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“It’s as confusing as that book you were reading the other day.”
    “Why are you reading it then?” I asked, certain he must be, or he wouldn’t have it in his possession.
    He didn’t answer for several seconds, and I waited, wondering if he would take the book and turn away again. “I am failing English. I have Ms.Whitmer, and she told me if I read that book and write a report on it, she’ll pass me. So, I am trying to read that book. I have to read it and have the report on her desk in two weeks. I could see by the page he had dog-eared that he was in trouble.
    Ms.Whitmer was a tough old bird who had taught at the high school for 25 years. She had a bit of a reputation, sometimes drove a Harley to school, and commonly wore combat boots. She was very intimidating, knew her stuff, and wouldn’t take any crap. My older brothers had liked her, but had groaned about the workload. Johnny was barely squeezing by in her class as well.
    “Why this book? Did she tell you why?”
    “She told me doesn’t usually give extra credit. I told her I would do anything. She slapped this book down and said ‘If you can get through this one I’ll know how bad you want it.’ So here I am. Now I know why she had that look on her face,” Samuel said morosely.
    “Why do you care?” My question just popped out.
    Samuel glowered at me. “I want to graduate,” he enunciated through clenched teeth. I promised my Grandmother I would graduate.” He said this reluctantly. “I’m going into the Marine’s in May, and I want my diploma. My recruiter said I’ll have a lot more opportunities if I graduate first.”
    We sat quietly for a minute. Samuel stared out the window as he was prone to do, and I fingered his book, still in my lap. I thought about how proud he seemed, and how hard it must have been to go to Ms. Whitmer and ask for the extra credit.
    He reached over to take the book, but I held onto it tightly, and moved it away from his outstretched hand.
    “I’ll read it with you,” I blurted out, surprising myself and him. He stared at me suspiciously. I shrugged my shoulders. “I told you I had read parts of it - I want to read the rest,” I cringed at my lie. “We’ll read it together. We spend an hour, sometimes more, on this bus every day. I don’t mind reading out loud if you don’t.” I couldn’t believe I had been so forward. My neck got veryhot underneath my hair, and I hoped I wasn’t getting hives, which sometimes happened when I got really upset or nervous.
    “You read, I’ll listen.” he said stiffly
    “Now?” I questioned. He just raised his eyebrows.
    I opened the book, swallowed my discomfort, and began at the beginning.

4. Progression
    I decided our little book club was incomplete without the 1828 Webster’s dictionary, so every day I lugged the monstrous book to and from school for use on the bus. Samuel had rolled his eyes when I had pulled it out of my oversized bag the following morning. Every time he forgot himself and said in frustration “What does that mean?” I would nod my head towards the big green book lying between us. He would sigh and look up the word in question while I spelled it out for him. There were also words I wasn’t sure of, and would make him look those up as well - though I was pretty certain if I didn’t know what they meant, neither did he.
    A week went by, and I read morning and afternoon as he sat quietly and listened. One afternoon as I was reading, I became engrossed in the story, and forgot to read out loud.
    Samuel’s brown, long-fingered hand suddenly lay over the page my attention had been captured by. I realized I had been reading silently for at least several seconds.
    “Whoops!” I giggled. “Sorry about that.”
    He reached over and took the book from my hands. “My turn,” he said, without rancor. Hefound the place where my imagination had quelled my voice and began reading out loud in his deep baritone. I had always been the one to read, so