“I wondered if I could resell these books to you. I’ll need ninth grade books.”
She moved from behind her desk and placed her hand on mine. “Oh, sweetie. You didn’t pass your exam?”
I shook my head. “No, ma’am. Mr. Albertson said I didn’t.”
Mr. Martin came out of his office. “Miss Ballard, I need you to . . .”
Miss Ballard interrupted him. “Miss Hunter didn’t pass her exam.”
I met his eyes without flinching.
“Miss Hunter, I believe you told me you were going to work hard and catch up with the other students.” He surveyed me solemnly.
“I did my best, Mr. Martin.”
He rubbed his chin. “That’s all anyone can ever ask.” He turned toward his office and paused. “Miss Ballard, I need to see you when you finish here.”
“Yes, sir.” She turned back to me. “Let’s see if we can trade these books in.”
She made friendly conversation as she searched for the books. “Are you settling in okay at your aunt and uncle’s?
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s good. Remember what I told you? If you ever need anything, just let me know.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will. Thank you.”
I took the books she offered and walked out of the office. The bell rang, and the students milled out into the hallway. Someone caught me by the arm. It was Marla.
“He’s not going to get away with this.” She ground her teeth.
The vehemence in her voice surprised me. “Marla! I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Don’t worry about that. My daddy is a member of the school board. And he’s also the best man in the world.” She jutted out her chin.
I couldn’t suppress a smile as I patted the hand that still held my arm. “Really, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will. But I won’t. I’ve got to get to class. See you later.” She scurried away.
I found my next class on the schedule and noticed one good thing. Miss Weaver was going to be my homeroom teacher. Thank God for the small things. And the big things too. Ninth grade wouldn’t be so bad. And I had Michael’s letter all ready to mail. When he read it, I was sure he would understand, and things would be back to normal.
After school, I walked to the post office, feeling good, discovering I had friends who supported me, and now about to mail the letter that would make everything right with Michael.
I was at the counter, buying a stamp, when Sylvia and her chorus of friends tramped in.
She placed her hand on my arm, as if we were old friends.
“That Michael is a fun guy,” she said. Her friends giggled.
I wrinkled my forehead. “Michael?”
“Yes. Michael Hutchinson.”
“Michael Hutchinson?” Surely, she didn’t mean Michael. I looked down at the letter in my hand, and her gaze followed mine.
“Oh, you’re mailing him a letter?”
Curiosity got the best of me. “What do you mean, a ‘fun guy’?”
“Some friends were having a party Friday night. You could say he crashed the party.” She giggled along with her friends.
“Crashed?”
“Yes, he drove his truck into the gate.”
Fear clutched my heart. “What? Was he hurt?”
“No, he was fine. More than fine I’d say.” She raised one eyebrow and grinned. “Pop wasn’t too happy when Michael brought me home after midnight on Friday.”
It was as if Sylvia were speaking a foreign language. I stared at her dumbly.
“Pop almost didn’t let me go out with him Saturday night.” She poked out her bottom lip in a juvenile expression. “I had to beg and plead before he gave in.”
“Saturday night? Michael was here on Saturday?”
“Yes. . .” She stepped back and feigned surprise. “He’s not a boyfriend, is he?” She smirked and tapped me on the arm playfully. “Now, Sarah Jane, you’ve got that good-looking Dan Drake. You can’t keep all the best-looking guys for yourself.” This sent her friends off into new peals of laughter.
“Dan Drake is not my boyfriend,” I spat out.
Sylvia arched her brows. “Well, Michael thinks he is. Especially after he saw you going to the picture show with him.”
“Michael saw me?” My face burned, and I swallowed the lump in my throat.
She nodded her head, and I turned away, unable to speak, unable to bear more.
I made it out to the sidewalk, the letter still clutched in my hand. I stared at it, then stumbled home and went into the kitchen. Aunt Liza was not there, and I was glad.
I opened the door on the wood-burning stove and thrust the letter in. I watched it burn before going to my room and weeping bitterly, the pain almost more than I could bear.
Chapter 13—Trip to the Office
The next day, I walked to school alone for the first two blocks, not even noticing anything around me. Sadness dogged my steps.
It wasn’t until someone spoke that I saw two others had fallen in step beside me. I recognized them from the tenth-grade class. The boy was the one who had given the report in Miss Weaver’s class. I didn’t know the girl’s name. They looked similar with freckles sprinkled across their noses and with green eyes.
“Hi, Sarah Jane,” the boy said. He ran a hand through his brown hair, pushing it away from his face.
“Hi. . .Andrew?”
“Right, I’m Andrew, and this is my sister Anne.”
His sister smiled at me, showing dimples. “We’re twins, in case you were wondering. People call us Raggedy Ann and Andy.” She made a face.
“Raggedy Ann and Andy?”
“You’ve never heard of the dolls?” Andrew asked.
I shook my head.
Anne grinned from ear to ear. “Maybe she won’t be making fun of us!”
“I’ve never seen the dolls,” I said.
“Red yarn for hair, button eyes?”
I shook my head again. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“You must really be from the boondocks,” Andrew said.
“Andrew, that’s rude!” Anne punched her brother’s arm.
Andrew looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“That’s okay. I probably am from the boondocks.”
“Boondocks or not, Mr. Albertson had no right to treat you the way he did,” Andrew said.
Anne shook her head, sending the short, brown curls bouncing. “Right. You did great on the math problems. He gave you the hardest ones.”
“And Marla was right. Those last problems came from chapters we haven’t covered yet,” Andrew said.
I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s too late to do anything about it now.”
Andrew laughed. “Oh, no it’s not. Marla will take care of this.” His eyes sparkled.
“Yeah, Marla will take care of it or die trying,” his sister agreed.
I looked at them and frowned. Would Marla really do something? If she did, Mr. Albertson would get angry at her, and I didn’t want her to get into trouble. I shook my head slowly. “I hope she doesn’t.”
“Just you wait and see. Once Marla gets hold of something, she’s like a snapping turtle. She won’t let it go ‘til lightning strikes.” Andrew grinned.
Mild-mannered Marla? Marla with the soft voice? But she did sound vehement yesterday. . .
Hope fluttered in me as we approached the stone steps. Maybe I could go back to tenth grade. I started to smile but frowned instead.
Sylvia and her friends waited at the bottom of the steps, and my face burned. They smiled as we approached. I figured they were smiling at Anne and Andrew, but the twins continued without even glancing in her direction. I, too, tried to walk by, but Sylvia called my name.
“Good morning,” she said, the smile growing broader.
A chorus of good mornings came from her friends.
I stared at them, puzzled.
Sylvia danced over to whe
re I stood and linked her arm through mine. “We’ll walk with you.”
“Uh, sure.” I wanted to shake her off, but then she would know how she had hurt me yesterday.
“Michael’s so handsome,” she whispered in my ear, repeating what she had said yesterday. She squeezed my arm. “Is he your boyfriend?”
I hesitated. Was he anymore? Drinking, going out with Sylvia? I sadly shook my head. “No, guess not.”
She released my arm. “See you later.” She walked away, and her friends gathered around her, whispering and giggling.
I stared after them. Had I just given her permission to date Michael? I shrugged my shoulders. What did it matter, anyway? She’d already dated him.
But. . .what if she was lying? Maybe it hadn’t happened like she said. Maybe I needed to see Michael and get his side of it.
As I neared my new homeroom, Miss Weaver’s class, I spied Marla waiting by the door. A man stood next to her. I knew immediately it was her father although he had never been at home when I visited. She looked remarkably like him, except he did not have her buck teeth. He flashed a smile at me, and I immediately fell under his spell.
“I’m Jackson Phillips. I’ve heard so much about you, Jay. Marla’s told me what’s happened here.”
I blushed. “That’s okay. Really, I don’t want to make a fuss.”
“Nonsense. We’ll have this cleared up in no time. Principal Martin and Mr. Albertson are waiting for us in the office.”
My stomach did flip flops. “I need to tell Miss Weaver.”
“No need. I’ve already spoken to her. Ladies?” He held out his arms, one to Marla and one to me.
I had no choice. I took his arm. Marla tilted her chin up in an imitation of her father. I drew a trembling breath, and we headed down the hall. Students parted before us.
We arrived at the office, and Mr. Phillips held the door for us. Marla waited for me to go first.
Miss Ballard stood at the ready, obviously expecting us. She smiled at Mr. Phillips, and I realized he was held in great esteem by everyone. We entered Principal Martin’s office. Both the principal and Mr. Albertson were standing, waiting for us.
They shook hands with Mr. Phillips. Principal Martin pulled two chairs forward for Marla and me. I thanked him and sat down. When everyone had been seated, Mr. Phillips spoke.
“Mr. Albertson, I believe a misunderstanding occurred yesterday.” He rubbed his chin, smiling gently.
Mr. Albertson wrung his hands together. “Yes, sir. Inadvertently I tested Miss Hunter on math concepts beyond the level on which we are currently working. Removing those math problems from consideration, Miss Hunter did pass the test.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he waited for Mr. Phillips to speak.
Mr. Phillips nodded curtly at Mr. Albertson. He stood and addressed Principal Martin. “I take it everything is in order now for Miss Hunter to return to tenth grade?”
“Yes, of course. Miss Ballard will get her the necessary books.” He looked in my direction. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused you, Miss Hunter.”
“Yes, Miss Hunter. Entirely my fault,” Mr. Albertson said. A bead of sweat lay above his upper lip, and he wiped it away.
I rose, my legs shaky. I murmured something in reply, and Marla and I left. Mr. Phillips stayed behind with Mr. Albertson and Principal Martin.
I gave Marla a hug. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“My pleasure. I’ll see you in class.” She walked away with a confident step.
I could believe it was her pleasure from the look on her face.
Miss Ballard already had the tenth-grade books waiting for me. She told me I could return the ninth-grade books later.
Again, she reminded me to let her know if I ever needed anything. Did she tell all students this, or was it because I was friends with Mr. Phillips’ daughter?
I thanked her and promised I would. I tucked the books under my arm and left. I noticed that these, while not new, were not the tattered ones I had before. I smiled at Miss Ballard’s kindness.
When I walked in the classroom, the class burst into applause, even Sylvia and her friends. I ducked my head, my cheeks burning, and found my seat.
The class whispered for a minute before Sylvia shushed them. Order was restored and heads bent over books, pencils scratching on paper when Mr. Albertson returned. He didn’t speak, simply took the chalk from Sylvia and wrote problems on the board. Then he sat down behind his desk, lacing his fingers together.
At least, I could work hard to prove Marla’s faith in me.
I had to just keep swimming.
Or at least not sink.
Chapter 14—Thunder & Lightning
We received letters from Dan, thanking Uncle Howard and Aunt Liza for boarding his horses. His tone was friendly. Maybe he really had changed. I didn’t hear from Michael but hadn’t expected to, had I?
I wrote to Dan and thanked him for helping with my math work.
I started exercising the horses every chance I could. Zeke often came with me, riding the Appaloosa who was less spirited than the chestnut. Dan had not told us their names, and Zeke urged me to write him to find out.
Dan responded that he hadn’t named them and for us to decide. His letter was addressed to both Zeke and me, and that made me feel better. One strange thing was that he had signed it “Daniel.” Somehow, this seemed to fit him now.
Zeke and I walked to the pasture early one Saturday. We leaned against the fence and watched the horses prancing, energized by a cold front that had moved in.
“Thought of any names yet?” I asked Zeke.
He rubbed his nose that was red from the cool air. “Did you hear what the preacher read last Sunday?”
I wasn’t sure what he meant. “What part?”
“The part about horses.”
I scrunched my forehead and tried to remember the sermon. “His sermon was about Job, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, do you remember?”
I shook my head, ashamed Zeke remembered, and I didn’t. “Sorry.”
“Something about clothes,” Zeke said.
“Clothes?” My brow cleared. “Oh, I know what you’re talking about. Hast thou clothed his neck in thunder?”
“Yeah, that was it. That was about horses. We can name one Thunder, can’t we? And the other one Lightning?”
I laughed. “Reckon so. Which one will be Thunder?”
He furrowed his brow and studied the horses. “The red one will be Red Thunder and the other one White Lightning.”
My knuckles turned white as I gripped the post. But Zeke didn’t know white lightning referred to moonshine. He didn’t know about drunkenness. About Michael.
I looked at him sadly. Let’s just go with Whitey for the white one. Red and Whitey. Okay?”
He shrugged. “Okay. Are we going to ride today?”
“Sure.”
He scampered ahead of me, blissfully unaware, and I wanted to protect him, to save him from pain, but knew that was all part of living.
But happiness was all part of living, too. I followed after Zeke, putting Michael out of my mind, determined to enjoy our ride, to grab what happiness I could.
That night, I wrote Dan and told him the names, Red and Whitey. Not very original but good enough.
I groomed the horses every day. I would have ridden more if not for school work and chores I had to do. Uncle Howard rode the horses since he had plenty of time. He was unable to find much work for his woodworking shop.
The days continued getting shorter. Thanksgiving came, and Aunt Liza cooked a delicious meal of roasted chicken, dumplings, sweet potatoes, and the best pecan pie I had ever tasted. Time seemed to speed up between Thanksgiving and the day school was to let out for the Christmas holidays.
Report cards were handed out that day. Mr. Albertson gave out the report cards in homeroom with our math grades recorded, yet, he made it a point to call me to his desk.
“Miss Hunter, normally I would
give a student an A- for a 93 average, even though we’re on a seven-point scale and that is technically, a B+. With your. . .” He cleared his throat. “. . .attitude, however, I know you are not an A student, and, therefore, I gave you what you made. I hope you understand.”
“Yes, sir. I understand.” I guessed that he was telling me so I wouldn’t report to Marla’s father. And I promised myself I wouldn’t complain, although I returned to my desk seething. Just because I didn’t have the math background when I first arrived did not mean I was not an A student. To go from where I started, knowing nothing, up to a 93 was something he should have commended me for.
I vowed I’d show him before the year was out that I was an A student.
One thing I was grateful for. Mr. Albertson did not take his anger out on Marla. If anything, he treated her with more deference.
In my other classes I received A’s. Miss Weaver had written a comment on my report card: Excellent student!
I hugged Marla good-bye after school. Uncle Howard and Aunt Liza were taking Zeke and me home for the Christmas holidays.
I both dreaded and looked forward to going. I really wanted to see Aunt Jenny, Uncle Colt, Laurie, and William. But we also planned to go by to see Momma at the mental hospital. I wasn’t sure how she would react when she saw us.
And then there was Michael. Would I see him when I was there? Would he come over? I held out little hope. Besides, did I want to if he was still drinking? But maybe he had quit. Maybe it was just because he was upset that day.
And, maybe, Sylvia had lied to me. I needed to talk to Michael, to get his side of the story, to find out if Sylvia had made up going out with him just to upset me.
Uncle Howard had borrowed a truck, and we all squeezed together in the cab. Aunt Liza sat in the middle and Zeke in my lap. I stared out the window, not really seeing the barren trees we drove by.
Sylvia had not mentioned Michael again. If he had been back to Plainsville, I didn’t know of it. All of this between us had been a misunderstanding—that was all.
By the time we arrived, I had convinced myself Michael and I could work things out. I actually was looking forward to seeing him and planned to seek him out if he didn’t come over.
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