“I guess. But mostly the water that seems to flow around me lately is just a bunch of tears.”
“Where are you from?” I ask her as I finish my half of the sandwich.
“I’m from no place,” she says, sadness in her voice.
“Well, where were you born?” I ask.
“Someplace in China is all that I know. My parents brought me to the United States when I was just a baby.”
“I’ve never been out of the country — not even to Canada,” I tell her.
“I’ve lived in ten different states and four different countries.”
“Really? Can you speak any languages other than English?”
“Chinese. French. Spanish. A little German — we didn’t stay in Germany very long.”
I shake my head. “And I complain about my Spanish homework! You rock, Lillian.”
This time she shakes her head. “As soon as I start feeling comfortable in one language, we have to leave. I’ve been to so many schools I’ve lost count.”
“Bummer. What kind of jobs do your parents have? My dad is a science teacher and my mom sells insurance in a big office building downtown.”
Lillian makes a face. “My dad and mom own a bunch of companies,” she says. She does not sound very proud.
“That’s a good thing, right?” I ask her.
“Good for them, I guess. It seems as though they like the people in their offices more than they like me.” She sighs.
“What makes you say that?”
“They see their businesspeople every day. They travel all the time. They hardly ever see me.” Lillian looks sad again.
“Who watches you while they travel?”
“I have a nanny.”
“What’s a nanny?” I ask her. I think that’s a funny-sounding word.
“She is a very nice lady who makes sure I eat and reads to me at night. She takes care of me and keeps me safe. But she’s not a mom.”
I think about what it would be like if my mom was gone every day. I’d be messed up!
“I’m also friends with the butlers and maids and drivers,” Lillian adds. “But they’re not real family.”
“So, are you rich?” I ask her. I am amazed because I’ve never met a real rich person before.
“I guess my parents are,” Lillian answers slowly.
“Hey, I’m going to quit asking so many nosy questions,” I say in a cheerful voice because Lillian is looking teary-eyed again.
I lift up my Sassy Sack, which is slung over the back of my desk chair. I dig down into it and pull out a small package of pink tissues and two juice boxes. I place one of them on her desk.
“That’s a really awesome purse,” Lillian says. She wipes her eyes with a tissue and sticks the straw into the juice box. “Mmm — fruit punch — my favorite.”
I smile. “My grandmother gave it to me for my seventh birthday,” I tell Lillian proudly. “She made it herself from treasures she had in her sewing kit.”
“Cool!”
“She used pieces from a shimmery bridesmaid’s dress, an old sequined prom dress, and this piece is lace from a tablecloth that came from Spain. It’s got buttons and sparkles from old shoes and hats, along with pieces of earrings and necklaces and bracelets and stuff.”
“My grandmother likes to sew also. And cook,” Lillian tells me as she shyly touches my bag. “I don’t get to see her very often.”
“I understand. My grandmother lives in Florida in a big beach house, so we only get there during vacations. We were there during the last big hurricane! That was incredible!”
“That must have been scary,” Lillian says.
“Yeah, for a minute,” I tell her. I don’t admit how really, really terrified I had been.
“I think the house I live in could stand up through a hurricane and a tornado. It’s huge, like a castle,” Lillian tells me. “But it’s big and lonely most of the time.”
“So, do you live close to the school?” I ask Lillian.
“I honestly don’t know where it is — we just moved in last week. And my parents have already gone to another business meeting. They called me from London this morning before I left for school.”
“Well, I’m glad they decided to send you to our school,” I tell her with a smile.
“Me, too,” Lillian admits quietly.
Miss Armstrong hurries back into the room carrying two apples, two oranges, and two bananas.
“See what I mean? Healthy stuff!” I whisper to Lillian.
We both laugh as Miss Armstrong places the fruit on our desks.
“Well, I’m glad you two seem to be getting along,” Miss Armstrong says, nodding with approval. “Has Sassy shown you her marvelous purple purse, Lillian? She calls it her Sassy Sack.”
Lillian says, “It’s the most awesome thing. I wish I had one like it.”
Miss Armstrong chuckles. “It seems lots of the girls in her class admire it also.”
I keep a million things in my Sassy Sack. Maybe two million. I’ve got stickers and hair stuff and jewelry and lotion and superglue and nail polish and lots of other things.
“What’s your favorite color?” I ask Lillian.
“Pink,” she replies with a smile.
“I coulda guessed that,” I tell her. I reach down into my sack and pull out a small notebook. The cover is strawberry-colored and glittery. “Here’s a welcome gift!” I say as I place it on her desk.
“For me? Thank you so much!” She picks it up and sniffs. “It’s scented! It smells like fruit punch,” she says with a grin.
“You’re welcome. Now, my favorite color is purple. See?” Then I show her all my purple markers and pens and pencils. Many of them are covered with glitter or sparkles or feathers. “I also have purple bracelets and bangles, lavender necklaces, and violet hair clips. And lip gloss and eye shadow, which I’m not allowed to actually wear, and nail polish!”
“You’re amazing!” she says.
We eat our fruit and finish our juice just as the bell rings for the end of lunch, and the rest of the class starts to come back in.
“I’ll tell you a little about each kid as they come in the room,” I whisper. “The boy with the big smile and the curly hair is Travis. He once got his head stuck in a chair.”
Lillian laughs.
“Next to him are his friends Rusty and Ricky. They like to play practical jokes. Holly, the tall, slim girl behind them, is an awesome dancer. She wants to be a professional ballerina.”
“Wouldn’t that hurt your toes?” Lillian asks with a smile.
“I guess you’re right. Coming in next are Basima, Iris, and Misty. They are all great singers. We had a big fourth-grade musical not too long ago, and they rocked the house!”
“I wish I could have seen it.”
“But the best singer in the class, maybe even the whole school, is Carmelita. Her nickname is Caramel. That’s Caramel talking to Princess. Princess is her real name, by the way.”
“She looks a little like the kind of princess they put in picture books,” Lillian says. Princess has long, flowing blonde hair. It ripples down her back like a golden stream.
“And the girl coming in last, carrying the warm cookies, is my best friend, Jasmine. I would say the girl in the blue-and-white uniform, but that’s all of us!”
Jasmine comes over to us, gives me a cookie, and gives the other one to Lillian. I knew she would.
“I’ll have my uniform tomorrow,” Lillian says to both of us. “But it’s nice wearing a pretty outfit for at least one day.”
“My feelings exactly!” Jasmine says.
“Thanks for the cookie,” Lillian says. “Everybody seems to be really nice here.”
“Yep, we’re all pretty cool,” Jasmine tells her.
The bell rings and everybody is finally seated. I’m glad to see that Lillian looks a little more relaxed.
“You know, it’s almost time for our fourth-grade creative experience projects,” Miss Armstrong says as she begi
ns the class.
She waits until the expected groans die down.
“When teachers use the words creative and experience in the same sentence, that usually means lots of work for us,” Rusty whispers to Ricky.
Miss Armstrong ignores him. “First, you need to choose a topic. Remember, I don’t want you to do a report — I want you to do a real exploration. You have to experience the information that you gather. When you finish, each of you will be an expert on that subject, and you can share it with the rest of us.”
“Sounds like a report to me,” Travis mumbles.
Miss Armstrong ignores Travis also. “Let me give you an example. Let’s say you choose rocks as your area of investigation.”
“All kinds of rocks?” Tandy asks.
“Good question, Tandy. You’re already discovering that some topics are huge and you will need to concentrate on one small part. So maybe you just want to find out about rocks that are formed from volcanoes.”
“Would building a volcano be a good idea to show what you have learned?” Princess asks.
“Excellent!” Miss Armstrong replies. She looks pleased, like teachers do when they think we finally get what they’re talking about.
“I just asked because my sister does a volcano every year for her science project, and we have about five of them in our garage.”
Miss Armstrong shakes her head and chuckles. “Today I want each of you to try to find the area you want to investigate.”
“Are we going to the library to do our research?” asks Princess.
“Eventually. Today I have a surprise for you,” Miss Armstrong exclaims. “The new computer lab is finally up and running,” she tells us, “and our class will be the first to use it.”
“Sweet!” Ricky says.
“I know that most of you can run circles around me with your computer skills, but I manage to find what I need,” Miss Armstrong confesses.
“I’ve had a computer since I was six years old,” Travis boasts. “I’m an expert! If you get mixed up, Miss Armstrong, I’ll show you what to do.”
“Well, thank you, Travis, but I won’t be teaching the computer class,” she announces.
“Who’s gonna teach it?” Misty asks.
“I am,” says a tall, skinny man who strolls into the room at that moment. He wears blue jeans, a long-sleeved white shirt, a red leather vest, and bright red high-top sneakers. His hair is black and shaggy. He looks really young for a teacher.
“Nice shoes!” Rusty says with a whistle.
“Thanks! My name is Cecil Cannon, but you can call me Mr. C. I just graduated from the university, and I’m proud to say I’m a computer geek!”
Some of the kids giggle.
“I can take a computer apart and put all the little bitty pieces back together again. I know how to find files that get lost. I can upload and download and reload. I’m the man!”
“You gonna show us how to do all that stuff?” Rusty asks.
“And give up my super secrets? No way!” says Mr. C with a grin. “My job is to help you navigate the information superhighway. So leave your book bags here and walk with me down the hall to the new lab. Let’s find some rockin’ topics on these new supersonic computers! It’s project time!”
As we get ready to leave, I grab my Sassy Sack and sling it over my shoulder.
“Oh, you won’t need that, my dear,” Mr. C says.
“Oh, yes, she will!” Jasmine and Holly say at the same time.
“Sassy takes that thing everywhere, Mr. C,” Jasmine explains. “Stick around, and you’ll see how useful it can be.”
Mr. C says, “I was just trying to eliminate the need for purses. Miss Armstrong will be here in the classroom. But suit yourself. Don’t let me be the one to separate a lady from her stuff!”
I smile at him. My Sassy Sack is more than a purse. It’s like a part of me. Just touching it makes me feel happy.
I turn to Lillian and offer my hand to her. “Walk with me and Jasmine,” I suggest. “And I’ll finish telling you about the rest of the kids in our class while we’re going to the lab.”
Lillian looks grateful. As we head out the door, she whispers to me and Jasmine, “Can we stop by the bathroom on the way? It’s been like hours!”
We crack up and head into the coolness of the main hall.
The computer room even smells new. Most of our classrooms have plain wooden or concrete floors, but this room has soft, dark blue carpet and light blue paint on the walls. The rows of computers look like a little techno-army dressed in new uniforms.
We take our seats. Everyone is hushed because the room is so impressive. Jasmine sits on one side of me. Lillian takes a seat on the other side.
Mr. C stands in front of the class and takes a deep breath. “Oh, boy, do I love this!” he says with real enthusiasm. “Brand-new equipment! I don’t want to see anybody’s peanut butter sandwich even close to these computers. No food or drinks in here — ever. Got it?”
“Gotcha, Mr. C,” Rusty says. The rest of us nod our heads in agreement.
“Click the button on the left of your computers and let’s give these babies a whirl!”
Clicks and soft whirs and beeps can be heard throughout the room. Everyone’s computer lights up with a soft glow. The desktop appears on my screen, clear and ready to explore.
“Now, before we go to the Internet, I want to go over some basic stuff with you guys. I know many of you are very computer literate, but I want to make sure we are all on the same page.”
Iris raises her hand. “We don’t have a computer at home, so I might have a couple of extra questions. I’ve only used the one in the school library.”
“Not a problem,” Mr. C replies. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Princess asks then, “How will we save stuff we find?”
“You’re getting ahead of me!” Mr. C says with a grin. “I would have prepared a PowerPoint lesson for you, but since they just hired me two days ago, we’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way. I’ll simply write it out for you today.”
He walks over to the whiteboard.
“Looks like you’ll be the first to write on it,” Rusty says.
“I guess I’ll have to use invisible ink!” Mr. C jokes. He looks in the cupboards and opens a few drawers. “Hmm, this is a trip. All this technology and they forgot to leave markers for the board!”
Travis and Rusty crack up.
Mr. C picks up the phone in the lab. “Let me contact the office and see if they can send some down here.”
“You don’t have to phone anybody, Mr. C,” I call out.
“Why not, Sassy?” Mr. C asks me.
I pull my sack from the back of my chair, reach down into it, and pull out a handful of markers. “What color do you want?” I ask with a grin.
“Told you!” Jasmine and Holly say at the same time.
Mr. C scratches his head. “Thanks, Sassy,” he says as he chooses a red marker and a green one. “You’re a lifesaver!”
“I’ve got those, too!” I tell him. “All flavors.”
Lillian and Jasmine are giggling.
Mr. C bows to me like I’m a queen or something, then goes back to the whiteboard to write the information.
In green marker he writes words like monitor and keyboard and mouse, and in red marker he lists things like applications and search engine and browser.
We all look at each other and frown.
Finally, Misty raises her hand.
“Yes,” Mr. C says, stopping his colorful writing for a minute.
Misty tells him, “Uh, I don’t have a computer at home, either, but all of us know this stuff already. Lots of us have apps and browsers on our cell phones. Every day we play video games and share stuff with each other through the Internet. The stuff you are writing on the board we learned in first grade.”
Mr. C looks at us, then cracks up. “You know, you’re right! You guys could probably teach me! Click on the Internet icon on your screen, find y
our search engine, and type in what you want to explore. Go for it!”
We all kinda sigh with relief and get started. Keyboards click and computers hum. Mr. C walks around and answers questions if anybody has them. Nobody needs the vocabulary words he listed.
“What are you going to do your project on?” Jasmine asks Holly, who is sitting on the other side of her.
“Dance, of course!” Holly replies. “I think I want to find out more about lyrical ballet. It’s a little different from the strict European style that my teacher uses.”
“Sounds like it will be fun to explore,” Jasmine replies.
“Oh, yes,” Holly says with excitement in her voice. “And for my demonstration to the class, I’ll perform a lyrical ballet!”
“Nice.”
“What about you, Jasmine?” I ask. “Are you going to do some kind of performance, too?”
“No way,” Jasmine replies while she’s typing. “I started with my name, and I decided to explore all sweet-smelling flowers.”
“What a great idea,” I tell her.
“And you know what? Many of the flowers that smell good have cool-sounding names. Like gardenia. And magnolia. They’re fun to say.”
“Gar-dee-nia!” I say real slow. “You’re right!”
“But my favorite is bougainvillea,” Jasmine tells me. “Boo-gan-veel-lee-ah! Boo-gan-veel-lee-ah! I could say it all day.”
“Sounds like booger!” Travis hollers from two seats down.
Jasmine just rolls her eyes at him and gets back to work.
Mr. C stops by my seat and returns my markers. “Thanks, Sassy. They tell me you carry just about everything in that purse of yours.”
“Pretty much,” I tell him. “I always seem to have just what’s needed. I like to feel useful.”
“Have you decided on a topic yet?” Mr. C asks.
“Not quite. Still looking,” I say. “I’m getting close, though.”
He moves on to another student, but I still have no idea at all what to do.
So I ask Lillian, who is sitting next to me, “What are you looking up for your project?”
She sighs. “I hope I’m here long enough to complete it. But I’ve always been interested in whales,” she replies.
“Whales?” I gasp. That’s the last thing I would have expected this tiny girl to say.
The Sassy Collection Page 22
