This was Leslie Burke’s favorite hobby. Nobody would make up scuba diving to be their favorite hobby if it wasn’t so.
That meant Leslie did it a lot. That she wasn’t scared of going deep, deep down in a world of no air and little light.
Lord, he was such a coward. How could he be all in a tremble just listening to Mrs. Myers read about it?
He was worse a baby than Joyce Ann. His dad expected him to be a man.
And here he was letting some girl who wasn’t even ten yet scare the liver out of him
by just telling what it was like to sight-see underwater. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
“I am sure,” Mrs. Myers was saying, “that all of you were as impressed as I was with Leslie’s exciting essay.”
Impressed. Lord. He’d nearly drowned. In the classroom there was a shuffling of feet and papers.
“Now I want to give you a homework assignment”—muffled groans—“that I’m sure you’ll enjoy.”
“Tonight on Channel 7 at 8 P.M. there is going to be a special about a famous underwater explorer—Jacques Cousteau.”
“I want everyone to watch. Then write one page telling what you learned.”
“A whole page?” “Yes.” “Does spelling count?” “Doesn’t spelling always count, Gary?”
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