by Betsy Byars
“Oh. I got bit by a rattlesnake.” Lennie never said those words without a feeling of great importance coming over him. He could hardly wait to get back to school to give his report. “You want to see it?”
“Yes.”
He pulled up his pants leg and showed his wounded leg. It was still colorful enough to startle.
“See all those little slit marks?” he said.
“Yes.”
“They had to cut those to keep my leg from bursting open like a sausage.”
“Oh.” The girl’s eyes got a little bigger. Her tongue came out and touched her upper lip. “Hey, Faye,” she called, “he got bit by a rattlesnake. Come look.”
Lennie kept his pants leg raised so that he wouldn’t have to do it twice. Faye bent forward, then she turned away, one hand over her mouth.
“Oh, I can’t look. It must have been awful!”
“It was pretty bad.”
“I used to think I wanted to be a nurse, but every time I see something like that, I know I couldn’t. Let me see again.”
“If they hadn’t made those slits in his leg,” the little sister said, “it would have burst open like a sausage.”
“I hate snakes,” Faye said, shuddering a little as she sat in the chair next to Lennie. “I think they’re the awfulest things.”
“You ought to read my report,” Lennie said. “It’s real interesting, if I did write it myself.”
There was a silence, and then the little sister said, “Hey, you want to look at my Porky Pig comic book?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“I’ll go get it. It’s in the car.”
Faye was still looking at him. She said, “I never met anybody who got bit by a rattlesnake before.”
“I’ve only met one other person myself,” Lennie said.
“I wish I had some film in my camera. I’d take your picture.”
“Oh, well,” Lennie said. He leaned back in his chair. He drew the evening air into his lungs. On the highway a truck passed, building up speed for the hill ahead.
“Here it is.”
Lennie held out his hand for the Porky Pig comic book. He began to flip through the pages. He glanced up and said, “You know in my report—my report about the rattlesnake—I even tell how many shots I had to have.”
“How many?” the little sister asked.
Lennie looked closely at the first page of the book. Porky Pig was having to take care of the neighbor’s baby. Lennie glanced up. “Sixty-one.”
“Sixty-one!”
He nodded. He bent back over the comic book. A very small bank robber had dressed up in baby clothes to escape the cops and, without Porky Pig’s knowing it, had taken the place of the baby. Porky Pig was trying to get him to take his bottle.
“When you get through with that,” Faye said, “you can read my Young Love comic.”
Lennie looked up at her. “If I have time,” he said. He paused. “You see, I have to go over my report on rattlesnake bites one more time. I’m going to give it in Science class for extra credit.”
“I’d like to hear your report,” the little sister said.
“You would?” Lennie said. He had thought they would never ask. He’d begun to give up hope. “If you really want to ...”
The girl nodded.
“Well, all right.” Lennie got up quickly. He started for the motel office. He turned on his crutches. “In a lot of ways,” he said, “my report is better than the stuff you see on television. It’s—” He paused, searching for the right word. “It’s realer,” he said.
Both girls nodded.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Lennie said, and he went inside to get his report.
BETSY BYARS was born in Charlotte, North Carolina, and graduated from Queens College. The mother of four, Ms. Byars began writing books for children as her family was growing up. She is the author of nearly fifty books for children, including The Summer of the Swans, which received the 1971 Newbery Medal, and the Herculeah Jones Mystery series.
