Tonight I wrote about Otis and Stewy's competition, but we'd actually read a bit farther than that up until Otis, experiencing a typical young boy obsession with Indians (as depicted in 1964, when the book was written; I'm not sure if boys still play that game or not), play-acts that he is going to "scalp" Ellen. Stewy condescendingly eggs him on as he holds a pair of scissors close to Ellen's hair and Otis, pride puffed up by this and the way the kids had made fun of his mixed-in-with-a-red-sock pink undershirt, shocks even himself by actually cutting off a thick lock of Ellen's hair.
In this particular part I read it slowly, with a bit more deliberation and tried to make my gesticulations dramatic enough to fit the action. I place my hand on my cheek and widen my eyes as I read hotly, "Otis Spofford, you are going to pay for this!" Then, in a much quieter tone, I read the narrator's words telling of Otis's surprise at Ellen, who had never behaved this way before. And the slow walk to the front of the room when it is realized the returned Mrs. Gitler is standing in the doorway, and I hope my solemn voice reproduces the dread Otis feels as he knows he is in for it.
Several times I had to stop and explain something, some action or a word Adam didn't know the meaning of, or just a way of people, such as the way unsupervised children suddenly bend back over their readers when they hear the teacher coming. This was a good thing, though, because it not only prolonged the drama and suspense, but it also built up in him an awe for what was happening. I also had in my mind a small concern about any ideas he might get--not because Adam is inclined to do such a thing, but because I may have an overactive imagination for the potentials--and so I tossed in a few leading questions that would bring him to ideas about how even children might feel about particular extreme acts. As Otis held Ellen's hair on his upper lip to elicit some laughter, but not getting any, I queried Adam: "Did the kids enjoy that? Maybe they were thinking, 'I'm a guy witha mustache'?" (This is a line from a Spongebob episode in which the main character plays with a piece of paper, at one point holding it as if it were a mustache.)
"Nooooooooooooo," Adam answered, great seriousness in his voice.
"They didn't see that episode maybe."
"No. That is a terrible thing to do. It's not funny what Otis did."
"Is he in trouble?"
"Yeeeeees."
"A little trouble, or big trouble?"
"Big, BIG trouble."
"Would anyone in your class ever do that? Cut off someone's hair?"
"NO!" He raised his voice, and it even became a bit harsh. "I will NEVER do that. I will SIT. AT. MY. TISCH.* AND. MIND. MY. OWN. BUSINESS." Each word was punctuated with a smash of his fist on his Superman blanket, and the whole sentence ended with a pointed finger jabbing at the book.
*table
The chapter ends with Otis on his way to The Office--this has long been a capital-letter worthy noun to Adam--and I tried to wind it down and say a few more words, make a short discussion, about what we'd read and what might happen next. I intimated that not only would Otis get in trouble from his principal, but even the kids might show him they'd had enough. True to his reading style, Adam begged me to read, "just a couple more pages, pleeeeeeeaaaaassse."
Even this turned out well because of where we ended up stopping. It's the next morning--Saturday-- and Otis is trying to hurry his mother with her ironing of his shirt so he can get to the lake for ice skating "before the crowd get there." Here the narrator relates that Otis didn't tell his mother he knew it would be his last chance to go skating as the principal would keep him after school every day next week.
"Did Otis tell his mother what happened?"
"Yeahhhh."
"He did?"
Adam knits his brow.
"He told his mom he wanted to beat the crowd, but he didn't tell her he would be after school every day next week." These days kids typically cannot be kept after school because of bus schedules, so Adam likely doesn't know about this "old-fashioned" form of disipline. "Why do you think he didn't tell her about that?"
"Ohhhh, she doesn't know. Does she?"
Adam may have intended by his statement that, indeed, Otis didn't tell his mother about his trouble, but his follow-up question brings up a good point: about how mothers many times know without saying so--although this likely was not what he meant.
"Maybe she does. What do you think?"
"Noooo," he scorned.
"How do you know?" I challenged. "Mothers always find out about this stuff eventually."
Snort. "How are they gonna find out?"
"By talking to the teacher." Adam's teacher and I are in frequent contact via face-to-face or e-mail converations, and he knows it.
His countenance softened a bit and he conceded, "And the principal." His face was serious again.
"But maybe she doesn't know yet." I drew out the drama a bit because I'd seen a good place to stop. I continued reading: "'Otis,' his mother called. 'I want to have a talk with you.'"
Adam's eyes widened and he gasped, and I knew he understood the implication. (And I was really pleased because he had had to be taught to recognise social cues such as facial expressions and tones of voice; now he seemed to be getting better at reading between the lines, at least with some strong context behind him.)
What was even more fascinating to me regarding children's desire to keep reading and willingness to wait, was his seeming inclination to keep the cliffhanger intact after I explained to him what that is.
Or maybe he was just tired.
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