Marigold sets it down in front of the little girl. “Your turn,” she says brightly.
Sadie gives the book a shove that sends it flying to the floor.
Marigold is having a hard time trying to figure out what the bright side of this situation might be, or how to make the best of it.
“You’re picking that up,” she says, but her mouth looks as if it’s saying something else. Something pleasant and possibly full of praise.
Sadie yawns.
At last people start getting to their feet and putting the desks back in rows, and Bonnie charges into the room. “No problems? Everything OK?”
“Yeah, fine,” says Marigold. “But she is very quiet.”
“She’s shy,” says Bonnie. “It’ll take a little while for her to get used to you.”
Marigold lowers her voice, assuming that Sadie isn’t deaf and has heard every word she’s said. “I don’t know, Mrs Kupferberg, I don’t think I’m very good with Sadie. Maybe someone el—”
“There is no one else.” Bonnie Kupferberg, it seems, can also smile with delight while imparting bad news. “You’re my last hope. Everybody else has given up on her. Even the teachers.”
“Oh, but—”
“If you don’t try, she’ll just sit there like she did all last spring till her mother finally shows up to take her home.”
“But I only have to do twenty hours a year,” Marigold explains. “And I—”
“You will come next week, won’t you? Besides everything else, I’ve lost six volunteers since last year.” She runs her hands through her cloud of hair, as though that’s where they might be. “I’m really desperate.”
She looks desperate. Which makes Marigold feel guilty.
It is only twenty hours, Marigold reminds herself; she’s already done more than two. And it’s not like she has to work; all she has to do is sit there. Possibly read a book. She might even read a book she wants to read. And at last Marigold finds a thin but glowing silver lining in this particular cloud: the sooner she puts in her time, the sooner she can stop coming at all.
“Well, I guess I could make it next week.”
It isn’t just her mother that Marigold doesn’t like to disappoint.
Chapter Seven
No View of the Ocean, Either
When the bell rings at the end of the school day Georgiana usually is off like a horse at the Kentucky Derby. Today, however, Georgiana lingers as if she’s been at a party that she doesn’t want to end. She double-checks that she’s written down the assignment; she carefully gathers up her books and zips them into her backpack; she rises from her seat only when every other student has left the room. Mr McCrimber finishes erasing the board and looks over, surprised to find her still behind him. Mr McCrimber has taught her before: Georgiana is always the last one to take her seat, and the first one to jump out of it. Maybe she’s not feeling well. Maybe she’s being bullied and is trying to avoid a confrontation.
“Are you all right, Georgiana?” She smiles and says she’s fine. He watches her drift across the room and out the door, to where Claudelia is waiting for her with a bored expression on her face. But when Mr McCrimber leaves himself the two of them are only a few feet from the classroom. Maybe it’s drugs.
Claudelia shuffles along beside Georgiana. “Can’t we go a little faster? I’m getting a cramp in my calf.”
“You go on. You don’t have to stay with me.” Georgiana waves her ahead. “I’m not in a hurry.”
“I got that part,” says Claudelia. “If you went any slower we’d be going backwards. But I thought you start your community service this afternoon. You don’t want to be late on your first day.”
“Why not?” Georgiana would like to be so late she never shows up. “What are they going to do? Fire me?”
Claudelia laughs. “Holy Mother, don’t tell me you’re still moaning about your placement.”
Georgiana looks over at her, her mouth in a knot. “Yes, Claudelia. I am still moaning about my
Sadie gives the book a shove that sends it flying to the floor.
Marigold is having a hard time trying to figure out what the bright side of this situation might be, or how to make the best of it.
“You’re picking that up,” she says, but her mouth looks as if it’s saying something else. Something pleasant and possibly full of praise.
Sadie yawns.
At last people start getting to their feet and putting the desks back in rows, and Bonnie charges into the room. “No problems? Everything OK?”
“Yeah, fine,” says Marigold. “But she is very quiet.”
“She’s shy,” says Bonnie. “It’ll take a little while for her to get used to you.”
Marigold lowers her voice, assuming that Sadie isn’t deaf and has heard every word she’s said. “I don’t know, Mrs Kupferberg, I don’t think I’m very good with Sadie. Maybe someone el—”
“There is no one else.” Bonnie Kupferberg, it seems, can also smile with delight while imparting bad news. “You’re my last hope. Everybody else has given up on her. Even the teachers.”
“Oh, but—”
“If you don’t try, she’ll just sit there like she did all last spring till her mother finally shows up to take her home.”
“But I only have to do twenty hours a year,” Marigold explains. “And I—”
“You will come next week, won’t you? Besides everything else, I’ve lost six volunteers since last year.” She runs her hands through her cloud of hair, as though that’s where they might be. “I’m really desperate.”
She looks desperate. Which makes Marigold feel guilty.
It is only twenty hours, Marigold reminds herself; she’s already done more than two. And it’s not like she has to work; all she has to do is sit there. Possibly read a book. She might even read a book she wants to read. And at last Marigold finds a thin but glowing silver lining in this particular cloud: the sooner she puts in her time, the sooner she can stop coming at all.
“Well, I guess I could make it next week.”
It isn’t just her mother that Marigold doesn’t like to disappoint.
Chapter Seven
No View of the Ocean, Either
When the bell rings at the end of the school day Georgiana usually is off like a horse at the Kentucky Derby. Today, however, Georgiana lingers as if she’s been at a party that she doesn’t want to end. She double-checks that she’s written down the assignment; she carefully gathers up her books and zips them into her backpack; she rises from her seat only when every other student has left the room. Mr McCrimber finishes erasing the board and looks over, surprised to find her still behind him. Mr McCrimber has taught her before: Georgiana is always the last one to take her seat, and the first one to jump out of it. Maybe she’s not feeling well. Maybe she’s being bullied and is trying to avoid a confrontation.
“Are you all right, Georgiana?” She smiles and says she’s fine. He watches her drift across the room and out the door, to where Claudelia is waiting for her with a bored expression on her face. But when Mr McCrimber leaves himself the two of them are only a few feet from the classroom. Maybe it’s drugs.
Claudelia shuffles along beside Georgiana. “Can’t we go a little faster? I’m getting a cramp in my calf.”
“You go on. You don’t have to stay with me.” Georgiana waves her ahead. “I’m not in a hurry.”
“I got that part,” says Claudelia. “If you went any slower we’d be going backwards. But I thought you start your community service this afternoon. You don’t want to be late on your first day.”
“Why not?” Georgiana would like to be so late she never shows up. “What are they going to do? Fire me?”
Claudelia laughs. “Holy Mother, don’t tell me you’re still moaning about your placement.”
Georgiana looks over at her, her mouth in a knot. “Yes, Claudelia. I am still moaning about my
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