“I thought you didn’t like your teacher,” he said.
“I don’t,” said Angeline. “I hate Mrs. Hardlick. She’s my teacher. Mr. Bone is Gary’s teacher. She’s wonderful.”
He stared at her in awe. “Is Mr. Bone a woman?” he asked.
Angeline nodded. “She’s real nice.”
“And her name’s Mister Bone?” Abel asked.
“Yes,” Angeline told him. She knew it didn’t make any sense.
“Okay, fine,” said Abel. “I understand.”
“You do?” questioned Angeline.
“Sure,” he said. He didn’t want her to know that he didn’t understand, but what he didn’t realize was that she didn’t understand either, so that if he had just told her he didn’t understand, she would have understood, but when he told her he understood, then she didn’t understand.
“Explain it to me,” she said.
He couldn’t believe it. “What’s this?” he wondered. “Now she’s giving me a test!” “Explain what?”
“If she’s a woman, why is her name Mr. Bone?” Angeline asked.
“I don’t know!” he shouted in frustration. “You’re the one who said it! Not me! She’s a lady. Her name is Mr. Bone. And she teaches a school of fish. She feeds them cookies shaped like Gary.”
She laughed. Angeline liked it when her father told her jokes.
Abel was too upset to notice he had made her laugh. “Okay, fine,” he said again, starting all over. “What else happened in school?”
“Guess what?” she asked him.
“I give up, what?” he asked, happy to play along.
“I was elected Secretary of Trash,” she said proudly.
“That sounds very interesting,” he said. “Do you enjoy that?”
“Yes, it’s lots of fun,” said Angeline.
“Good,” he said. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Well, see, when everyone else goes to recess, I stay inside and collect the garbage. I didn’t think I’d win but Philip Korbin nominated me and Christy Mathewson seconded the nomination.”
His face reddened. “You do what?” he demanded.
“I collect the garbage—just like you.”
He felt like his insides were being ripped apart.
“I thought you might be able to give me a few pointers,” she said.
“No,” he told her as he stood up.
“You know,” Angeline continued. “Like is it better to crumple up the paper before you throw it in the wastepaper basket?”
“No!” he repeated, much louder this time. “No, I’m not giving you any pointers and no, you are not going to be a garbage collector!”
Angeline started to cry. “But—”