enemy, and wishing again she hadn’t let herself get caught up in Sally’s scheme.
But I didn’t mean any harm , she told herself. She tried to concentrate on what Miss Hatcher was saying, but for the first hour all she was conscious of was the memory of Susan Peterson’s eyes, wrathful, staring at her. When the first recess bell finally rang, Michelle hesitated, then approached the teacher’s desk.
“Miss Hatcher?” she said hesitantly. Corinne looked up at her, and smiled.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, concerned by Michelle’s troubled expression.
“I was wondering—could I change my seat?”
“Already? But you’ve only had it two hours.”
“I know,” Michelle said. She shuffled her feet uncomfortably, wondering how to tell the teacher what had happened. Then she blurted the story out.
“It was supposed to be a joke. I mean, Sally told methat Susan Peterson likes Jeff Benson, and she thought it would be fun if we took the seats beside Jeff so Susan couldn’t sit next to him. And I went along with her.” Michelle seemed to be on the verge of tears as she continued. “I didn’t mean for Susan to be mad at me—I mean, I don’t even know her, and—and.…” Her voice trailed off helplessly.
“It’s all right,” Corinne told her gently. “I know how things like that can happen, particularly when everything is new and strange. Go on outside, and when you come back, I’ll change everybody’s seats.” She paused a moment, then: “Whom would you like to sit with?”
“Well—Sally, I guess. Or Jeff. They’re the only people I know.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Corinne promised. “Run along now—there’s only ten minutes left.”
Michelle, unsure whether she had done the right thing, walked slowly out to the schoolyard. In a group under a large maple, Sally Carstairs, Susan Peterson, and Jeff Benson seemed to be arguing about something. Feeling terribly self-conscious, Michelle approached the group, and wasn’t surprised when they stopped talking as she drew near. Sally smiled and called out to her, but Susan Peterson ignored her, quickly moving off in the opposite direction.
“Is Susan mad at me?” Michelle asked anxiously. Sally shrugged.
“So what if she is? She’ll get over it.” Then, before Michelle could say anything more about it, Sally changed the subject. “Isn’t Miss Hatcher neat? And wait till you see her boyfriend! He’s too dreamy for words.”
“Who is he?”
“Mr. Hartwick. He’s a psychologist,” Sally told her. “He’s only here once a week, but he lives in town. His daughter’s in the sixth grade. Her name’s Lisa, and she’s awful.”
Michelle didn’t hear the comment about Lisa; she was more interested in the father. She groaned, remembering the batteries of tests she and her classmates had been forced to endure each year in Boston. “Are we all going to have to take tests?”
“Nah,” Jeff replied. “Mr. Hartwick doesn’t do anything unless someone gets in trouble. Then they have to talk to him. Mom says you used to talk to the principal when you were in trouble. Now you talk to Mr. Hartwick. Mom says it was better when you talked to the principal, and got a licking.” He shrugged eloquently to let anyone who was interested know that the matter was of supreme indifference to him.
When the bell summoning them back to class rang a few minutes later, Michelle had all but forgotten her embarrassment, but it was quickly brought back to mind when Miss Hatcher held up a blank seating chart. There was a startled buzzing among the students, which Corinne quickly silenced.
“I’m going to try something new with this class,” she said smoothly. “As you know, I’ve always felt that seventh-graders were old enough to decide for themselves where they want to sit.” Michelle squirmed, sure that everyone was watching her, and that they knew whatever Miss Hatcher was about to do was her fault. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem
But I didn’t mean any harm , she told herself. She tried to concentrate on what Miss Hatcher was saying, but for the first hour all she was conscious of was the memory of Susan Peterson’s eyes, wrathful, staring at her. When the first recess bell finally rang, Michelle hesitated, then approached the teacher’s desk.
“Miss Hatcher?” she said hesitantly. Corinne looked up at her, and smiled.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, concerned by Michelle’s troubled expression.
“I was wondering—could I change my seat?”
“Already? But you’ve only had it two hours.”
“I know,” Michelle said. She shuffled her feet uncomfortably, wondering how to tell the teacher what had happened. Then she blurted the story out.
“It was supposed to be a joke. I mean, Sally told methat Susan Peterson likes Jeff Benson, and she thought it would be fun if we took the seats beside Jeff so Susan couldn’t sit next to him. And I went along with her.” Michelle seemed to be on the verge of tears as she continued. “I didn’t mean for Susan to be mad at me—I mean, I don’t even know her, and—and.…” Her voice trailed off helplessly.
“It’s all right,” Corinne told her gently. “I know how things like that can happen, particularly when everything is new and strange. Go on outside, and when you come back, I’ll change everybody’s seats.” She paused a moment, then: “Whom would you like to sit with?”
“Well—Sally, I guess. Or Jeff. They’re the only people I know.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Corinne promised. “Run along now—there’s only ten minutes left.”
Michelle, unsure whether she had done the right thing, walked slowly out to the schoolyard. In a group under a large maple, Sally Carstairs, Susan Peterson, and Jeff Benson seemed to be arguing about something. Feeling terribly self-conscious, Michelle approached the group, and wasn’t surprised when they stopped talking as she drew near. Sally smiled and called out to her, but Susan Peterson ignored her, quickly moving off in the opposite direction.
“Is Susan mad at me?” Michelle asked anxiously. Sally shrugged.
“So what if she is? She’ll get over it.” Then, before Michelle could say anything more about it, Sally changed the subject. “Isn’t Miss Hatcher neat? And wait till you see her boyfriend! He’s too dreamy for words.”
“Who is he?”
“Mr. Hartwick. He’s a psychologist,” Sally told her. “He’s only here once a week, but he lives in town. His daughter’s in the sixth grade. Her name’s Lisa, and she’s awful.”
Michelle didn’t hear the comment about Lisa; she was more interested in the father. She groaned, remembering the batteries of tests she and her classmates had been forced to endure each year in Boston. “Are we all going to have to take tests?”
“Nah,” Jeff replied. “Mr. Hartwick doesn’t do anything unless someone gets in trouble. Then they have to talk to him. Mom says you used to talk to the principal when you were in trouble. Now you talk to Mr. Hartwick. Mom says it was better when you talked to the principal, and got a licking.” He shrugged eloquently to let anyone who was interested know that the matter was of supreme indifference to him.
When the bell summoning them back to class rang a few minutes later, Michelle had all but forgotten her embarrassment, but it was quickly brought back to mind when Miss Hatcher held up a blank seating chart. There was a startled buzzing among the students, which Corinne quickly silenced.
“I’m going to try something new with this class,” she said smoothly. “As you know, I’ve always felt that seventh-graders were old enough to decide for themselves where they want to sit.” Michelle squirmed, sure that everyone was watching her, and that they knew whatever Miss Hatcher was about to do was her fault. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem
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