Автор : Клири Беверли Название книги: Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы Читать на сайте: https://mir-knigi.org/author/kliri-beverli/dear-mr-henshaw-dorogoi-mister-xenshou-7-8-klassy Beverly Clearyю. Беверли Клири Dear Mr. Henshaw. Дорогой мистер Хеншоу Книга для чтения на английском языке в 7–8 классах общеобразовательных учебных заведений Адаптация и словарь: А. В. Шитова © Шитова А. В., адаптация, словарь, 2014 © ООО Антология, 2014 _MAY 12_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, My teacher read your book about the dog to our class. It was funny. We licked it. Your freind, [1] Leigh Botts (boy) [Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы - _1.png] _DECEMBER 3_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I am the boy who wrote to you last year when I was in the second grade. Maybe you didn’t get my letter. This year I read the book that I wrote to you about called _Ways to Amuse a Dog_. It is the first thick book with chapters that I have read. The boy’s father said that city dogs were bored so Joe could not keep the dog unless he could find seven ways to amuse it. I have a black dog. His name is Bandit. He is a nice dog. If you answer I will put your letter on the bulletin board. My teacher taught me a trick about friend. The _i _goes before _e _so that at the end it will spell _end_. Keep in tutch*. Your fri_end_, Leigh (Le-e-e) Botts _NOVEMBER 13_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I am in the fourth grade now. I made a diorama of _Ways to Amuse a Dog_, the book that I wrote to you about two times before. Now our teacher is making us write to authors for Book Week. I got your answer to my letter last year, but it was only printed. Please write to me in your own handwriting. I am a great lover of your books. My favorite character in the book was Joe’s Dad because he didn’t get mad when Joe amused his dog by playing a tape of a lady singing, and his dog sat and howled like he was singing, too. Bandit does the same thing when he hears singing. Your best reader, Leigh Botts _DECEMBER 2_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I am thinking about _Ways to Amuse a Dog_. When Joe took his dog to the park and taught him to slide down the slide, wouldn’t some grownup come and say he couldn’t let his dog use the slide? Here grownups, who are mostly really old with cats, get mad if dogs aren’t on leashes every minute. I hate living in a mobile home park. I saw your picture on the back of the book. When I grow up I want to be a famous book writer with a beard like you. I am sending you my picture. It is last year’s picture. My hair is longer now. With all the millions of kids in the U.S., how would you know who I am if I don’t send you my picture? Your favorite reader, Leigh Botts _Enclosure: _Picture of me. (We are studying business letters.) [Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы - _2.png] _OCTOBER 2_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I am in the fifth grade now. You might like to know that I gave a book report on _Ways to Amuse a Dog_. The class liked it. I got an A-. The minus was because the teacher said I didn’t stand on both feet. Sincerely, Leigh Botts _NOVEMBER 7_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I got your letter and did what you said. I read a different book by you. I read _Moose on Toast_. I liked it almost as much as _Ways to Amuse a Dog_. It was really funny that the boy’s mother tried to find ways to cook the moose meat they had in their freezer. 1000 pounds is a lot of moose. Moose burgers, moose stew and moose meat loaf don’t sound too bad. Maybe moose mincemeat pie would be OK because you wouldn’t know you were eating moose. Creamed moose on toast, yuck. I don’t think the boy’s father had to shoot the moose, but I guess there are many moose in Alaska, and maybe they needed it for food. If my Dad shot a moose I would give the tough parts to my dog Bandit. Your number 1 fan, Leigh Botts _SEPTEMBER 20_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, This year I am in the sixth grade in a new school in a different town. Our teacher is making us do author reports to improve our writing skills, so of course I thought of you. Please answer the following questions. 1. How many books have you written? 2. Is Boyd Henshaw your real name? 3. Why do you write books for children? 4. Where do you get your ideas? 5. Do you have any kids? 6. What is your favorite book that you wrote? 7. Do you like to write books? 8. What is the title of your next book? 9. What is your favorite animal? 10. Please give me some tips on how to write a book. This is important to me. I really want to know so I can become a famous writer and write books exactly like yours. Please send me a list of your books that you wrote, an autographed picture and a bookmark. I need your answer by next Friday. This is urgent! Sincerely, Leigh Botts _De Liver   De Letter   De Sooner   De Better_ _De Later   De Letter   De Madder   I Getter_ [2] _NOVEMBER 15_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, At first I was very upset when I didn’t get an answer to my letter in time for my report, but it was OK because I read what it said about you on the back of _Ways to Amuse a Dog_. On the book it said you lived in Seattle, so I didn’t know that you moved to Alaska, but I should’ve guessed from _Moose on Toast_. When your letter finally came I didn’t want to read it to the class, because I didn’t think Miss Martinez would like your silly answers. She said I had to read it. The class laughed and Miss Martinez smiled, but she didn’t smile when I came to the part about your favorite animal which was a purple monster who ate children who sent authors long lists of questions for reports instead of learning to use the library. Your writing tips were OK. I could tell that you were serious about them. Don’t worry. When I write something, I won’t send it to you. I understand how busy you are with your own books. I hid the second page of your letter from Miss Martinez. That list of questions that you sent for me to answer really made me mad. Nobody else’s author put in a list of questions, and I don’t think it’s fair to make me do more work when I already wrote a report. Anyway, thank you for answering my questions. Some kids didn’t get any answers at all, which made them mad, and one girl almost cried, she was so afraid she would get a bad grade. One boy got a letter from an author who was really excited about getting a letter and wrote such a long answer that the boy had to write a long report. He thinks that nobody ever wrote to that author before, and surely he wouldn’t again. About ten kids wrote to the same author, who wrote one answer to all of them. There was a big argument about who could keep it until Miss Martinez took the letter to the office and made copies of it. вернуться 1 “licked” и “freind” – неправильное написание слов “liked” и “friend”: герой книги учится только во втором классе. вернуться 2 Ли играет со словом “deliver”. Далее слово “de” заменяет артикль “the”. “Getter” используется им для рифмы. About those questions you sent me. I’m not going to answer them, and you can’t make me. You’re not my teacher. Yours truly, Leigh Botts P.S. When I asked you what the title of your next book was going to be, you said, “Who knows”? Did you mean that this was the title or you don’t know what the title will be? And do you really write books because you have read every book in the library and because writing is better than cutting grass or clearing snow? _NOVEMBER 16_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, Mom found your letter and your list of questions which I stupidly left on my desk. We had a big argument. She says that I have to answer your questions because authors are working people like everyone else, and if you found time to answer my questions, I should answer yours. She says that I can’t expect everyone to do everything for me all my life. She said the same thing to Dad when he left his socks on the floor. Well, I have to go now. It’s bedtime. Maybe I’ll start answering your ten questions, and maybe I won’t. There isn’t any law that says I have to. Maybe I won’t even read any more of your books. Upset reader, Leigh Botts P.S. If my Dad was here, he would tell you a thing or two. _NOVEMBER 20_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, Mom is asking me about your stupid questions. She says that if I really want to be an author, I should follow the tips in your letter. I should read, look, listen, think and write. She says the best way she knows for me to begin is to sit down and answer your questions fully. So here we go. _1. Who are you?_ Like I said, I am Leigh Botts. Leigh Marcus Botts. I don’t like my name Leigh because some people don’t know how to say it or think it’s a girl’s name. Mom says that with a last name like Botts I need something fancy but not too fancy. My Dad’s name is Bill and Mom’s name is Bonnie. She says Bill and Bonnie Botts sounds funny. I am just a plain boy. This school doesn’t say that I am “Gifted” or “Talented”, and I don’t like soccer as much as everybody at this school does. I am not stupid either. _2. What do you look like?_ I already sent you my picture, but maybe you lost it. I am medium. I don’t have red hair or anything like that. I’m not really big like my Dad. Mom says that I take after her family, thank goodness. That’s the way she always says it. In first and second grades kids called me Leigh the Flea, but I have grown. Now when the class lines by height, I am in the middle. I guess you could call me the most medium boy in the class. This is hard work. To be continued, maybe. Leigh Botts _NOVEMBER 22_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I wasn’t going to answer any more of your questions, but Mom won’t fix our broken TV because she says it’s bad for my brain. This is Thanksgiving vacation and I am so bored that I decided to answer a couple of your stupid questions with my stupid brain. (Joke.) _3. What is your family like?_ Since Dad and Bandit went away, my family is just Mom and me. Before, we all lived in a mobile home near Bakersfield in California. When Mom and Dad got divorced, they sold the mobile home, and Dad moved into a trailer. Dad drives a big truck. His cab is over the engine. Some people don’t know that. The truck is why my parents got divorced. Before, Dad worked for someone else, hauling stuff like cotton, sugar beets and other produce around California and Nevada, but he wanted to have his own rig for cross-country hauling. He worked practically night and day and saved some money. Mom said that we’d never get out of that mobile home when he had to make such big payments on that rig, and she’d never know where he was when he hauled cross-country. His rig, which truckers call a tractor, but everyone else calls a truck, is surely a beauty with ten wheels and everything, so he can hitch up and haul anything. My hand is tired after all this writing, but I try to treat Mom and Dad the same so I’ll get to Mom next time. Your tired reader, Leigh Botts [Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы - _3.png] _NOVEMBER 23_ Mr. Henshaw: Why should I call you “dear,” when you are the reason I have to do all this work? I can’t leave Mom out so here is Question 3 continued. Mom works part-time for “Catering by Katy” which is owned by a really nice lady whom Mom knew when she was growing up in Taft, California. Katy says that all women who grew up in Taft had to be good cooks because they went to so many potluck suppers. Mom and Katy and some other ladies make fancy food for weddings and parties. They also bake cheesecakes and apple pies for restaurants. Mom is a good cook. I just wish she would do it more at home, like the mother in _Moose on Toast_. Almost every day Katy gives Mom something good to put in my school lunch. Mom also takes a couple of courses at the college. She wants to be a licensed nurse. They help real nurses except they don’t stick needles in people. She is almost always home when I get home from school. Your ex-friend, Leigh Botts _NOVEMBER 24_ Mr. Henshaw: Here we go again. _4. Where do you live?_ After the divorce Mom and I moved from Bakersfield to Pacific Grove which is in California, about twenty miles from the sugar refinery where Dad had hauled sugar beets before he went cross-country. Mom said that all the time she was growing up she wished for a few ocean breezes, and now we’ve got them. We’ve got a lot of fog too, especially in the morning. There aren’t any crops around here, just golf courses for rich people. We live in a little house, a _really _little house. It was somebody’s summer cottage a long time ago before they built a two-story house in front of it. Now it is a garden cottage and it is falling apart, but it is all we have money for. Mom says that at least we have a roof over our heads, and it can’t be hauled away on a truck. I have my own room, but Mom sleeps on a couch in the living room. She decorated the place really nicely with things from the thrift shop down the street. Next door is a gas station that goes ping-ping, ping-ping every time a car drives in. They turn off the pinger at 10:00 P.M., but mostly I am asleep by then. On our street, besides the thrift shop, there is a pet shop, a sewing machine shop, an electric shop, a couple of antique shops, plus a restaurant and an ice cream place. Sometimes when the gas station isn’t pinging, I can hear the ocean and the sea lions barking. They sound like dogs, and I think of Bandit. To be continued unless we get the TV fixed. Still upset, Leigh Botts _NOVEMBER 26_ Mr. Henshaw: If our TV was fixed I would be watching “Highway Patrol,” but it isn’t, so here are some more answers from my stupid brain. (Ha-ha.) _5. Do you have any pets?_ I do not have any pets. (My teacher says always answer questions in full sentences.) When Mom and Dad got divorced and Mom got me, Dad took Bandit because Mom said that she couldn’t work and look after a dog, and Dad said that he likes to take Bandit in his truck because it helps him to stay awake on long hauls if he has his dog to talk to. I really miss Bandit, but I guess he’s happier with Dad. Like the father said in _Ways to Amuse a Dog_, dogs get bored if they stay in the house all day. That is what Bandit would do with Mom and me. Bandit likes to ride. That’s how we got him. He just jumped into Dad’s cab at a truck stop in Nevada and sat there. He had a red bandanna around his neck instead of a collar, so we called him Bandit. Sometimes I lie awake at night listening to the gas station ping-pinging and thinking about Dad and Bandit hauling tomatoes or cotton on Interstate 5, and I am glad that Bandit is there to keep Dad awake. Have you ever seen Interstate 5? It is straight and boring with nothing much but fields. It is so boring that the cattle in the fields don’t even moo. They just stand there. My hand is tired from all this writing again. I’ll get to No. 6 next time. Mom says not to worry about the postage, so I can’t use that as an excuse for not answering. Tired writer, Leigh Botts _NOVEMBER 27_ Mr. Henshaw: Here we go again. I’ll never write another list of questions for an author to answer, no matter what the teacher says. _6. Do you like school?_ School is OK, I guess. That’s where the kids are. The best thing about sixth grade in my new school is that if I do my best, I’ll finish it. _7. Who are your friends?_ I don’t have many friends in my new school. Mom says that maybe I’m a loner, but I don’t know. A new boy in school has to be careful until he knows who’s who. Maybe I’m just a medium boy whom nobody pays much attention to. The only time anybody paid much attention to me was in my last school when I gave the book report on _Ways to Amuse a Dog_. After my report some people went to the library to get the book. The kids here pay more attention to my lunch than to me. They really want to see what I have in my lunch because Katy gives me such good things. I wish somebody would invite me to their place sometime. After school I spend time kicking a soccer ball with some of the other kids so they won’t think I am a snob or anything, but nobody invites me anyway. _8. Who is your favorite teacher?_ I don’t have a favorite teacher, but I really like Mr. Fridley. He’s the custodian. He’s always fair about who gets the milk first at lunchtime, and once when he had to clean after someone who got sick in the hall, he didn’t even look cross. He just said, “It looks like somebody’s made a mess,” and started putting sawdust around it. Mom got mad at Dad for making a mess too, but she didn’t mean throwing up. She meant that he stayed too long at that truck stop outside of town. Two more questions to go. Maybe I won’t answer them. Ha-ha. Leigh Botts _DECEMBER 1_ Mr. Henshaw: OK, you win, because Mom is still nagging me, and I don’t have anything else to do. I’ll answer your last two questions even if I stay up all night. _9. What bothers you?_ What bothers me about what? I don’t know what you mean. I guess I’m bothered by a lot of things. I am bothered when someone steals something out of my lunch bag. I don’t know enough about the people in the school to know who it can be. I am bothered about little kids with runny noses. I don’t mean I am fussy or anything like that. I don’t know why. I am just bothered. I am bothered about walking to school _slowly_. The rule is that nobody should be on the school grounds until ten minutes before the first bell rings. Mom has an early class. The house is so lonely in the morning when she is gone that I can’t stand it and leave together with her. I don’t mind being alone after school, but I don’t like it in the morning before the fog lifts and our cottage seems dark and wet. Mom tells me to go to school but to walk slowly which is hard work. Once I tried walking around every square in the sidewalk, but that was boring too. Sometimes I walk backwards except when I cross the street, but I still get to school so early that I have to hide behind the bushes so Mr. Fridley won’t see me. I am bothered when my Dad telephones me and finishes by saying, “Well, keep your nose clean, kid.” Why can’t he say that he misses me, and why can’t he call me Leigh? I am bothered when he doesn’t phone at all which is most of the time. I have a book of road maps and try to follow his trips when I hear from him. When the TV worked I watched the weather on the news so I would know if he was driving through blizzards, tornadoes, hail or any of that fancy weather they have in other places of the U.S. _10. What do you wish?_ I wish somebody would stop stealing the good stuff out of my lunch bag. I guess I wish a lot of other things, too. I wish someday Dad and Bandit would stop in front of our house in the rig with a big trailer. Dad would yell out of the cab, “Come on, Leigh. Jump in and I’ll take you to school.” Then I’d climb in and Bandit would wag his tail and lick my face. We’d drive off and all the men in the gas station would stare at us. Instead of going straight to school, we’d go along the freeway looking down on the tops of ordinary cars. Then we would turn around and go back to school just before the bell rang. I guess I wouldn’t look so medium then, sitting up there in the cab. I’d jump out, and Dad would say, “Bye, Leigh. See you,” and Bandit would give a little bark like good-bye. I’d say, “Drive carefully, Dad,” like I always do. Dad would take a minute to write in the truck’s logbook, “Drove my son to school.” Then the truck would drive away and all the kids would stare and wish their Dads drove big trucks, too. There, Mr. Henshaw. That’s the end of your stupid questions. I hope you are happy about making me do all this extra work. Fooey on you, Leigh Botts [Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы - _4.png] _DECEMBER 4_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I am sorry I was rude in my last letter when I finished answering your questions. Maybe I was mad about other things, like Dad forgetting to send this month’s payment. Mom tried to phone him at the trailer park. He has his own phone in his trailer so the broker who gives him jobs can call him. I wish he still hauled sugar beets to the refinery here so he could come to see me. The judge in the divorce said that he has a right to see me. When you answered my questions, you said that the way to be an author was to write. You underlined it twice. Well, I did a lot of writing, and you know what? Now that I think about it, it wasn’t so bad when it wasn’t for a book report or a report on some country in South America or anything where I had to look for things in the library. I even miss writing now that I’ve finished your questions. I get lonesome. Mom is working overtime at “Catering by Katy” because people give a lot of parties this time of year. When I write a book maybe I’ll call it _The Great Lunchbag Mystery_, because I have a lot of trouble with my lunchbag. Mom doesn’t cook roasts and steaks now that Dad is gone, but she makes me good lunches with sandwiches on bread from the health food store with good filling spread all the way to the corners. Katy sends me little cheesecakes and other things she baked just for me. Today I was supposed to have an egg. But at lunchtime when I opened my lunchbag, my egg was gone. We leave our lunchbags and boxes (mostly bags because no sixth-grader wants to carry a lunchbox) along the wall under our coat hooks at the back of the classroom behind a partition. Are you writing another book? Please answer my letter so we can be pen pals. Still your No. 1 fan, Leigh Botts _DECEMBER 12_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I was surprised to get your postcard from Wyoming, because I thought you lived in Alaska. Don’t worry. I get the message. You don’t have much time for answering letters. That’s OK with me, because I’m glad you are busy writing a book. Something nice happened today. When I was walking around behind the bushes at school waiting for the ten minutes to come before the first bell rings, I was watching Mr. Fridley raise the flags. Maybe I better explain that the state flag of California is white with a brown bear in the middle. First Mr. Fridley raised the U.S. flag and then the California flag below it. I saw that the bear was upside down with his feet in the air. So I said, “Hey, Mr. Fridley, the bear is upside down.” This is a new paragraph because Miss Martinez says there should be a new paragraph when a different person speaks. Mr. Fridley said, “Well, so it is. Would you like to turn him right side up?” So I got to pull the flags down, turn the bear flag the right way and raise both flags again. Mr. Fridley said maybe I should come to school a few minutes early every morning to help him with the flags, but asked me to stop walking backwards because it made him nervous. So now I don’t have to walk quite so slow. It was nice to have somebody notice me. Nobody stole anything from my lunch today because I ate it on the way to school. I am still thinking about what you said on your postcard about keeping a diary. Maybe I’ll try it. Sincerely, Leigh Botts _ECEMBER 13_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I bought a composition book like you said. It is yellow and has a spiral. On the front I printed DIARY OF LEIGH MARCUS BOTTS PRIVATE – KEEP OUT THIS MEANS YOU!!!!! When I started to write in it, I didn’t know how to begin. I felt that I should write “Dear Composition Book” or “Dear Piece of Paper,” but that sounds stupid. The first page still looks the way I feel. Blank. I don’t think I can keep a diary. I don’t want to be a nuisance to you, but please tell me how to do it. I am stuck. Your puzzled reader, Leigh Botts _DECEMBER 21_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I got your postcard with the picture of the bears. Maybe I’ll do what you said and pretend my diary is a letter to somebody. I suppose I could pretend to write to Dad, but I wrote to him before and he never answered. Maybe I’ll pretend I am writing to you because when I answered all your questions, I always used the beginning “Dear Mr. Henshaw.” Don’t worry. I won’t send it to you. Thanks for the tip. I know you’re busy. Your grateful friend, Leigh Botts PRIVATE DIARY OF LEIGH BOTTS***_FRIDAY, DECEMBER 22_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, This is a diary. I will keep it, not mail it. If I eat my lunch on the way to school, I get hungry in the afternoon. Today I didn’t, so the two muffins Mom packed in my lunch were gone at lunch period. My sandwich was still there so I didn’t starve to death, but I surely missed those muffins. I can’t tell the teacher because it isn’t a good idea for a new boy in school to be a snitch. All morning I try to keep track of who leaves his seat to go behind the partition where we keep our lunches, and I watch to see who leaves the room last at recess. I haven’t seen anybody chewing, but Miss Martinez is always telling me to face the front of the room. Anyway, the classroom door is usually open. Anybody could sneak in if we were all facing front and Miss Martinez was writing on the blackboard. Hey, I just had an idea! Some authors write under made-up names. After Christmas vacation I’ll write a fake name on my lunchbag. That will fool the thief. I guess I don’t have to sign my name to a diary letter the way I sign a real letter that I mail. _SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, This is the first day of Christmas vacation. Still no package from Dad. I thought maybe he was bringing me a present instead of mailing it, so I asked Mom if she thought he might come to see us for Christmas. She said, “We’re divorced. Remember?” I remember all right. I remember all the time. _SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, Still no package from Dad. I keep thinking about last Christmas when we were in the mobile home before Dad bought the truck. He had to avoid the highway patrol to get home in time for Christmas. Mom cooked a turkey and a nice dinner. We had a small Christmas tree because there wasn’t enough room for a big one. At dinner Dad said that when he was driving he often saw one shoe lying on the highway. He always wondered how it got there and what happened to the second shoe. Mom said that one shoe sounded sad, like a country song. While we ate our mincemeat pie we all tried to make songs about lost shoes. I’ll never forget them. Mine was worst: _Driving with a heavy load_ _I saw a shoe upon the road_ _Squashed like a toad._ Dad made this: _I saw a shoe_ _Wet with dew_ _On Highway 2._ _It made me blue._ _What will I do?_ Mom’s song really made us laugh. It was the best: _A lonesome hiker was unlucky_ _To lose his boot around Kentucky._ _He hitched a ride with one foot damp_ _Down the road to Angels Camp._ Stupid songs, but we had a lot of fun. Mom and Dad hadn’t laughed that much for a long time, and I hoped they would never stop. After that, when Dad came home, I asked if he had seen any shoes on the highway. He always had. _MONDAY, DECEMBER 25_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, Last night I was feeling low and was still awake after the gas station stopped pinging. Then I heard heavy feet coming up the steps, and for a minute I thought it was Dad until I remembered he always ran up the steps. Mom is careful about opening the door at night. I heard how she turned on the outside light and knew she was looking out from behind the curtain. She opened the door, and a man said, “Is this where Leigh Botts lives?” I was out of bed and in the front room in a second. “I’m Leigh Botts,” I said. “Your Dad asked me to take this to you.” A man who looked like a trucker gave me a big package. “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks a lot.” I probably looked puzzled because he said, “He asked over his CB radio for someone coming to this town who would like to play Santa. So here I am. Merry Christmas and a ho-ho-ho!” He waved a hand and walked away before I could say anything more. “Wow!” I said to Mom. “Wow!” She just stood there in smiling while I began to take off the paper even if it wasn’t Christmas morning. Dad had sent what I always wanted – a down jacket with a lot of pockets, zips and a hood. I tried it on. It was the right size and felt great. Getting a present from my Dad in time for Christmas felt even better. Today Katy invited us for Christmas dinner although this is a busy season for catering. She also invited some other women who work with her, and their kids, and a few old people from her neighborhood. On the way home Mom said, “Katy has a heart as big as a football stadium. It was a lovely dinner for lonely hearts.” I wondered if she was thinking about last Christmas when we tried to make songs about lonely lost shoes. _WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 3_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, I got behind in my diary during Christmas vacation because I had a lot of things to do like going to the dentist, getting some new shoes, and a lot of things that I don’t have the time to do during school. Today I wrote a fake name, or pseudonym, as they sometimes say, on my lunchbag. I printed Joe Kelly on it because that was the name of the boy in _Ways to Amuse a Dog _so I knew it was made-up. I guess I fooled the thief because nobody stole the chicken in bacon that Katy roasted just for me. It is good even when it is cold. I hope the thief watched me eat it. _MONDAY, JANUARY 8_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, Dad phoned me from a town in Oregon! I just looked in my book of road maps and saw where it is. He said he was waiting for a load of potatoes. I could hear music and some men talking. I asked about Bandit, and he said Bandit was fine, a great listener on a long haul even though he doesn’t have much to say. I asked Dad if I could ride with him sometime next summer when school is out, and he said he’d see. (I _hate _answers like that.) Anyway, he said he was sending the payment and he was sorry he forgot and he hoped I liked the jacket. I surely wish that Dad lived with us again, but he said he would phone in about a week and to keep my nose clean. He had to go to make sure the potatoes were loaded. This has been a good day. My lunch was safe again. Mr. Fridley is so funny. Lots of kids are having their teeth straightened so when they eat lunch, they take out their retainers and wrap them in paper napkins while they eat because nobody wants to look at a retainer. Sometimes they forget and throw the napkin with the retainer into the garbage. Then they have to look through the garbage cans until they find their retainers because retainers cost a lot of money, and parents get mad if they get lost. Mr. Fridley always stands by the garbage cans to make sure kids put their forks and spoons on a tray and not in the garbage. When someone who has a retainer passes by, Mr. Fridley says, “Look out. Don’t lose your false teeth.” This helps them not to lose retainers. Mom says that I am like Dad in one thing. My teeth are nice and straight which saves a lot of money. _TUESDAY, JANUARY 9_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, My little cheesecake was missing at lunchtime which made me mad. I guess somebody noticed that Joe Kelly’s lunch was really mine. When I went to throw my lunchbag in the garbage, Mr. Fridley said, “Cheer up, Leigh.” I said, “How would you feel if somebody was always stealing the good stuff from your lunch?” He said, “What you need is a burglar alarm.” A burglar alarm on a lunchbag! I laughed at that, but I still wanted my cheesecake. Dad will phone any day now. When I said that at supper, Mom said I shouldn’t hope for it, but I know Dad will remember this time. Mom never really says much about Dad, and when I ask why she divorced him, all she says is, “It takes two people to get a divorce.” I guess she means the same way that it takes two people to have a fight. Tomorrow I am going to wrap my lunchbag in a lot of Scotch tape so nobody can sneak anything out of it. _WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 10_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, It’s funny how somebody says something, and you can’t forget it. I am thinking about Mr. Fridley saying that I needed a burglar alarm on my lunchbag. How could anybody put a burglar alarm on a paper bag? Today I used so much Scotch tape on my lunchbag that I couldn’t get my lunch out. Everybody laughed. Dad should phone today or tomorrow. Maybe if he came home he would know how I could make a burglar alarm for my lunchbag. He was good about helping me make things in the past. I reread your letter answering my questions and thought about your tips on how to write a book. One of the tips was _listen_. I guess you meant to listen and write down the way people talk, like in a play. This is what Mom and I said at supper: _ME: _Mom, why don’t you get married again? _MOM: _Oh, I don’t know. I guess it’s not easy to find a man when you are out of school. _ME: _But you go out sometimes. You went to dinner with Charlie a couple of times. What happened to him? _MOM: _A couple of times was enough. That’s the end of Charlie. _ME: _Why? _MOM: _(Thinks for a while.) Charlie is divorced and has three children. What he really wants is someone to help him. _ME: _Oh. (Three sudden brothers or sisters was something to think about.) But I see men all around. There are lots of men. _MOM: _But not the right type. (Laughs.) I guess I’m really afraid I might find another man who’s in love with a truck. _ME: _(I think about this and don’t answer. Is Dad in love with a truck? What does she mean?) _MOM: _Why are you asking all these questions all of a sudden? _ME: _I was thinking that if I had a father at home, maybe he could show me how to make a burglar alarm for my lunchbag. _MOM: _(Laughing.) There must be an easier way than my getting married again. End of conversation. _JANUARY 12_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, This is a real letter I am going to mail. Maybe I should explain that I have written you many letters that are really my diary which I keep because you said so and because Mom still won’t have the TV fixed. She wants my brain to be in good shape. She says that I will need my brain all my life. Guess what? Today the school librarian stopped me in the hall and said she had something for me. She told me to come to the library. There she gave me your new book and said that I could be the first to read it. Probably I looked surprised. She said she knew how much I love your books since I borrow them so often. Now I know that Mr. Fridley isn’t the only one who notices me. I am on page 14 of _Beggar Bears_. It is a good book. I just wanted you to know that I am the first person around here to read it. Your No. 1 fan, Leigh Botts _JANUARY 15_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I finished _Beggar Bears _in two nights. It is a really good book. At first I was surprised because it wasn’t funny like your other books, but then I started thinking (you said that authors should think) and decided a book doesn’t have to be funny to be good, but it often helps. This book did not need to be funny. In the first chapter I thought it was going to be funny because of your other books and because the mother bear was teaching her twin cubs to beg from tourists in the national park. Then when the mother died because a stupid tourist fed her a muffin in a plastic bag and she ate the bag, too, I knew this was going to be a sad book. Winter was coming, tourists were leaving the park and the little bears didn’t know how to find food for themselves. When they went to sleep and then woke up in the middle of winter because they had eaten all the wrong things and didn’t have enough fat, I almost cried. I surely was happy when the nice ranger and his boy found the young bears and fed them and the next summer taught them to hunt for the right things to eat. I wonder what happens to the fathers of bears. Do they just go away? Sometimes I lie awake listening to the gas station pinging, and I worry because something can happen to Mom. She is so little compared to most moms, and she works so hard. I don’t think Dad is very much interested in me. He didn’t phone when he promised. I hope your book wins a million awards. Sincerely, Leigh Botts _JANUARY 19_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, Thank you for sending me the postcard with the picture of the lake and mountains and all that snow. Yes, I will continue to write in my diary even if I have to pretend I am writing to you. You know something? I think I feel better when I write in my diary. My teacher says my writing skills are better now. Maybe I really will be a famous author someday. She said that our school together with some other schools is going to print a book of works of young authors, and I should write a story for it. The writers of the best work will win a prize – a lunch with a Famous Author and with winners from other schools. I hope the Famous Author is you. I don’t often get mail, but today I got two postcards, one from you and one from Dad in Kansas. His card showed a picture of a truck. He said he would phone me sometime next week. I wish someday he would have to drive a load of something to Wyoming and would take me along so I could meet you. That’s all for now. I am going to try to think up a story. Don’t worry. I won’t send it to you to read. I know you are busy and I don’t want to be a nuisance. Your good friend, Leigh Botts the First FROM THE DIARY OF LEIGH BOTTS***_SATURDAY, JANUARY 20_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, Every time I try to think up a story, it is like something someone else has written, usually you. I want to do what you said in your tips and write like _me_, not like somebody else. I’ll keep trying because I want to be a Young Author with my story printed. Maybe I can’t think of a story because I am waiting for Dad to call. I get so lonely when I am alone at night when Mom is at her nursing class. Yesterday somebody stole a piece of cake from my lunchbag. Mr. Fridley noticed that I was sad again and asked, “The lunchbag thief again?” I said, “Yeah, and my Dad didn’t phone me.” He said, “Don’t think you are the only boy around here with a father who forgets.” I wonder if this is true. Mr. Fridley notices everything around school, so he probably knows. I wish I had a grandfather like Mr. Fridley. He is so nice, big and comfortable. _MONDAY, JANUARY 29_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, Dad still hasn’t phoned, and he promised he would. Mom keeps telling me I shouldn’t be so hopeful, because Dad sometimes forgets. I don’t think he should forget what he wrote on a postcard. I feel terrible. _TUESDAY, JANUARY 30_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, I looked in my book of highway maps and understood that Dad should be back here by now, but he still hasn’t phoned. Mom says that I shouldn’t be too hard on him, because a trucker’s life isn’t easy. Truckers sometimes lose some of their hearing in their left ear from the wind blowing past the driver’s window. Truckers also get out of shape from sitting such long hours without exercise and from eating too much fatty food. Sometimes truckers hurry so much that they even get stomach aches. Time is money for a trucker. I think she is just trying to make me feel good, but I don’t. I feel terrible. I said, “If a trucker’s life is so hard, then why is Dad in love with his truck?” Mom said, “It’s not really his truck he is in love with. He loves the feel of power when he is sitting high in his cab controlling a huge machine. He loves the joy of never knowing where his next trip will take him. He loves the mountains and the desert sunrises and the sight of orange trees with oranges and the smell of new asphalt. I know, because I rode with him before you were born.” I still feel terrible. If Dad loves all those things so much, why can’t he love me? And maybe if I hadn’t been born, Mom would still be riding with Dad. Maybe I’m to blame for everything. _WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 31_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, Dad still hasn’t phoned. A promise is a promise, especially when it is in writing. When the phone rings, it is always a call from one of the women who Mom works with. I am so mad! I am mad at Mom for divorcing Dad. As she says, it takes two people to get a divorce, so I am mad at two people. I wish Bandit was here to keep me company. Bandit and I didn’t get a divorce. They did. _FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 2_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, I am writing this sitting in my room because Mom invited some of her women friends. They sit around drinking coffee or tea and talking about their problems which are mostly men, money and kids. Some of them make quilts while they talk. They hope to sell them for extra money. It is better to stay in here than go out and say, “Hello, sure, I like school fine, yes, I guess I have grown,” and all that. Mom is right about Dad and his truck. I remember how fun it was to ride with him and listen to calls on his CB radio. Dad showed me hawks sitting on telephone wires waiting for little animals to be run over. Dad was hauling a load of tomatoes that day, and he said that some tomatoes are grown especially strong for hauling. They may not taste good, but they don’t squash. That day we stopped at a weighing scale and then had lunch at the truck stop. Everybody knew Dad. The waitresses all said, “Well, look who is here! Our old friend, Wild Bill,” and things like that. Wild Bill is the name Dad uses on his CB radio. When Dad said, “Meet my kid,” I stood up as tall as I could so they would think I was going to grow up as big as Dad. The waitresses all laughed a lot around Dad. For lunch we had chicken, potatoes, peas, and apple pie with ice cream. Our waitress gave me extra ice cream to help me grow big like Dad. Most truckers ate really fast and left, but Dad stayed around and played the video games. Dad always wins. Mom’s friends are leaving, so I guess I can go to bed now. _SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 4_ Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, _I hate my father._ Mom is usually home on Sunday, but this week there was a big event, and she worked a lot. Mom never worries about paying the rent when there is a big order. I was all alone in the house, it was raining and I didn’t have anything to read. I had to clean the bathroom, but I didn’t because I was mad at Mom for divorcing Dad. I feel that way sometimes which makes me feel awful because I know how hard she has to work and try to go to school, too. I was looking at the telephone until I couldn’t wait any longer. I picked up the receiver and called Dad’s number in Bakersfield. All I wanted was to hear the phone ringing in Dad’s trailer which wouldn’t cost Mom anything because nobody would answer. But Dad answered. I almost hung up. He wasn’t away in some other state. He was in his trailer, and he hadn’t phoned me. I thought I had to talk to him. “You promised to phone me this week and you didn’t,” I said. “Easy, kid,” he said. “I just didn’t have the time to do it. I was going to call this evening. It’s not the end of the week yet.” I thought about this. “Some trouble?” he asked. I didn’t know what to say, so I said, “My lunch. Somebody steals the good stuff out of my lunch.” “Find him and punch him in the nose,” said Dad. I could tell he didn’t think that my lunch was important. “I hoped you would call,” I said. “I waited and waited.” Then I was sorry I said it. I still have some pride left. “There was heavy snow in the mountains,” he said. “I had to put chains on wheels and lost some time.” I know about putting chains on trucks. When the snow is heavy, truckers have to put chains on the drive wheels – all eight of them. Putting chains on eight big wheels in the snow is no fun. I felt a little better. “How’s Bandit?” I asked. There was a strange pause. For a minute I thought that we were disconnected. Then I knew something must have happened to my dog. “How’s Bandit?” I asked again louder, remembering that Dad might have lost some of the hearing in his left ear from all that wind. “Well, kid – ” he began. “My name is Leigh!” I almost shouted. “I’m not just some kid you met on the street.” “Easy, Leigh,” he said. “When I had to stop to put on chains, I let Bandit out of the cab. I thought that he would get right back in because it was snowing hard, but after I chained up, he wasn’t in the cab.” “Did you leave the door open for him?” I asked. Big pause. “I think I did,” he said which meant that he didn’t. Then he said, “I whistled and whistled, but Bandit didn’t come. I couldn’t wait any longer because I had a deadline for delivering a load. I had to leave. I’m sorry, kid – Leigh – but that’s the way it is.” “You left Bandit to freeze to death!” I was crying from anger. How could he? “Bandit knows how to take care of himself,” said Dad. “I think he will jump into another truck.” I wiped my nose. “Why would the driver let him in?” I asked. “Because he’ll think that Bandit is lost,” said Dad, “He won’t leave a dog to freeze.” “What about your CB radio?” I asked. “Didn’t you send a call?” “Surely I did, but I didn’t get an answer. Mountains kill the signal,” Dad told me. I was going to say that I understood, but here comes the bad part, the really bad part. I heard a boy’s voice. He said, “Hey, Bill, Mom wants to know when we’re going out to get the pizza?” I felt sick. I hung up. I didn’t want to hear any more, when Mom had to pay for the long distance phone call. I didn’t want to hear any more at all. To be continued. [Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы - _5.png] _MONDAY, FEBRUARY 5_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I don’t have to pretend to write to Mr. Henshaw anymore. I have learned to say what I think on a piece of paper. And I don’t hate my father either. I can’t hate him. Maybe things would be easier if I could. Yesterday after I hung up on Dad I fell down on my bed and cried and swore and punched my pillow. I felt so terrible about Bandit riding around with a strange trucker and Dad taking another boy out for pizza when I was all alone in the house with the dirty bathroom when it was raining outside and I was hungry. The worst part of all was that I knew if Dad took someone to a pizza place for dinner, he wouldn’t have phoned me at all, no matter what he said. He would have too much fun playing video games. Then I heard Mom’s car stop out in front. I washed my face and tried to look as if I hadn’t been crying, but I couldn’t fool Mom. She came to the door of my room and said, “Hi, Leigh.” I tried to look away, but she came closer and said, “What’s the matter, Leigh?” “Nothing,” I said, but she didn’t believe me. She sat down and put her arm around me. I tried hard not to cry, but I couldn’t help it. “Dad lost Bandit,” I finally said. “Oh, Leigh,” she said, and I told her the whole story, with pizza and all. We just sat there for a while, and then I said, “Why did you have to marry him?” “Because I was in love with him,” she said. “Why did you stop?” I asked. “We just got married too young,” she said. “Growing up in that little town wasn’t exciting. There wasn’t much to do. I remember how at night I looked at the lights of Bakersfield in the distance and wished I could live in a place like that, it looked so big and exciting. It seems funny now, but then it seemed like New York or Paris.” “After high school the boys mostly went to work in the fields or joined the army, and the girls got married. Some people went to college, but my parents weren’t interested in helping me. After graduation your Dad came in a big truck and – well, that was that. He was big and handsome and nothing seemed to bother him, and the way he drove his truck – well, he seemed like a knight to me. Things weren’t too happy at home with your grandfather drinking and all, so your Dad and I went to Las Vegas and got married. I loved riding with him until you were born, and – well, by that time I had had enough of highways and truck stops. I stayed home with you, and he was gone all the time.” I felt a little better when Mom said that she was tired of life on the road. Maybe I wasn’t to blame after all. I remembered, too, how Mom and I were alone a lot and how I hated living in that mobile home. The only places we ever went to were the laundromat and the library. Mom read a lot and she read aloud to me, too. Now Mom went on. “I didn’t think that such life was fun anymore. Maybe I grew up and your father didn’t.” Suddenly Mom began to cry. I felt terrible making Mom cry, so I began to cry again, too, and we both cried until she said, “It’s not your fault, Leigh. You mustn’t ever think that. Your Dad is a good man. We just married too young. He loves the life on the road, and I don’t.” “But he lost Bandit,” I said. “He didn’t leave the cab door open for him when it was snowing.” “Maybe Bandit is just a bum,” said Mom. “Some dogs are, you know. Do you remember how he jumped into your father’s cab? Maybe he was ready to try another truck.” She could be right, but I didn’t like to think so. I was almost afraid to ask the next question, but I did. “Mom, do you still love Dad?” “Please don’t ask me,” she said. I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat there until she wiped her eyes and said, “Come on, Leigh, let’s go out.” [Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы - _6.png] So we got in the car and drove to a diner and got a bucket of fried chicken. Then we drove down by the ocean and ate the chicken sitting in the car. It was raining outside, and there were waves breaking on the rocks. We opened the windows a little so we could hear the waves roll and break, one after another. “You know,” said Mom, “when I watch the waves, I always feel that no matter how bad things are, life still goes on.” That was how I felt, too, only I didn’t know how to say it, so I just said, “Yeah.” Then we drove home. I feel a lot better about Mom. I’m not so sure about Dad, although she says he is a good man. I don’t like to think that Bandit is a bum, but maybe Mom is right. _TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 6_ Today I felt so tired that I didn’t have to try to walk slowly on the way to school. I just did. Mr. Fridley had already raised the flags when I got there. The California bear was right side up so maybe Mr. Fridley didn’t need me to help him at all. I just put my lunch down on the floor and didn’t care if anybody stole any of it. But by lunchtime I was hungry, and when I found that my little cheesecake was missing, I was mad again. I’m going to get the thief who steals from my lunch. Then he’ll be sorry. I’ll really fix him. Or maybe it’s her. Anyway, I’ll get them. I tried to start a story for Young Writers. I wrote the title which was _Ways to Catch a Lunchbag Thief_. A mousetrap in the bag was all I could think of, and anyway my title sounded just like Mr. Henshaw’s book. Today during a lesson I got so mad thinking about the lunchbag thief. I asked to go to the bathroom, and as I went out into the hall, I almost kicked the lunchbag that was closest to the door, when I felt a hand on my shoulder, and there was Mr. Fridley. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, and this time he wasn’t funny. “Go and tell the principal,” I said. “I don’t care.” “Maybe you don’t,” he said, “but I do.” That surprised me. Then Mr. Fridley said, “I don’t want to see a boy like you get into trouble.” “I don’t have any friends in this stupid school.” I don’t know why I said that. I guess I felt I had to say something. “Who wants to be friends with someone who frowns all the time?” asked Mr. Fridley. “So you’ve got problems. Well, everyone else has them, too. You just don’t notice.” I thought of Dad in the mountains chaining up eight heavy wheels in the snow, and I thought of Mom working hard and wondering if ‘Catering by Katy’ will pay her enough to cover the rent. “Becoming a mean lunchbag-kicker won’t help anything,” said Mr. Fridley. “You need to think positively.” “How?” I asked. “That’s for you to find out,” he said and pushed me toward my classroom. _WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 7_ Today after school I felt so bad that I decided to go for a walk. I wasn’t going to any special place, just walking. I walked down the street past the stores and shops, a bakery and the post office, when I came to a sign that said BUTTERFLY TREES. I heard a lot about these trees where monarch butterflies fly a long way to spend the winter. I followed the signs until I came to a grove of trees with signs saying QUIET. There was a big sign that said WARNING. $500 FINE FOR MOLESTING BUTTERFLIES IN ANY WAY. I smiled. Who would want to molest a butterfly? The place was shady and quiet, almost like church. At first I saw only three or four monarchs flying around. Then the sun came out from behind a cloud. The butterflies on the trees slowly opened their orange and black wings, thousands of them sitting on one tree. Then they began to fly off through the trees in the sunshine. Those clouds of butterflies were so beautiful that I felt good again and just stood there watching. I felt so good that I ran all the way home, and while I was running I had an idea for my story. I also noticed that some of the shops and the gas station had metal boxes that said “Alarm System.” I wonder what is in those boxes. [Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы - _7.png] _THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 8_ Today on the way home from school I asked a man who works in the gas station, “Hey, mister, what’s in that box that says ‘Alarm System’ on the side of the station?” “Batteries,” he told me. “Batteries and a bell.” Batteries are something to think about. I started another story which I hope will be printed in the Young Writers’ Yearbook. I think I will call it _The Giant Wax Man_. All the boys in my class are writing strange stories about monsters and creatures from space. Girls are writing poems or stories about horses. In the middle of working on my story I had a bright idea. If I take my lunch in a black lunchbox and get some batteries, maybe I will really make a burglar alarm. _FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 9_ Today I got a letter from Dad. I thought it was a letter, but when I opened it, I found a twenty-dollar bill and a paper napkin. On the napkin he wrote, “Sorry about Bandit. Here’s $20. Go buy yourself an ice cream. Dad.” I was so mad I couldn’t say anything. Mom read the napkin and said, “Your father doesn’t really mean you should buy an ice cream.” “Then why did he write it?” I asked. “He is just trying to say that he is really sorry about Bandit. He’s not very good at expressing feelings.” Mom looked sad and said, “Some men aren’t, you know.” “What should I do with the twenty dollars?” I asked. “Keep it,” said Mom. “It’s yours, and it will be useful in some way.” When I asked if I had to write and thank Dad, Mom looked at me and said, “That’s for you to decide.” Tonight I worked hard on my story for Young Writers about the giant wax man and decided to save the twenty dollars to buy a typewriter. When I am a real author I will need a typewriter. _FEBRUARY 15_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I haven’t written to you for a long time, because I know you are busy, but I need help with the story that I am trying to write for the Young Writers’ Yearbook. I started, but I don’t know how to finish it. My story is about a giant man who drives a big truck, like the one my Dad drives. The man is made of wax, and every time he crosses the desert, he melts a little. He makes so many trips and melts so much he finally can’t drive the truck anymore. That is all that I have now. What should I do next? The boys in my class who are writing about monsters kill all the bad guys on the last page. This ending doesn’t seem right to me. I don’t know why. Please help. Hopefully, Leigh Botts P.S. Before I started writing the story, I wrote in my diary almost every day. _FEBRUARY 28_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, Thank you for answering my letter. I was surprised that you had trouble writing stories when you were my age. I think you are right. Maybe I am not ready to write a story. I understand what you mean. A character in a story should solve a problem or change in some way. I can see that a wax man who melts won’t be there to solve anything and melting isn’t the change you mean. I think somebody could make candles out of him on the last page. That would change him of course, but that is not the ending I want. I asked Miss Martinez if I had to write a story for Young Writers, and she said I could write a poem or a description. Your grateful friend, Leigh P.S. I bought a copy of _Ways to Amuse a Dog _at a sale. I hope you don’t mind. FROM THE DIARY OF LEIGH BOTTS***_THURSDAY, MARCH 1_ I am not writing my diary because of working on my story and writing to Mr. Henshaw (really, not just pretend). I also bought a new notebook because I had finished the first one. That same day I bought a used black lunchbox in the thrift shop down the street and started bringing my lunch in it. The kids were surprised, but nobody made fun of me, because a black lunchbox isn’t the same as one of those square boxes covered with colorful stickers that younger children have. Some boys asked if the box was my Dad’s. I just smiled and said, “Where do you think I got it?” The next day my salami was gone, but I expected that. I’ll get that thief. I’ll make him really sorry that he ate all the best things in my lunch. Next I went to the library for books on batteries. I got some easy books on electricity, really easy. I never thought about batteries before. All I know is that when you want to use a flashlight, the battery is usually dead. I finally stopped writing my story about the giant wax man, which was really stupid. I wanted to write a poem about butterflies for Young Writers because a poem can be short, but it is hard to think about butterflies and burglar alarms at the same time, so I studied electricity books instead. The books didn’t say how to make an alarm in a lunchbox, but I learned a lot about batteries, switches and wires, so I think I can do it myself. _FRIDAY, MARCH 2_ Back to the poem tonight. The only rhyme I can think of for “butterfly” is “flutter by.” I can think of rhymes like “trees” and “breeze” which are very boring, and then I think of “wheeze” and “sneeze.” A poem about butterflies wheezing and sneezing seems silly, and anyway some girls are already writing poems about monarch butterflies that flutter by. Sometimes I start a letter to Dad to thank him for the twenty dollars, but I can’t finish it. I don’t know why. _SATURDAY, MARCH 3_ Today I took my lunchbox and Dad’s twenty dollars to the hardware store and looked around. I found a switch, a little battery and a doorbell. While I was looking around for the wire, a man asked if he could help me. He was a nice old gentleman who said, “What are you planning to make, son?” _Son_. He called me son, and my Dad calls me kid. I didn’t want to tell the man, but when he looked at the things I was holding, he smiled and said, “Trouble with your lunch, right?” I nodded and said, “I’m trying to make a burglar alarm.” He said, “That’s what I guessed. I had workmen in here with the same problem.” He said that I needed another battery and gave me some tips. After I paid for the things and was leaving, he said, “Good luck, son.” I ran home with all the things I bought. First I made a sign on my door that said: KEEP OUT MOM THAT MEANS YOU Then I went to work to connect one wire from the battery to the switch and another to the doorbell. It took some time to do it right. Then I fixed the battery and the switch in one corner of the lunchbox and the doorbell in another. I closed the box just enough so I could put my hand inside and push the button on the switch. Then I took my hand out and closed the box. When I opened the box, my burglar alarm worked! That bell inside the box was ringing so loudly that Mom came to my door. “Leigh, what is going on in there?” she shouted. I let her in and showed her my burglar alarm. She laughed and said that it was a great invention. I can’t wait until Monday. [Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы - _8.png] _MONDAY, MARCH 5_ Today Mom packed my lunch, and we tried the alarm to see if it still worked. It did, good and loud. When I came to school, Mr. Fridley said, “Nice to see you smiling, Leigh. You should do it more often.” I put my lunchbox behind the partition and waited. I waited all morning for the alarm to go off. Miss Martinez asked if I had my mind on my work. I pretended I did, but all the time I was really waiting for my alarm to go off so I could run back behind the partition and catch the thief. When nothing happened, I began to worry. Maybe something broke on the way to school. Lunchtime came. Still nothing happened. We all took our lunches and went to the cafeteria. When I put my box on the table in front of me, I understood that I had a problem, a big problem. If I opened the box now, the alarm might go off. “Why aren’t you eating?” Barry asked me. Everybody at the table looked at me. I wanted to say that I wasn’t hungry, but I was. I wanted to take my lunchbox out into the hall to open, but even there I couldn’t open it quietly. Finally I held my breath and I opened the box. Wow! My alarm went off! It was so loud that everyone in the cafeteria looked around. I looked up and saw Mr. Fridley standing by the garbage can smiling at me. Then I turned the alarm off. Suddenly everybody seemed to notice me. Even the principal came to look at my lunchbox. He said, “That’s a great invention you have there.” “Thanks,” I said, happy that the principal liked my alarm. Some teachers came to see what was going on, so I had to show again how my alarm worked. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who had problems with the lunchbox, because all the kids said that they wanted alarms, too. Barry said that he wanted an alarm like that on the door of his room at home. I began to feel like a hero. Maybe I’m not so medium after all. But one thing bothers me. I still don’t know who the lunch thief was. _TUESDAY, MARCH 6_ Today Barry asked me to come home with him to see if I could help him make a burglar alarm for his room because he has little sisters who take his stuff. Barry lives in a big old house that is cheerful and messy with many little girls around. Barry didn’t have the right batteries, so we just looked at the models that he puts together. I still don’t know what to write for Young Writers, but I was feeling so good that I finally wrote to Dad to thank him for the twenty dollars because I had found a good use for it even if I couldn’t save it to buy a typewriter. I didn’t say much. I wonder if Dad will marry the pizza boy and his mother. I worry about that a lot. _THURSDAY, MARCH 15_ This week some more kids came to school with lunchboxes with burglar alarms. At lunchtime, our cafeteria rang with the sound of burglar alarms. This didn’t last very long, and soon I didn’t even set my alarm. Nobody stole anything from my lunchbox anymore. I never knew who the thief was, and now I am glad about it. If he had been caught, he would have been in trouble, big trouble. Maybe he was just somebody whose mother packed bad lunches. Or maybe he packed his own lunches and there was never anything good in the house to put in them. I’m not saying that stealing from lunchboxes is right. I am saying that I’m glad I don’t know who the thief was, because I have to go to school with him. _FRIDAY, MARCH 16_ Tonight I was looking at a piece of paper and trying to think of something to write for Young Writers when the phone rang. Mom told me to answer because she was washing her hair. It was Dad. I felt sick, the way I always do when I hear his voice. “How’re you doing, kid?” he asked. “Fine,” I said, thinking about my burglar alarm. “Great.” “I got your letter,” he said. “That’s good,” I said. I was so surprised by his call that I couldn’t think of anything to say. Then I asked, “Have you found another dog to take Bandit’s place?” I think what I really meant was, _Have you found another boy to take my place?_ “No, but I ask about him on my CB,” Dad told me. “He may be found.” “I hope so.” This conversation was going nowhere. I really didn’t know what to say to my father. It was a shame. Then Dad surprised me. He asked, “Do you miss your old Dad?” I had to think a minute. I surely missed him, but I couldn’t say it. My silence bothered him because he asked, “Are you still there?” “Sure, Dad, I miss you,” I told him. It was true, but not as true as it had been some time ago. I still wanted him to drive to our house in his big truck, but now I knew I couldn’t hope for it. “Sorry I don’t visit you more often,” he said. “Is your mother around?” “I’ll see,” I said. By then she was standing by the phone with her hair wet and a towel. She shook her head, because she didn’t want to talk to Dad. “She’s washing her hair,” I said. “Tell her that I’ll send your support payment next week,” he said. “Bye, kid. Keep your nose clean.” “Bye, Dad,” I answered. “Drive carefully.” I guess he’ll never learn that my name is Leigh and that my nose is clean. Maybe he thinks that I’ll never learn that he drives carefully. He doesn’t really. He’s a good driver, but he speeds when he can. All truckers do. After that I couldn’t think about Young Writers, so I took _Ways to Amuse a Dog _and read it again. I read harder books now, but I still feel good when I read that book. I wonder where Mr. Henshaw is. _SATURDAY, MARCH 17_ Today is Saturday, so this morning I walked to the butterfly trees again. The grove was quiet and peaceful, and because the sun was shining, I stood there a long time, looking at the orange butterflies flying through the gray and green leaves and listening to the sound of the waves on the rocks. There aren’t as many butterflies now. Maybe they are going north for the summer. I thought I could write about them in prose, but on the way home I started thinking about Dad and one time when he took me along when he was hauling grapes to a winery and what a great day it had been. _TUESDAY, MARCH 20_ Yesterday Miss Neely, the librarian, asked if I had written anything for the Young Writers’ Yearbook, because all writing should be handed in by tomorrow. When I told her I hadn’t, she said that I still had twenty-four hours to do it. So I did, because I really would like to meet a Famous Author. My story about the giant wax man went into the wastebasket. Next I tried to start a story called _The Great Lunchbox Mystery_, but I couldn’t make it into a story because I don’t know who the thief was, and I don’t want to know. Finally I wrote a description of the time I rode with my father when he was hauling the load of grapes to a winery. I wrote about things like the road signs and how well Dad managed a long and heavy load on the curves. I wrote about the hawks on the telephone wires, how the leaves on the trees along the river were turning yellow and how good the grapes smelled in the sun. I didn’t write about the waitresses and the video games. Then I neatly copied the whole story and gave it to Miss Neely. _SATURDAY, MARCH 24_ Mom said that I had to invite Barry to our house for supper because I now went to his house after school so often. We were working on a burglar alarm for his room which finally worked with some help from a library book. I wasn’t sure if Barry would like to come to our house which is so small, not like his, but he said yes when I invited him. Mom cooked a good supper. Barry said that he really liked eating at our house because he was tired of his little sisters. That made me happy. It helps to have a friend. Barry says that his burglar alarm still works. The trouble is, his little sisters think that it’s fun to open his door to set it off. Then they giggle and hide. This makes his mother mad, so he finally decided to disconnect it. We all laughed about this. Barry and I felt good about making something that worked even if he can’t use it. Barry saw the sign on my door that said KEEP OUT MOM THAT MEANS YOU. He asked if my Mom really stays out of my room. I said, “Sure, if I clean the mess.” Barry said he also wanted a room which nobody ever went into. I was glad that Barry didn’t ask to use the bathroom. Maybe I should clean it after all. _SUNDAY, MARCH 25_ I am thinking about Dad and how lonely he sounded. I wonder what happened to the pizza boy. I don’t like to think that Dad is lonesome, but I don’t like to think about the pizza boy either. Tonight at supper I asked Mom if she thought that Dad would get married again. She thought for a while and then said, “I don’t see how he could do it. He will need a lot of money. But he still pays for the truck, and the prices of diesel go up all the time.” I thought about this. “But he always sends my support payments,” I said, “even if he is late sometimes.” “Yes, he does that,” said my mother. “Your father isn’t a bad man.” Suddenly I was mad at the whole thing. “Then why don’t you two get married again?” I guess I wasn’t very nice when I said it. Mom looked at me. “Because your father will never grow up,” she said. I knew that was all she would ever say about it. Tomorrow we will get the Young Writers’ Yearbook! Maybe I will be lucky to have lunch with the Famous Author. _MONDAY, MARCH 26_ Today wasn’t the greatest day of my life. When our class went to the library, I saw the Yearbooks and couldn’t wait to get one. When I finally got mine and opened it to the first page, there was a monster story, and I saw that I hadn’t won first prize. I didn’t win second prize which went to a poem, and I didn’t win third or fourth prize, either. Then I turned another page and saw Honorable Mention and under it: A DAY ON DAD’S RIG by LEIGH M. BOTTS There was my title with my name under it in print. I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed because I hadn’t won a prize, I was. I was really disappointed about not meeting the mysterious Famous Author, but I liked seeing my name in print. Some kids were mad because they didn’t win or even get something printed. They said they wouldn’t ever try to write again which I think is really stupid. I heard that even real authors sometimes can’t publish their books, but they write anyway. Then Miss Neely said that the Famous Author the winners would have lunch with was Angela Badger. The girls were more excited than the boys because Angela Badger writes mostly about girls and their problems. I would still like to meet her because she is, as they say, a real live author, and I’ve never met a real live author. I am glad that Mr. Henshaw isn’t the author because then I would _really _be disappointed that I couldn’t meet him. _FRIDAY, MARCH 30_ Today was an exciting day. In the middle of the second lesson Miss Neely called me out of class and asked if I would like to go have lunch with Angela Badger. I said, “Sure, but why?” Miss Neely said the teachers found that the winning poem wasn’t original but copied from a book, so the girl who handed it in wouldn’t go and would I like to go in her place? Of course I would! Miss Neely called Mom at work for permission and I gave my lunch to Barry because my lunches are better than his. The other winners were all dressed nicely, but I didn’t care. I noticed that authors like Mr. Henshaw usually wear old shirts in the pictures on the back of their books. My shirt is just as old as his, so I knew it was OK. Miss Neely took us to the Holiday Inn, where some other librarians and their winners were waiting in the hall. Then Angela Badger came with Mr. Badger, and we went into the dining room. One of the librarians told the winners to sit at a long table with a sign that said _Reserved_. Angela Badger sat in the middle and some of the girls pushed to sit nest to her. I sat across the table from her. The librarian told us that we could choose our lunch from the salad bar. Then all the librarians went to sit at another table with Mr. Badger. There I was face to face with a real live author who was a nice lady, plump with wild hair, and I couldn’t think of a thing to say because I never read her books. Some girls told her how much they loved her books, but some of the boys and girls were too shy to say anything. Then Mrs. Badger said, “Why don’t we all go and get the lunch at the salad bar?” What a mess! Some kids didn’t understand about salad bars, but Mrs. Badger showed us the way and we got all the stuff that is usually on salad bars. It took a long time, longer than in a school cafeteria. Some younger kids were too short to reach anything, but Mrs. Badger helped them. I still tried to think of something interesting to say to Mrs. Badger while eating my salad. Some girls were telling Mrs. Badger how they wanted to write books just like hers. The other librarians were having a lot of fun talking and laughing with Mr. Badger. Mrs. Badger tried hard to make some of the shy kids to say something, and I still couldn’t think of anything to say to a lady who wrote books about girls. Finally Mrs. Badger looked at me and asked, “What did you write for the Yearbook?” I turned red and answered, “Just something about a ride on a truck.” “Oh!” said Mrs. Badger. “So you’re the author of _A Day on Dad’s Rig_!” Everyone was quiet. We didn’t think that the real live author would know anything we had written, but she had read it and she remembered my title. _“I just got honorable mention,” I said, but I was thinking, She called me an author. A real live author called me an author._ “So what?” asked Mrs. Badger. “I liked _A Day on Dad’s Rig _because it was written by a boy who wrote honestly about something he knew and had strong feelings about. You made me feel what it was like to ride with tons of grapes behind me.” “But I couldn’t write a story,” I said, feeling a lot braver. “So what?” said Mrs. Badger. “You will know to write stories later, when you have lived longer and have more understanding. _A Day on Dad’s Rig _was a great work for a boy your age. You wrote like _you_, and you did not try to write like someone else. This is a mark of a good writer. Keep it up.” I noticed that the girls who had said that they wanted to write books just like Angela Badger looked embarrassed. “Thanks,” was all I could say. The waitress brought ice cream. Everyone finally began to ask Mrs. Badger if she wrote in pencil or on the typewriter and how many books she published and were her characters real people and did she have the problems when she was a girl like the girl in her book and what was it like to be a famous author? I didn’t think that answers to those questions were very important, but I had one question that I wanted to ask. I did it at the last minute when Mrs. Badger was autographing some books that kids had brought. “Mrs. Badger,” I said, “have you ever met Boyd Henshaw?” “Why, yes,” she said, signing someone’s book. “I once met him at a meeting of librarians.” “What’s he like?” I asked. “He’s a very nice young man with a twinkle in his eye,” she answered. I think I have known that since the time he answered my questions when Miss Martinez made us write to an author. On the ride home everybody was talking about Mrs. Badger. I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to think. A real live author called _me _an author. A real live author told me to keep it up. Mom was proud of me when I told her. The gas station stopped pinging a long time ago, but I wanted to write about all this while I remembered. I’m glad tomorrow is Saturday and I don’t have to go to school. I wish Dad was here so I could tell him all about today. _MARCH 31_ Dear Mr. Henshaw, I’ll keep this short to save your time. I had to tell you something. You were right. I wasn’t ready to write an imaginary story. But guess what! I wrote a true story which won Honorable Mention in the Yearbook. Maybe next year I’ll write something that will win first or second prize. Maybe by then I will know how to write an imaginary story. [Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы - _9.png] I just thought that you would like to know. Thank you for your help. I’m glad I didn’t hand in that stupid story about the melting wax trucker. Your friend, the author, Leigh Botts P.S. I still write in the diary that you started me on. FROM THE DIARY OF LEIGH BOTTS***_SATURDAY, MARCH 31_ This morning the sun was shining, so Barry and I mailed my letter to Mr. Henshaw and then went to see if there were still any butterflies in the grove. We only saw three or four, so I guess most of them have gone north for the summer. Then we walked to a little park and sat on a rock watching the waves. After that we walked back to my house. A tractor without a trailer was parked in front. Dad’s! I began to run, and Dad and Bandit got out of the cab. “Bye, I have to go,” shouted Barry who heard a lot about Dad and Bandit and who understands about parents and divorce. Dad and I just stood there looking at each other until I said, “Hi, Dad. Have you seen any shoes on the highway lately?” “Lots of them,” Dad smiled, not like his old self. “All kinds.” Bandit came to me, wagging his tail and looking happy. There was a new red bandanna around his neck. “How’re you doing, kid?” asked Dad. “I brought your dog back.” “Thanks,” I said, hugging Bandit. Dad’s stomach seemed bigger, and he wasn’t as tall as I remembered him. “You’ve grown,” he said which is what grownups always say when they don’t know what else to say to kids. Did Dad think I would stop growing just because he was away? “How did you find Bandit?” I asked. “By asking every day over my CB,” he said. “I finally got an answer from a trucker who said he had picked up a lost dog in a snowstorm in the mountains, a dog that was still riding with him. Last week we were at the same truck stop.” “I’m glad you got him back,” I said, and after trying to think of something else to say, I asked, “Why aren’t you hauling anything?” I think I hoped he would say he had come all the way from Bakersfield just to bring Bandit back to me. “I’m waiting for a load of broccoli,” he said. “So I thought I’d stop here on my way to Ohio.” So Dad had come to see me just because of broccoli. After all these months when I wanted to see him so much, a load of broccoli brought him here. I felt mad and hurt. It hurt so much that I couldn’t think of anything to say. Just then Mom drove up and got out of her old car which looked so little next to Dad’s big rig. “Hello, Bill,” she said. “Hello, Bonnie,” he said. We all just stood there with Bandit wagging his tail, until Dad said, “Aren’t you going to ask me in?” “Sure, come in,” said Mom. Bandit went with us to our little house and came inside. “How about a cup of coffee?” Mom asked Dad. “Sure,” said Dad, looking around. “So this is where you two live.” Then he sat down on the couch. “This is where we live as long as we can pay the rent,” said Mom. “And it can never be driven away.” Mom really hated that mobile home we lived in. Dad looked tired and sad like I had never seen him look before. While Mom was making coffee, I showed him the burglar alarm I had made for my lunchbox. He looked at it and said, “I always knew I had a smart kid.” Then I showed him my Yearbook and what I had written. He read it and said, “Funny, but I still think about that day every time I haul grapes to a winery. I’m glad you remember it, too.” That made me feel good. He looked at me for a while and then said, “You’re smarter than your old man.” That embarrassed me. I didn’t know how to answer. _Finally Mom brought two cups of coffee. She gave one to Dad and took hers to a chair where she sat. They just sat there looking at one another over the coffee cups. I wanted to yell, Do something! Say something! Don’t just sit there!_ Finally Dad said, “I miss you, Bonnie.” I didn’t want to hear this conversation, but I didn’t know how to get out of there, so I sat down on the floor and hugged Bandit who looked happy like he had never been away. “I’m sorry,” said Mom. I think she meant she was sorry Dad missed her. Or maybe she was sorry about everything. I don’t know. “Have you found someone else?” asked Dad. “No,” said Mom. “I think about you a lot,” said Dad, “especially at night.” “I haven’t forgotten you,” said Mom. “Bonnie, is there any chance – ” Dad began. “No,” said Mom in a sad, soft voice. “There isn’t a chance.” “Why not?” asked Dad. “Too many lonely days and nights not knowing where you were, too much waiting for phone calls you forgot to make because you were having fun at some truck stop,” said Mom. “Too many boring Saturday nights. Too many broken promises. Things like that.” “Well…” said Dad and put his cup down. “That’s what I wanted to know, so I can go now.” He hadn’t even finished his coffee. He stood up and I did, too. Then he gave me a big hug, and for a minute I wanted to never let him go. “Bye, son,” he said. “I’ll try to see you more often.” “Sure, Dad,” I said. I had learned by now that I couldn’t trust anything he said. Mom came to the door. Suddenly Dad hugged her, and to my surprise, she hugged him back. Then he turned and ran down the steps. When he reached his rig, he shouted, “Take good care of Bandit.” I thought of Dad hauling a load of broccoli across the country and all those places in my book of road maps, and I didn’t like to think of Dad alone on that long haul driving all day and most of the night, thinking of Mom. “Dad, wait!” I yelled and ran to him. “Dad, you keep Bandit. You need him more than I do. Please take him. I don’t have any ways to amuse him.” Dad smiled at that, and whistled, and Bandit jumped into the cab as if that was what he really wanted to do all this time. “Bye, Leigh,” Dad said and started the motor. Then he looked out the window and said, “You’re a good kid, Leigh. I’m proud of you, and I’ll try to be a better Dad.” As he drove off, he yelled, “See you around!” and was more the way I had remembered him. When I went inside, Mom was drinking her coffee and staring into space. I went into my room, shut the door and sat listening to the gas station go ping-ping, ping-ping. Maybe it was broccoli that brought Dad here, but he had come because he really wanted to see us. He had really missed us. I felt sad and a lot better at the same time. Vocabulary ABBREVIATIONS _adj _– adjective (прилагательное) _adv _– adverb (наречие) _conj _– conjunction (союз) _interj _– interjection (междометие) _n _– noun (существительное) _phr.v. _– phrasal verb (фразовый глагол) _prep _– preposition (предлог) _pron _– pronoun (местоимение) _v _– verb (глагол) СОКРАЩЕНИЯ _амер. _– американизм _бот. _– ботанический термин _зоол. _– зоологический термин _идиом. _– идиоматическое выражение _разг. _– разговорное выражение A ACROSS _adv _напротив, по ту сторону AFRAID _adj _испуганный, боящийся AGE _n _возраст ALARM SYSTEM _n _сигнализация ALONE _adj _одинокий ALONG 1) _prep _вдоль; 2) _adv _вместе, с собой ALTHOUGH _conj _хотя AMUSE _v _развлекать, веселить ANOTHER _adj _другой ANSWER 1) _v _отвечать; 2) _n _ответ ANTIQUE _adj _антикварный ANYMORE _adv (амер.) _больше не ANYTHING _pron _что-нибудь ARGUMENT _n _ссора, спор ARMY _n _армия ASK _v _спрашивать ASPHALT _n _асфальт ATTENTION _n _внимание; PAY – TO уделять внимание чему-либо AUTHOR _n _автор, писатель AUTOGRAPH 1) _v _надписывать, ставить подпись; 2) _adj _~ED подписанный, с автографом AVOID _v _избегать AWAKE _adj _бодрствующий, не спящий AWARD _n _награда B BACKWARDS _adv _задом наперёд, наоборот BAKE _v _печь, выпекать BAKERY _n _пекарня BANDANNA _n _бандана, косынка BARK _v _лаять BATHROOM _n _санузел BATTERY _n _батарейка BEARD _n _борода BEAUTY _n _красота BEDTIME _n _время ложиться спать BEG _v _просить, выпрашивать BEGGAR _n _попрошайка BEGIN 1) _v _(began, begun) начинать; 2) ~ING _n _начало BEHIND _adv _позади BESIDES _adv _кроме, кроме того BILL _n _счёт BLACKBOARD _n _классная доска BLAME (for) _v _обвинять, винить в чём-либо BLANK _adj _пустой, озадаченный, сбитый с толку BLIZZARD _n _снежный буран, пурга, метель BLOW _v _(blew, blown) дуть BLUE _adj (разг.) _тоскливый, печальный BOOKMARK _n _закладка для книг BOOT _n _ботинок BORED _adj _скучающий BORING _adj _скучный BORN _adj _рождённый BORROW _v _брать (книги в библиотеке) BOTHER _v _беспокоить, волновать BRAIN _n _мозг BRAVE _adj _храбрый BREAK _v _(broke, broken) ломать, рушить BREATH _n _дыхание BREEZE _n _лёгкий ветерок, бриз BRIGHT _adj _яркий, ясный BRING _v _(brought, brought) приносить BROCCOLI _n (бот.) _брокколи (капуста) BROKER _n _посредник, брокер BUCKET _n _картонное ведёрко, коробка BULLETIN BOARD _n (амер.) _стенд, доска объявлений BUM _n _бродяга BURGER _n _гамбургер BURGLAR _n _взломщик BUSH _n _куст BUSY _adj _занятой BUTTON _n _кнопка C CAB _n _(= cabin) кабина (грузовика) CAFETERIA _n _столовая CALL 1) _v _звать, звонить, называть; 2) _n _телефонный звонок CAN _n (амер.) _урна, мусорный бак CANDLE _n _свеча CARE 1) _v _заботиться, беспокоиться, волноваться; 2) _n _забота CAREFUL _adj _осторожный, внимательный, аккуратный CATCH _v _ловить, поймать, схватить CATERING _n _ресторанное обслуживание (мероприятий) CATTLE _n _крупный рогатый скот CB RADIO _n _(= citizens’ band radio) радиосвязь, используемая водителями грузовиков CHAIN 1) _n _цепь; 2) _v _связывать цепью CHAIR _n _стул CHANCE _n _возможность, шанс CHANGE 1) _v _меняться, менять; 2) _n _перемена, изменение CHAPTER _n _глава книги CHARACTER _n _персонаж CHEER UP _phr.v. _веселить, ободрять, утешать CHEERFUL _adj _радостный, весёлый CHEESECAKE _n _творожный торт CHEW _v _жевать CHURCH _n _церковь CLEARING _n _полянка, просвет CLIMB _v _взбираться, карабкаться CLOSEST _adj _ближайший CLOUD _n _облако COLLAR _n _ошейник COLORFUL _adj _разноцветный, яркий COMFORTABLE _adj _удобный COMPARE _v _сравнивать; ~ED TO по сравнению с чем-либо COMPOSITION _n _сочинение CONNECT _v _соединять, связывать CONTINUE _v _продолжать; TO BE ~ED продолжение следует CONTROL _v _управлять CONVERSATION _n _разговор, диалог COOK _v _готовить пищу COPY 1) _n _экземпляр; 2) _v _переписывать, копировать CORNER _n _угол COTTON _n (бот.) _хлопок (растение) COUCH _n _диван COUNTRY SONG _n _песня в стиле кантри COUPLE _n _пара COVER _v _покрывать CREAMED _adj _сливочный CREATURE _n _существо CROPS _n pl _посевы (зерновых) CROSS _v _пересекать CROSS-COUNTRY _adj _пересекающий всю страну CUB _n _медвежонок, детёныш зверя CURTAIN _n _занавеска CURVE _n _изгиб дороги, поворот CUSTODIAN _n (амер.) _уборщик, дворник, сторож D DAMP _adj _сырой DEAD _adj _мёртвый DEADLINE _n _конечный срок DEATH _n _смерть DECIDE _v _решать, принимать решение DELIVER _v _доставлять DESCRIPTION _n _описание DESERT _n _пустыня DEW _n _роса DIARY _n _дневник DIFFERENT _adj _другой, отличный DINER _n (амер.) _закусочная DINING ROOM _n _столовая DIORAMa _n _диорама, макет DIRTY _adj _грязный DISAPPOINTED _adj _разочарованный DISCONNECT _v _разъединять DISTANCE _n _расстояние DIVORCE 1) _n _развод; 2) _v _разводиться DO _v _(did, done) делать; – ONE’S BEST стараться DOORBELL _n _дверной звонок DOWN _n _пух; – JACKET пуховик DRESS _v _одеваться, наряжаться DRIVE _v _(drove, driven) вести транспортное средство, ехать; ~ OFF уезжать DURING _prep _в течение, во время E EASY _adj _лёгкий EASY! _(разг.) _Тише! Успокойся! ELECTRICITY _n _электричество ELSE _adv _ещё, кроме EMBARRASS _v _смущать ENCLOSURE _n _вложение, приложение END _n _конец; ~ING окончание, заключение ENGINE _n _мотор ENOUGH _adv _достаточно ESPECIALLY _adv _особенно EVEN _adv _даже EVENT _n _событие, мероприятие EXACTLY _adv _в точности EXCEPT _conj _за исключением того что EXCITED _adj _радостный, взволнованный; ~ING волнующий EXCUSE _n _повод, предлог, причина EX-FRIEND _n _бывший друг EXPECT _v _ожидать EXPRESS _v _выражать, высказывать EXTRA _adj _дополнительный F FACE 1) _n _лицо; – TO – лицом к лицу; 2) _v _сталкиваться, встречаться FAIR _adj _справедливый, честный FAKE _adj _поддельный, не настоящий FALL _v _(fell, fallen) падать; – APART _phr.v. _разваливаться на части FALSE _adj _фальшивый, не настоящий FAMOUS _adj _знаменитый FAN _n _почитатель, фанат FANCY _adj _необычный FATTY _adj _жирный FAULT _n _вина FEED _v _(fed, fed) кормить FEELING _n _чувство FEW _adj _мало, немного FIGHT _n _ссора, стычка FILLING _n _начинка FINALLY _adv _наконец FIND OUT (found, found) _phr.v. _обнаруживать, узнавать FINE 1) _adj _хороший, прекрасный; 2) _n _штраф FINISH _v _заканчивать FIX 1) _v _чинить, прикреплять; 2) _(разг.) _разделаться, расправиться, прикончить FLASHLIGHT _n _ручной фонарь FLEA _n _блоха FLOOR _n _пол FLUTTER _v _порхать, трепетать FLY _v _(flew, flown) летать; – OFF улетать FOG _n _туман FOLLOW 1) _v _следовать, идти за; 2) ~ING _adj _следующий FOOEY ON YOU! _(разг.) _Тьфу на вас! FOOL _v _обманывать, вводить в заблуждение FOOT (_pl _feet) _n _ступня, нога FORGET _v _(forgot, forgotten) забывать FORK _n _вилка FREEWAY _n (амер.) _скоростная автострада FREEZE 1) _v _замерзать; 2) ~ER _n _морозильная камера FRONT _n _перед, передняя сторона FROWN _v _хмуриться FULLY _adv _полностью FUNNY _adj _смешной, забавный FUSSY _adj _нервный, брезгливый G GARBAGE _n _мусор GAS STATION _n (амер.) _бензоколонка GENTLEMAN _n _воспитанный, порядочный человек GET _v _(got, got) становиться; – BEHIND отставать; – SICK заболевать; – MAD злиться GIANT _adj _огромный, гигантский GIFTED _adj _одарённый, талантливый GIGGLE _v _хихикать GLAD _adj _весёлый, радостный, счастливый GO OFF (went, gone) _phr.v. _приходить в действие, активироваться GOLF COURSE _n _поле для гольфа GRADE _n (амер.) _класс, год обучения GRADUATION _n _окончание учебного заведения GRAPES _n pl (бот.) _виноград GRASS _n _трава GRATEFUL _adj _благодарный GREAT _adj _прекрасный, замечательный GROVE _n _роща GROW UP (grew, grown) _phr.v. _взрослеть, расти GROWNUP _n _взрослый человек GUESS _v (амер.) _считать, полагать GUY _n _парень H HAIL _n _град HALL _n _коридор, прихожая, зал HAND IN _phr.v. _вручать, сдавать HANDSOME _adj _красивый HANDWRITING _n _почерк HANG UP _phr.v. _вешать телефонную трубку HAPPEN _v _случаться, происходить HARD _adj _трудный, тяжёлый HARDWARE _n _металлические изделия, скобяные товары HATE _v _ненавидеть HAUL _v _буксировать, тащить, перевозить HAWK _n _ястреб HEARING _n _слух HEART _n _сердце HEAVY _adj _тяжёлый HEIGHT _n _рост HERE WE GO! _(разг.) _Понеслось! Поехали! HERO _n _герой HIDE _v _прятаться HIGHWAY _n _шоссе, магистраль; – PATROL дорожный патруль HIKER _n _путешественник HITCH _v _путешествовать автостопом; – UP прицеплять HOLD _v _(held, held) держать, сдерживать HONESTLY _adv _честно, откровенно HONORABLE MENTION _n _похвальный отзыв, благодарность HOOD _n _капюшон HOOK _n _крючок HOPE 1) _n _надежда; 2) ~FUL _adj _надеющийся HOWL _v _выть HUG _v _обнимать HUGE _adj _огромный HUNGRY _adj _голодный HUNT _v _охотиться HURRY _v _торопиться, спешить HURT 1) _adj _обиженный; 2) _v _причинять боль, обижать I IDEA _n _идея, мысль IMAGINARY _adj _придуманный, воображаемый IMPORTANT _adj _важный IMPROVE _v _улучшать INSIDE _adv _внутрь, внутри INSTEAD (of) _adv _вместо INTERSTATE _n _название шоссе, проходящего через несколько штатов в США INVENTION _n _изобретение INVITE _v _приглашать J JOIN _v _вступить, присоединиться JOKE _n _шутка JOY _n _радость, восторг JUDGE _n _судья JUMP _v _прыгать, вскакивать K KEEP _v _(kept, kept) держать, хранить; – UP продолжать; – COMPANY составлять кому-либо компанию; – OUT держаться в стороне, не вмешиваться KEEP YOUR NOSE CLEAN! _n (разг.) _Будь умницей/молодцом! KICK _v _ударять ногой, пинать KID _n (разг.) _ребёнок, малыш KIND _n _сорт, вид KNIGHT _n _рыцарь L LAKE _n _озеро LAST _adj _последний; – NAME _(амер.) _фамилия LATELY _adv _недавно, в последнее время LAUGH _v _смеяться LAUNDROMAT _n (амер.) _прачечная самообслуживания LAW _n _закон LEAF (_pl _leaves) лист LEARN _v _(learnt, learnt) узнавать, изучать LEASH _n _поводок LEAVE _v _(left, left) уходить, уезжать, покидать; – OUT пропускать, не включать LIBRARY _n _библиотека; ~AN библиотекарь LICENSE _n _разрешение, лицензия LICK _v _лизать LINE _v _выстраиваться в ряд LIST _n _список LISTEN (to) 1) _v _слушать; 2) ~ER _n _слушатель LOAD _n _груз LOGBOOK _n _бортовой журнал LONELY _adj _одинокий LONER _n _одиночка, нелюдим LONESOME _adj _одинокий LOSE _v _(lost, lost) терять LOUD 1) _adj _громкий; 2) ~LY _adv _громко LOW _adj _унылый, подавленный LUCK _n _удача, везение LUNCHBAG _n _бумажный пакет со школьным завтраком M MAD _adj (разг.) _рассерженный, раздражённый MAIL _v (амер.) _посылать по почте MADE-UP _adj _выдуманный, вымышленный MANAGE _v _справляться с чем-либо MARK _n _знак, марка MARRY 1) _v _жениться, выходить замуж; 2) ~ED _adj _замужняя, женатый MATTER _n _вопрос, дело, суть; NO – неважно, независимо от MEAN 1) _v _намереваться, значить, означать; 2) _adj _низкий, подлый MEAT LOAF _n _мясной рулет MEDIUM _adj _средний, средних размеров или способностей MELT _v _таять, плавиться MESS 1) _n _беспорядок, неразбериха; 2) ~Y _adj _беспорядочный MIDDLE _n _середина, центр MILE _n _миля, единица длины = 1609 м MINCEMEAT PIE _n _мясной пирог MIND 1) _n _ум, размышление; 2) _v _возражать MISS 1) _v _скучать по кому-либо; 2) ~ING _adj _потерянный, пропавший MOBILE HOME _n (амер.) _передвижной дом на колёсах, фургон MOLEST _v _досаждать, надоедать MONARCH BUTTERFLY _n (зоол.) _бабочка-данаида (монарх) MONSTER _n _чудовище, монстр MONTH _n _месяц MOO _v _мычать MOOSE _n _североамериканский лось MOSTLY _adv _в основном, главным образом MOTOR _n _мотор, двигатель MOUNTAIN _n _гора MOUSETRAP _n _мышеловка MOVE _v _переезжать, переселяться MUFFIN _n _кекс, маффин MYSTERIOUS _adj _таинственный, загадочный N NAG _v _придираться, привязываться NAPKIN _n _салфетка NEATLY _adv _аккуратно, опрятно NECK _n _шея NEEDLE _n _игла NEIGHBORHOOD _n (амер.) _соседство, микрорайон, квартал NERVOUS _adj _нервничающий, взволнованный NEVER _adv _никогда NICELY _adv _хорошо, красиво, нарядно NOBODY _n _никто NOD _v _кивать головой NOTEBOOK _n _тетрадь, записная книжка NOTICE _v _замечать, обращать внимание NOWHERE _adv _нигде NUISANCE _n _досада, зануда, помеха NURSE _n _медсестра; ~ING CLASS курсы медсестёр O OCEAN _n _океан ONCE _adv _один раз, однажды ORDER _n _заказ ORIGINAL _adj _подлинный, оригинальный OUTSIDE _adv _снаружи, за пределами OVERTIME _adv _сверхурочно P PACK _v _собирать, упаковывать PACKAGE _n _пакет, свёрток PAGE _n _страница PARENT _n _родитель PARK 1) _n _парк; 2) _v _парковать автомобиль PART _n _часть PARTITION _n _перегородка PART-TIME _adj _неполный (рабочий день) PASS _v _проходить мимо PAUSE 1) _v _медлить, останавливаться; 2) _n _заминка, пауза PAYMENT _n _платёж, плата, взнос PEACEFUL _adj _тихий, спокойный PEAS _n pl _горошек PEN PAL _n _друг по переписке PENCIL _n _карандаш PERIOD _n _отрезок времени, период PERMISSION _n _разрешение PICK UP _phr.v. _поднимать PIE _n _пирог PIECE _n _кусок PILLOW _n _подушка PINGING _n _гудение, свист PLAIN _adj _простой PLAY _v _играть PLUMP _adj _пухлый POCKET _n _карман POEM _n _стихотворение POSITIVELY _adv _позитивно, положительно POSTAGE _n _почтовые расходы POSTCARD _n _открытка POTLUCK SUPPER _n (амер.) _«сборный» ужин, на который гости приходят со своим угощением POUND _n _фунт, мера веса = 453,6 г POWER _n _сила, мощь, власть PRETEND 1) _v _притворяться; 2) _adj _воображаемый, мнимый PRIDE _n _гордость PRINCIPAL _n _директор школы PRINT 1) _n _печать; IN – в печатном виде; 2) _v _печатать; 3) ~ED _adj _напечатанный PRIZE _n _приз, награда PROBABLY _adv _вероятно, возможно PROBLEM _n _проблема, неприятность PRODUCE _n _изделие, продукт PROMISE 1) _n _обещание; BREAK A – нарушить обещание; 2) _v _обещать PROSE _n _проза PROUD _adj _гордый PSEUDONYM _n _псевдоним PUBLISH _v _публиковать, печатать PULL _v _тащить, тянуть PUNCH _v _ударять кулаком PURPLE _adj _фиолетовый, пурпурный PUSH _v _толкать PUT _v _(put, put) класть; – TOGETHER составлять, соединять PUZZLED _adj _озадаченный, сбитый с толку Q QUIET 1) _adj _тихий; 2) ~LY _adv _тихо QUILT _n _лоскутное одеяло R RAISE _v _поднимать RANGER _n _лесничий, егерь REACH _v _доставать, дотягиваться REASON _n _причина RECEIVER _n _телефонная трубка RECESS _n (амер.) _перемена в школе RED _adj _рыжий, красный REFINERY _n _сахарорафинадный завод REMEMBER _v _помнить, вспоминать RENT _n _арендная плата, рента REPORT _n _доклад, сообщение REREAD _v _перечитывать RESERVED _adj _заказанный, зарезервированный RETAINER _n _фиксатор, пластинка или скоба для выправления зубов RHYME _n _рифма RIDE 1) _v _(rode, ridden) ехать, кататься; 2) _n _поездка RIG _n (амер.) _большой грузовик без прицепа RIGHT 1) _n _право; 2) _adj _правильный, подходящий ROAD _n _дорога; – MAP карта дорог; – SIGN дорожный знак ROAST 1) _v _жарить на открытом огне; 2) _n _жаркое (блюдо) ROCK _n _скала, утёс, камень ROOF _n _крыша ROOM _n _комната, помещение, пространство RUDE _adj _грубый, невоспитанный RULE _n _правило RUN _v _(ran, run) бежать, двигаться; – OVER _phr.v. _сбить, задавить RUNNY _adj _текущий S SAD _adj _грустный, печальный SALAMI _n _колбаса салями SAVE _v _сохранять, беречь; – MONEY копить деньги SAWDUST _n _опилки SCALE _n _весы; WEIGHING – _(амер.) _весовая станция SCHOOL GROUNDS _n pl _территория школы SCOTCH TAPE _n _«скотч», липкая лента SEA LION _n (зоол.) _морской лев, сивуч SEASON _n _время года, сезон SEEM _v _казаться SENTENCE _n _предложение SERIOUS _adj _серьёзный SET OFF _phr.v. _приводить в действие SEWING MACHINE _n _швейная машина SHADY _adj _тенистый SHAKE _v _качать, трясти SHAME _n _стыд, позор SHAPE _n _форма SHINING _adj _сияющий SHIRT _n _рубашка SHOE _n _туфля, ботинок SHOOT _v _стрелять SHOULDER _n _плечо SHOUT _v _кричать, орать SHUT _v _(shut, shut) закрывать, захлопывать SHY _adj _стеснительный SICK _adj _больной, испытывающий тошноту SIDEWALK _n (амер.) _тротуар SIGN 1) _n _знак, табличка; 2) _v _подписывать SILLY _adj _глупый SINCERELY _adv _искренне SIXTH-GRADER _n _шестиклассник SIZE _n _размер SKILL _n _умение, навык SLIDE 1) _v _скользить, кататься с горки; 2) _n _детская горка SMART _adj _умный SMILE _v _улыбаться SNEAK _v _пробраться тайком, взять тайком SNEEZE _v _чихать SNITCH _n _ябеда, доносчик SNOB _n _напыщенный человек, сноб SNOWSTORM _n _снежная буря, пурга SOCCER _n (амер.) _футбол SOCK _n _носок SOLVE _v _решать (проблему) SOUND 1) _n _звук; 2) _v _звучать SPACE _n _космос, пространство SPECIAL _adj _особый, особенный SPEED _n _скорость SPELL _v _писать по буквам SPIRAL _n _спираль SPOON _n _ложка SPREAD _v _размазывать SQUARE 1) _n _квадрат; 2) _adj _квадратный SQUASH _v _раздавливать, расплющивать STADIUM _n _стадион STARE _v _пристально смотреть, уставиться START _v _начинать STARVE _v _умирать с голоду STATE FLAG _n _государственный флаг STAY _v _оставаться; – AWAKE бодрствовать STEAK _n _бифштекс, стейк STEAL _v _воровать, красть STEP _n _ступенька STEW _n _жаркое (блюдо) STICK 1) _v _прилипать; 2) ~ER _n _наклейка STOMACH _n _живот, желудок; – ACHES боли в животе STORE _n _магазин STORY _n (амер.) _этаж STRAIGHT 1) _adj _прямой; 2) ~EN _v _выпрямлять STUCK _adj _застрявший STUFF _n (разг.) _вещи, предметы STUPID _adj _дурацкий; ~LY _adv _по глупости, глупо SUDDEN _adj _внезапный, неожиданный SUGAR BEETS _n pl (бот.) _сахарная свёкла SUNRISE _n _восход солнца SUNSHINE _n _солнечный свет SUPPER _n _ужин SUPPORT _n _поддержка; – PAYMENT алименты SURELY _adv _конечно, непременно SURPRISED _adj _удивлённый SWEAR _v _(swore, sworn) ругаться SWITCH _n _выключатель T TAIL _n _хвост TAKE _v _(took, taken) брать; – AFTER _phr.v. _быть похожим на кого-либо; – CARE OF _phr.v. _заботиться о ком-либо; – OFF _phr.v. _снимать что-либо TALENTED _adj _талантливый, одарённый TALL _adj _высокий TAPE _n _лента, кассета с магнитофонной лентой TEACH _v _преподавать, учить кого-либо TEETH _n pl _зубы TELL _v _(told, told) рассказывать; – A THING OR TWO _(идиом.) _сказать пару ласковых TERRIBLE _adj _ужасный THANK GOODNESS! _(разг.) _Слава богу! THANKSGIVING (Day) _n _День благодарения _(праздник в США)_ THIEF _n _вор THINK _v _(thought, thought) думать; – UP _phr.v. _выдумывать THOUSAND _n _тысяча THRIFT _n _бережливость, экономность; – SHOP скупка THROW _v _(threw, thrown) бросать TIME _n _момент, раз TIP _n _совет, подсказка TIRED _adj _усталый TITLE _n _заголовок, заглавие TOAD _n _жаба TOAST _n _тост, подсушенный ломоть хлеба TOMORROW _n _завтра TON _n _тонна, мера веса TONIGHT _n _сегодня вечером TORNADO _n _смерч, торнадо TOUCH _v _трогать; KEEP IN – поддерживать связь, отношения TOUGH _adj _жёсткий TOURIST _n _турист TOWEL _n _полотенце TRACTOR _n _тягач, трактор TRAILER _n _трейлер, прицеп, дом на колёсах; – PARK стоянка для домов-прицепов TRAY _n _поднос TREAT _v _обращаться с кем-либо, относиться к кому-либо TRICK _n _приём, трюк TRIP _n _поездка TROUBLE _n _проблема, неприятность TRUCK _n _грузовик; – STOP стоянка грузовиков; ~ER водитель грузовика, дальнобойщик TRUE _adj _настоящий, истинный TRUST _v _верить, доверять TURKEY _n _индейка TURN _v _поворачивать; – AROUND _phr.v. _оборачиваться; ~ OFF _phr.v. _выключать; – ON _phr.v. _включать TWIN _n _близнец TWINKLE _n _огонёк, блеск в глазах TYPE _v _печатать TYPEWRITER _n _пишущая машинка U UNDERSTAND 1) _v _(understood, understood) понимать, 2) ~ING _n _понимание UNLESS _conj _если не, пока не UNLUCKY _adj _неудачливый, невезучий UPON _prep _на UPSET _adj _расстроенный, огорчённый UPSIDE DOWN _adj _перевёрнутый вверх ногами URGENT _adj _срочный, необходимый USEFUL _adj _полезный, пригодный V VACATION _n _каникулы VISIT _v _навещать, посещать VOICE _n _голос W WAG _v _махать, вилять (хвостом) WAIT _v _ждать WAITRESS _n _официантка WALK _v _идти, ходить (пешком); – AWAY уходить WARNING _n _предупреждение, предостережение WASH _v _стирать, мыть WASTEBASKET _n (амер.) _корзина для мусора WATCH _v _смотреть, наблюдать WAVE 1) _n _волна; 2) _v _махать WAX 1) _adj _восковой; 2) _n _воск WAY _n _способ, путь, дорога WEAR _n _носить WEDDING _n _свадьба WEIGH _v _взвешивать WET _adj _мокрый, влажный WHEEL _n _колесо WHEEZE _v _хрипеть, сопеть WHILE 1) _conj _пока; 2) _n _время, промежуток времени WHISTLE _v _свистеть WHOLE _adj _целый, весь WILD _adj _дикий, беспорядочный, растрёпанный WIN 1) _v _побеждать, выигрывать; 2) ~ER _n _победитель; 3) ~ING _adj _выигрывающий, побеждающий WIND _n _ветер WINDOW _n _окно (автомобиля) WINERY _n _винный завод, винодельня WIPE _v _вытирать WIRE _n _проволока, электрический провод WISH _v _желать, хотеть WONDER _v _интересоваться, размышлять WORKMAN _n _рабочий, работник WORRY _v _беспокоиться, волноваться WORST _adj _худший WRAP _v _заворачивать, обёртывать Y YEAH! (_разг.) _Ага! YEARBOOK _n _ежегодник, альманах YELL _v _кричать, вопить YUCK! (_разг.) _Тьфу, какая гадость! Z ZIP _n _застёжка «молния» Читайте больше книг на сайте онлайн-библиотеки mir-knigi.org