math.  
"I'm glad I find Math easy now." she wrote, 
then she remembered the groans when she 
had spoken.  Glad that she understood it, 
she had forgotten it would sound like a 
big show-off.  She added, "Funny but the 
kids hate to see someone else do well.  
Or maybe just me."
     "Well, tough!" she decided.  "Since 
I don't seem to have many friends anyhow, 
I will hold up my head and keep going.  
As for the other kids who said they 
couldn't do it even before they tried, 
they had parking brakes on."
     "Maybe I should try again with Maria," 
Tab wrote.  Maria never tormented her.  
Maria's comments had brought her Akim, 
after all. "It would take a lot now," 
she wrote, "to put me down.  Certainly 
it couldn't get worse."
     Too bad she was mistaken.  
     Horribly so!

     "I'll do it," she said out loud.  
"The worst Maria can say is No."

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