On Monday morning I wore my green platform boots to school for the first time since I had started at Edison Middle School.

It was the day of the poetry festival， and I was excited. At my old school， I had won the poetry ribbon every year. Im horrible at sports， too shy to be popular and Im not cute—but I do write good poetry.

The poem I wrote for the Edison Poetry Festival was about my dad. I had a good feeling about sharing how special he was to me， even if it was just with the fifth grade and Mrs. Baker.

English class was not until after lunch period on Mondays， so by the time we started poetry， I was so nervous that my mouth was dry as toast. When Mrs. Baker called on me， I had to clear my throat， take a breath and swallow about ten times before I could speak. I didnt even bother to look at my paper. Id spent so much time perfecting the rhymes， and counting the beats， that I knew the poem by heart.

I had just started the third verse when I noticed Mrs. Baker was glaring furiously at me. I stopped in the middle of a word and waited for her to say something.

“Linda， you are supposed to be reading an original work， a poem you made up yourself， not reciting something you learned. That is called plagiarism！”

“Oh， but its not. I mean... I did make it up， its about my dad.” I heard a “Yeah， right！” from somewhere behind me， and someone else giggled.

I felt as if Id somersaulted off the high dive and then， in midair， realized that there was no water in the pool. I opened my mouth to explain， but no words came out.

“You will leave the room and will not return until you are ready to apologize，” said Mrs. Baker. “Now. Go！”

My last thought was a flash of understanding as to why the kids had nicknamed her “Battle-Ax Baker”—then my brain just fizzled out， and I turned and left the room.

Id been standing outside for about half an hour when Joseph， the school janitor， came over to ask me what heinous crime Id committed to be banished for so long. He loved using unusual words.

Wed made friends one morning before school， when he saw me sitting alone， pretending to do homework. He invited me to help open up the classrooms， and after that， it sort of became my job. He always talked to me as we wiped down the chalkboards and turned on the heat. Just that morning hed been telling me that Mark Twain once said that the difference between the right word and the almost right word is like the difference between lightning and a lightning bug. I liked that. My dad would have liked it， too.

Now as Joseph waited for me to answer， he looked so kind and sympathetic that I poured out the whole story， trying not to cry. A tightness flashed over his face， and he jerked an enormous yellow duster out of the pocket of his gray overalls. “So what are you going to do？” he asked， rolling up the duster into a tight ball.

I shrugged， feeling helpless and sad.“I dont know.”

“Well， you are not going to stand here all day， are you？”

I sighed. “I suppose Ill do what she said. You know... say Im sorry.”

“Youll apologize？”

I nodded. “What else can I do？ Its no big deal. Ill just never write anything good in her class again.”

He looked disappointed with my response， so I shrugged once more and turned away from him.

“Linda.” The tone of his voice forced me to look back. “Accepting defeat， when you should stand up for yourself， can become a very dangerous habit.” He twisted the duster around his fingers. “Believe me. I know！”

He was staring right into my eyes. I blinked and looked down. His eyes followed mine， and we both noticed my green boots at the same time. Suddenly his face relaxed and creased into a huge smile. He chuckled and said， “Youre going to be just fine. I dont have to worry about you. When you put on those boots this morning， you knew you were the only Linda Brown in the whole world.” As if he didnt need it anymore， he cheerfully dropped the duster back into his pocket and folded his arms across his chest. “Those are the boots of someone who can take care of herself and knows when something is worth fighting for.”

His eyes， smiling into mine， woke up a part of me that had been asleep since Id come to this school， and I knew that he was right about me. Id just lost direction for a while. I took a deep breath and knocked on the classroom door， ready to face Mrs. Baker—ready to recite my poem.

一個星期一的早晨，我穿上了那雙綠色的厚底坡跟靴去上學(xué)。自從到愛迪生中學(xué)上學(xué)以來，今天還是我第一次穿這雙靴子。

那天正好是詩歌節(jié)，我非常興奮。在我原來的學(xué)校，我每年都能獲得學(xué)校的詩歌獎。我害怕體育，也怯于參加集體活動，還不漂亮可愛，但是——我卻能寫得一手好詩。

這次，我為“愛迪生詩歌節(jié)”寫的詩是關(guān)于我爸爸的。我很高興能讓別人知道爸爸對我是多么特別，盡管只有我所在的五年級的全體同學(xué)和我的老師貝克太太分享我的感受。

星期一的英語課總是在午餐過后才開始上。那天我們開始研究詩歌的時候，我感到很緊張，嘴巴里干得就像吃的烤面包干一樣。當(dāng)貝克太太叫到我的時候，我不得不清了清嗓子，深深地吸一口氣，并咽了大約十口唾沫，才開始朗誦。我甚至不必費(fèi)神看我的詩稿，因?yàn)檫@首詩我花了很多時間完善韻律、對齊音步，所以我對這首詩了熟于心。

當(dāng)我正準(zhǔn)備朗誦第三節(jié)的時候，我突然注意到貝克太太正憤怒地瞪著我。我一個詞說到一半就停了下來，等待她說些什么。

“琳達(dá)，你應(yīng)該為我們朗誦原創(chuàng)的作品，你自己寫的詩，而不是去背誦你學(xué)到的詩。這叫剽竊！”

“哦，這不是的。我的意思是……這首詩就是我自己寫的，是我寫我爸爸的。”我聽到身后有人起哄道：“是的，沒錯！”其他人則都“咯咯”地笑了起來。

頓時，我感覺自己像是從高臺翻騰而下跳水，卻在半空中發(fā)現(xiàn)水池沒有水。我張開嘴想解釋，但卻一個詞兒也說不出來。

“現(xiàn)在請你離開教室，在你準(zhǔn)備道歉之前不許回來，”貝克太太厲聲說，“現(xiàn)在，出去！”

就在那一刻，一閃念間我突然明白了為什么孩子們私下里給她起了個綽號“貝克戰(zhàn)斧”——接著，我的大腦好像就停止了運(yùn)轉(zhuǎn)，我轉(zhuǎn)過身走出了教室。

就這樣，我站在教室外面，大約半小時后，學(xué)校的大樓管理員約瑟夫看到了我，就問我究竟犯了什么彌天大罪要被驅(qū)逐出教室這么長時間。他說話的時候總喜歡用些不同尋常的詞。

我和他成為朋友是在一天早晨上課之前。那天，我一個人坐在教室里裝模作樣地做作業(yè)，約瑟夫看到了，就邀請我?guī)退ゴ蜷_其他教室的門。從那之后，這好像就成了我的一項(xiàng)工作。每次當(dāng)我們一起擦黑板開暖氣的時候，他總是滔滔不絕地跟我說個沒完。就在那天早晨，他還對我談起馬克·吐溫曾經(jīng)說過的一句話：正確的話和差不多正確的話之間的差別就像是閃電和螢火蟲之間的差別一樣。我很喜歡這句話，我相信我爸爸也會喜歡這句話的。

現(xiàn)在約瑟夫正在等待我回答他的問題，他和藹地注視著我，目光中充滿了同情。于是，我忍住淚水，把整件事的來龍去脈一股腦兒地全告訴了他。他聽著我的講述，眉頭皺了一下，然后，從他那件灰色工作服的口袋里拽出一塊巨大的黃色抹布，問道：“那你打算怎么辦？”一邊把抹布緊緊地卷成一個圓球。

“我不知道，”我聳了聳肩，感到好無助，好難過。

“那你不會打算一整天都站在這兒，是不是？”

我嘆了口氣說，“我想我只能照她說的去做了。你知道的……說對不起?！?/p>

“你要去向她道歉？”

我點(diǎn)了點(diǎn)頭，說：“我還能怎么樣呢？這沒什么大不了的。今后，上她的課我只有再也不寫這么好的詩了?！?/p>

聽了我的回答，他失望地注視著我。我再次聳了聳肩，轉(zhuǎn)過身去。

“琳達(dá)，”他的語氣迫使我不得不又轉(zhuǎn)過頭來?！爱?dāng)你應(yīng)該勇敢地站出來為自己辯護(hù)的時候，你卻接受失敗，這會成為一個非常危險的習(xí)慣?！蹦菈K抹布在他手指上纏繞著，他說，“相信我。我知道的！”

看著他那逼人的目光，我眨了眨眼，然后低下了頭。他的目光也跟著我看向地面。幾乎就在同一時刻，我們都注意到了我腳上穿的那雙綠靴子。突然，他那原本嚴(yán)肅的神情一下子放松下來，臉上也綻開了笑容?！澳阋欢〞芸旌闷饋淼模腋揪筒恍枰獮槟銚?dān)心的，其實(shí)，當(dāng)你今天早上穿上這雙靴子的時候，你就知道，世界上只有你才是唯一的琳達(dá)·布朗?！闭f到這，他興沖沖地收起那塊抹布，把它放回口袋里，就好像不再需要它似的。然后，雙手交叉抱在胸前，微笑地注視著我說：“穿這雙靴子的人一定是能照顧好自己，并知道什么時候什么事情是值得為之去奮斗的人！”

他的眼睛微笑地看著我，喚醒了我心靈深處的某種東西，自從我來到這所學(xué)校以后這些東西就一直沉睡不醒。我知道，約瑟夫?qū)ξ业目捶ㄊ钦_的，我差一點(diǎn)兒就迷失了方向。然后，我深深地吸了一口氣，敲響了教室的門，我要面對貝克太太——繼續(xù)背誦我自己寫的詩。

【讀故事學(xué)單詞】

ribbon ['ribn] n.緞帶；帶狀物；色帶

furiously ['fjurisli] adv.狂怒地；有力地；猛烈地

plagiarism ['pleidrizm] n.剽竊；剽竊物

somersault ['smlt] n.跟斗；顛倒 v.翻筋斗

janitor ['dnit] n.門衛(wèi)；門警；管理員

heinous ['heins] adj.可憎的；十惡不赦的

sympathetic [simp'θetik] adj.同情的；共鳴的；贊同的