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Authors: Jeffery Deaver
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everyone!”
The girls glanced at her but their eyes returned immediately to Susan.
“Might get bellyaches.” Mrs. Harstrawn gave an exaggerated frown.
“No,” Kielle responded. “Whole pie would be crass. ” She gave an indignant glance to Susan. “Only Philistines eat whole pies. We’ll order one piece each. And I’m going to have coffee.”
“They don’t let us drink coffee,” Jocylyn stopped rubbing her tearful eyes long enough to sign.
“ I’m having coffee. Black coffee,” Shannon the knee-kicker signed.
“With cream,” Kielle continued. “When my mother makes coffee she puts it in glass cup and pours cream in.It swirls like cloud. I’m going to have coffee in real restaurant.”
“Coffee ice cream maybe.” Beverly struggled to suck air into her lungs.
“With sprinkles,” Suzie offered.
“With sprinkles and Reese’s Pieces,” echoed Anna, her junior by thirty-some seconds. “Like at Friendly’s!”
And, once again, Melanie could think of nothing to say.
“Not that kind of restaurant. I mean fancy restaurant.” Kielle didn’t understand why nobody else was excited at the prospect.
A huge smile on Susan’s face. “We’re all decided. Fancy restaurant. Steak, pie, and coffee for everybody. No Philistines allowed!”
Suddenly twelve-year-old Jocylyn broke into hysterical tears and leapt to her feet. Mrs. Harstrawn was up in an instant, cradling the rotund girl, pulling her close. Slowly she calmed down. Melanie lifted her hands to say something comforting and witty. Finally she signed, “Whipped cream on everyone’s pie.”
Susan turned to Melanie. “You still ready to go on stage?”
The young teacher stared back at her student for a moment then smiled, nodding.
Mrs. Harstrawn, eyes flitting nervously to the main room of the slaughterhouse, where the men stood talking, their heads down, signed, “Maybe Melanie can recite her poems again.”
Melanie nodded and her mind went blank. She had a repertoire of two dozen poems she’d been planning on performing. Now she could remember nothing but the first stanza of her “Birds on a Wire.” Melanie lifted her hands, signed:
“ Eight gray birds, sitting in dark.
Cold wind blows, it isn’t kind.
Sitting on wire, they lift their wings
and sail off into billowy clouds.”
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Susan asked, looking directly at Jocylyn. The girl wiped her face on the sleeve of her bulky blouse and nodded.
“ I wrote some poems,” Kielle signed emphatically.“Fifty of them. No, more. They’re about Wonder Woman and Spider-Man. And X-Men too. Jean Grey and Cyclops. Shannon’s read them!”
Shannon nodded. On the girl’s left forearm was a faux tattoo of another X-Man, Gambit, which she’d drawn with Pentel marker.
“Why don’t you tell us one?” Susan asked her.
Kielle thought for a minute then confessed that her poems still needed some work.
“Why are birds gray in your poem?” Beverly asked Melanie. Her signing was abrupt, as if she had to finish every conversation before one of her wrenching asthma attacks.
“Because we all have a little gray in us,” Melanie answered, amazed that the girls were actually rallying, distracted from the horror unfolding around them.
“If it’s about us I’d rather be pretty bird,” Suzie said, and her twin nodded.
“You could have made us red,” suggested Emily, who was dressed in a Laura Ashley floral. She was more feminine than all the rest of the students combined.
Then Susan—who knew facts that even Melanie did not; Susan, who was going to attend Gallaudet College next year with straight A’s—explained to the other girls’ fascination that only male cardinals were red. The females were brownish gray.
“So, they’re cardinals?” Kielle asked.
When Melanie didn’t respond the little girl tapped her shoulder and repeated the question.
“Yes,” Melanie answered. “Sure. It’s about cardinals. You’re all flock of pretty cardinals.”
“Not
The girls glanced at her but their eyes returned immediately to Susan.
“Might get bellyaches.” Mrs. Harstrawn gave an exaggerated frown.
“No,” Kielle responded. “Whole pie would be crass. ” She gave an indignant glance to Susan. “Only Philistines eat whole pies. We’ll order one piece each. And I’m going to have coffee.”
“They don’t let us drink coffee,” Jocylyn stopped rubbing her tearful eyes long enough to sign.
“ I’m having coffee. Black coffee,” Shannon the knee-kicker signed.
“With cream,” Kielle continued. “When my mother makes coffee she puts it in glass cup and pours cream in.It swirls like cloud. I’m going to have coffee in real restaurant.”
“Coffee ice cream maybe.” Beverly struggled to suck air into her lungs.
“With sprinkles,” Suzie offered.
“With sprinkles and Reese’s Pieces,” echoed Anna, her junior by thirty-some seconds. “Like at Friendly’s!”
And, once again, Melanie could think of nothing to say.
“Not that kind of restaurant. I mean fancy restaurant.” Kielle didn’t understand why nobody else was excited at the prospect.
A huge smile on Susan’s face. “We’re all decided. Fancy restaurant. Steak, pie, and coffee for everybody. No Philistines allowed!”
Suddenly twelve-year-old Jocylyn broke into hysterical tears and leapt to her feet. Mrs. Harstrawn was up in an instant, cradling the rotund girl, pulling her close. Slowly she calmed down. Melanie lifted her hands to say something comforting and witty. Finally she signed, “Whipped cream on everyone’s pie.”
Susan turned to Melanie. “You still ready to go on stage?”
The young teacher stared back at her student for a moment then smiled, nodding.
Mrs. Harstrawn, eyes flitting nervously to the main room of the slaughterhouse, where the men stood talking, their heads down, signed, “Maybe Melanie can recite her poems again.”
Melanie nodded and her mind went blank. She had a repertoire of two dozen poems she’d been planning on performing. Now she could remember nothing but the first stanza of her “Birds on a Wire.” Melanie lifted her hands, signed:
“ Eight gray birds, sitting in dark.
Cold wind blows, it isn’t kind.
Sitting on wire, they lift their wings
and sail off into billowy clouds.”
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Susan asked, looking directly at Jocylyn. The girl wiped her face on the sleeve of her bulky blouse and nodded.
“ I wrote some poems,” Kielle signed emphatically.“Fifty of them. No, more. They’re about Wonder Woman and Spider-Man. And X-Men too. Jean Grey and Cyclops. Shannon’s read them!”
Shannon nodded. On the girl’s left forearm was a faux tattoo of another X-Man, Gambit, which she’d drawn with Pentel marker.
“Why don’t you tell us one?” Susan asked her.
Kielle thought for a minute then confessed that her poems still needed some work.
“Why are birds gray in your poem?” Beverly asked Melanie. Her signing was abrupt, as if she had to finish every conversation before one of her wrenching asthma attacks.
“Because we all have a little gray in us,” Melanie answered, amazed that the girls were actually rallying, distracted from the horror unfolding around them.
“If it’s about us I’d rather be pretty bird,” Suzie said, and her twin nodded.
“You could have made us red,” suggested Emily, who was dressed in a Laura Ashley floral. She was more feminine than all the rest of the students combined.
Then Susan—who knew facts that even Melanie did not; Susan, who was going to attend Gallaudet College next year with straight A’s—explained to the other girls’ fascination that only male cardinals were red. The females were brownish gray.
“So, they’re cardinals?” Kielle asked.
When Melanie didn’t respond the little girl tapped her shoulder and repeated the question.
“Yes,” Melanie answered. “Sure. It’s about cardinals. You’re all flock of pretty cardinals.”
“Not
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