Ann Martin - Kristy Power!

Behind Ted? What did that mean?

"Thanks," Ted replied. Then, as Cary took his seat, Ted moved to the front of the room and asked for our attention.

Everybody fell silent instantly, and all eyes were on Ted.

"I don't know how to say this," said Ted, "but I may not be your teacher for much longer." "What?" Logan sounded outraged. "Why not?" The buzz of conversation started all over again. Ted held up his hands. "I think some of you may have already heard that there has been a call for me to be suspended or fired or punished in some other way." "What are you talking about?" The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"I'm talking about the fact that some parents of kids in my classes do not like the book list I handed out on Friday. They object to some of the tides on it. In fact," Ted continued, "they're so angry about the books that they're making a point of asking the school administrators to make sure I can't hand out a list like that again." This was unbelievable. I mean, we were talking about books.

"I want to say right away that I still stand behind these books." Ted held up the list he'd handed out. "If there are books on this list that you do not want to read, and that your parents do not want you to read, that's fine. That's your choice. All you have to do is find a book that you do want to read and that your parents consider appropriate. There is something for everyone on this list." "My parents don't tell me what to read and what not to read," said a girl named Jessica.

Ted smiled at her. "That's great," he said. "Personally, I don't think parents should censor their kids' reading. But all I'm saying here is that you do have a choice. There are books on this list that nobody could possibly find objectionable." Ted sighed. "At least, I think there are." I glanced around the room. Whose parents had complained? I couldn't imagine. Then my glance fell on a girl named Merrie. Merrie Dow. She has long blonde hair that she wears in two little-girl braids, and a very serious face. Suddenly, I remembered that her mom, Bertha Dow, was once involved in trying to ban some books from the Stoneybrook Public Library. She had picketed the library and written letters to the editor of the Stoneybrook News.

Merrie met my eyes. Then she lowered hers and blushed. Bingo! Bertha Dow must be behind this.

I felt sorry for Merrie. She looked miserable, and I couldn't blame her. If her mother became responsible for destroying the career of one of the best teachers we'd ever had . . . well, let's just say it wasn't going to do much for Merrie's popularity.

I glanced around and noticed a couple of other kids looking at Merrie. I guess I wasn't the only one who knew about her mom.

"What are you going to do?" somebody asked Ted.

He shrugged. "There's not much I can do. I've contacted a lawyer, and I've made my position clear to the SMS administration. It's up to them to make the next move." He frowned. "What that will be, I can't guess." Ted put the list back on his desk. "For now," he said, forcing a smile, "I'm going to go on teaching. So, how are you coming with your biography projects? Any questions?" We talked about interview techniques and other research methods for the rest of the class. But Ted's heart didn't seem to be in our discussion, and I couldn't blame him. I knew he must be feeling just terrible. I mean, he was facing the loss of his job. Over something ridiculous too. I told myself not to worry. They wouldn't really fire him - would they?

As we left class that day, I noticed that Cary looked almost as glum as Ted had.

"Come on," I said. "They can't really fire him for this." "Sure they can. Teachers are fired all the time for the wrong reasons." I realized then that Cary liked - and respected - Ted as much as I did. And I had to admit that made me respect Cary more.

For a few hours, anyway. Until our interview.

After school, Cary and I met in the library. We'd agreed to take turns interviewing each other that afternoon. He was waiting in one of the easy chairs near the window when I arrived. He watched, one eyebrow raised, as I sat down and pulled a reporter's notebook out of my backpack.

"What?" I asked.

"I didn't say anything," he replied, grinning.

Cary was Cary again. That eyebrow, that maddening way of making you feel like a fool.

"Don't you believe in taking notes?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I have a pretty good memory. So do you want to go first or should I?" "Go ahead," I said. "Ask me anything." He didn't scare me.

Cary leaned back in his seat, put his fingertips together, and closed his eyes. "Who is the real Kristy Thomas*" he mused. "And how do we plumb the depths of her being?" " 'Plumb the depths'? Where did you come up with that?" I asked.

He just grinned. Then he started firing questions at me. "Who's your favorite Beatle? When you were six, what did you want to be when you grew up? What was the name of your first pet?" "What?" I asked. "Favorite Beatle? What does that have to do with anything?" "Just answer, please," he said. "I have my own methods." "Um, Paul, I guess. He wrote a lot of good songs, according to my mom. And she says he was always the cutest." Cary nodded, but he didn't write anything down. Then he asked me a whole bunch of other questions. I answered them as well as I could, even though some of them were pretty weird. Like the one about what I thought aliens looked like. I couldn't figure out how he was going to write my biography based on questions like that.

Things went from bad to worse when I started asking him questions. Let me just say right now, for the record, that Cary Retlin never gives anything close to a straight answer. Check out some of the .responses he gave to questions I asked him: Ay-yi-yi. I'm sure you can imagine how I felt. Basically, I wanted to throw him out the window, even if we were only on the first floor.

How was I ever going to put together a biography of this incredibly irritating human being?

If I couldn't pry answers out of him, I was going to have to count on other sources. Starting with Cary's family.

Chapter 5.

The next day everybody at school was talking about what had happened to Ted. By then all the kids had heard about it. And man, were the rumors flying.

"Did you know that some of those books are totally X-rated?" I overheard that on the lunch line. As if it weren't enough to have to face a plate of beef stew that looked like something your dog threw up, I had to listen to nonsense like that.

"Mr. Morley's lawyer is going to pay off the school so they won't fire him," I heard in the hall near the gym.

"Merrie Dow's mom doesn't let her read anything except the Bible." And, finally, "I heard Mr. Morley was in prison once.

Oh, please. I have never seen a place where rumors pass around more quickly than at SMS. I guess some kids are just so bored that they have to make up stuff like that. I wish they'd get a life.

I tried not to listen to or participate in too many discussions about Ted. At this point, we just had to wait and see what the school was going to do. There was nothing to be gained by talking it over endlessly.

Cary seemed to agree with me. Neither of us brought up the subject as we walked to his house after school. It was the day we'd chosen for me to go home with him and interview his family. I had tried to prepare a list of good questions. Whether or not I'd have any good answers by the end of the day was still up in the air. Way up.

Instead of talking about Ted, we talked about basketball (he thought the Knicks were looking great so far this season), current events (a flood in Arkansas, the latest news from Washington), and dogs (his family is looking for a new one). It was the most normal conversation I've ever had with Cary Retlin. Which felt very strange. It was hard to relax into it. I kept expecting him to lift that eyebrow and come out with some sarcastic remark. ' When we arrived at his house, nobody else was home. Great. I'd come to interview his family, but there wasn't another Retlin in sight.