I had to walk seven long blocks to get school. It was a typical San Francisco school-tall, enclosed, brick, and rather stoic. I was now in the third grade, escaping being held back at my old school. My English was rather proficient, thus communicating was no problem.
I liked climbing the tiled stairs and the echo it made.
I don't remember my teacher's name but I can still visualize her. Overall, it seemed to be a great experience. I was placed in the top reading group, since I already was a great decoder. Math, was a laugh, and something I had encountered what seemed long ago. Perhaps the most enjoyable part of math (which I so loved) were timed tests of basics. No one could beat me. After all, all those trips I wold mentally practice my multiplications to myself. What we were doing was what I had seen in the first weeks of first grade. God, Americans were slow.
One of my classmates was Vera Rybelchencko. She had two sisters, Nina and Irene. We soon became friends and walking partners to school. I would call them in the morning and we would all meet at the end of the block. They lived on Second Ave.
I owned one pair of shoes., white buck shoes. Mom would polish them everyday so they would look like new. It wouldn't last for long because they were the perfect shoe for kickball. The ball seemed to fly higher and further than I could ever imagine. I was certain it was the shoe and its bionic powers. We were a pair that could challenge anyone.
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