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Authors: Naomi Kinsman
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steps. I’d gotten used to the cold shoulder, but this was different. People were truly angry.
As I turned the corner toward our classroom, Ruth collided with me, red-faced and breathless. She pulled me to the side of the corridor and opened her mouth to say something, but just then Tess and Nicole passed by. Tess raised an eyebrow at Ruth, and Ruth shrunk back against the lockers.
Tess tapped my shoulder three times, her sharp fingernail jabbing me deeper each time. I rounded on her. “What?”
“So, yesterday, you went to the principal’s office during lunch. Today, Mario, Nick, and Demitri are suspended. How do you think that happened, Sadie?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I was in the office to call my mom, to ask if I could go to Ruth’s house after school.”
“And to report the boys for starting the fire?” Nicole asked.
I studied the pained expression on Ruth’s face. Had she told on the boys? She couldn’t believe Tess and Nicole’s accusation, not after I’d refused to tell so many times.
Finally I said, “I didn’t tell on them.” Though it was pointless. If Tess and Nicole had decided I told, nothing I said now would change their minds.
“And even if Sadie did tell, everyone knows Mario, Nick, and Demitri did it,” Ruth said. “They weren’t at the community meeting the night of the fire.”
Ruth was trying, but of everything she could have said, blaming the boys was low on the helpful scale.
“Frankie said we couldn’t trust you to keep out of our business.” Tess leaned in so close I could smell her winter-green toothpaste. “Watch your back, Zitzie.”
As she and Nicole walked away, I turned to Ruth. “Even if Sadie did tell, Ruth?”
Ruth was small to begin with, but now, with her shoulders slumped and her eyes on the ground, she seemed tiny. “I’m sorry, Sadie.”
The bell rang and she walked into the classroom, leaving me in the hallway to wonder whether she meant she was sorry because she had told and let me take the blame, or she was sorry because she thought I had told and didn’t know if she could trust me.
I headed into class and curled into my chair, wishing Pippa were here. Pippa would never doubt me, and I would never doubt her.
The day stretched on forever. People treated me like the sludge lining the cafeteria garbage cans. I avoided Ruth. Friends trusted one another — period. And either Ruth didn’t trust me, or worse, she had betrayed me and was now letting me take the blame. To believe that, though, meant I didn’t trust Ruth. If I could just wait long enough, maybe the truth of what happened would come clear, without some horrible showdown between Ruth and me. An hour before the final bell, I started watching the clock. Fifty-five minutes. Thirty-two minutes. Seventeen minutes. Twelve minutes.
“Before you go,” Ms. Barton said, “I want to introduce our word study project. You will each pick a word to investigate. For instance, you might pick the word
dream
.”
Abby didn’t bother to raise her hand. “What do you mean, investigate a word?”
Ms. Barton opened a blue cloth-covered notebook, searching for a particular page. “I’ve already begun researching my word, which is
mother
.”
She read, “A mother is not a person to lean on but aperson to make leaning unnecessary.’ — Dorothy Canfield Fisher.”
“Who’s that?” Abby again.
“She was an educator and a writer. But that’s not the point.” Ms. Barton read again from her book, “In the dictionary, the word mother is defined as ‘A woman in relation to a child or children to whom she has given birth.’ “
“What about mothers who adopt children?” Erin asked. “They’re mothers too.”
“The dictionary leaves a bit out, doesn’t it?” Ms. Barton said. “Words like
dream
and
mother
are hard to define because they represent ideas that can’t be summed up in just a few words. The word
truth
is another one. Listen to this quote: ‘The truth is more important than
As I turned the corner toward our classroom, Ruth collided with me, red-faced and breathless. She pulled me to the side of the corridor and opened her mouth to say something, but just then Tess and Nicole passed by. Tess raised an eyebrow at Ruth, and Ruth shrunk back against the lockers.
Tess tapped my shoulder three times, her sharp fingernail jabbing me deeper each time. I rounded on her. “What?”
“So, yesterday, you went to the principal’s office during lunch. Today, Mario, Nick, and Demitri are suspended. How do you think that happened, Sadie?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I was in the office to call my mom, to ask if I could go to Ruth’s house after school.”
“And to report the boys for starting the fire?” Nicole asked.
I studied the pained expression on Ruth’s face. Had she told on the boys? She couldn’t believe Tess and Nicole’s accusation, not after I’d refused to tell so many times.
Finally I said, “I didn’t tell on them.” Though it was pointless. If Tess and Nicole had decided I told, nothing I said now would change their minds.
“And even if Sadie did tell, everyone knows Mario, Nick, and Demitri did it,” Ruth said. “They weren’t at the community meeting the night of the fire.”
Ruth was trying, but of everything she could have said, blaming the boys was low on the helpful scale.
“Frankie said we couldn’t trust you to keep out of our business.” Tess leaned in so close I could smell her winter-green toothpaste. “Watch your back, Zitzie.”
As she and Nicole walked away, I turned to Ruth. “Even if Sadie did tell, Ruth?”
Ruth was small to begin with, but now, with her shoulders slumped and her eyes on the ground, she seemed tiny. “I’m sorry, Sadie.”
The bell rang and she walked into the classroom, leaving me in the hallway to wonder whether she meant she was sorry because she had told and let me take the blame, or she was sorry because she thought I had told and didn’t know if she could trust me.
I headed into class and curled into my chair, wishing Pippa were here. Pippa would never doubt me, and I would never doubt her.
The day stretched on forever. People treated me like the sludge lining the cafeteria garbage cans. I avoided Ruth. Friends trusted one another — period. And either Ruth didn’t trust me, or worse, she had betrayed me and was now letting me take the blame. To believe that, though, meant I didn’t trust Ruth. If I could just wait long enough, maybe the truth of what happened would come clear, without some horrible showdown between Ruth and me. An hour before the final bell, I started watching the clock. Fifty-five minutes. Thirty-two minutes. Seventeen minutes. Twelve minutes.
“Before you go,” Ms. Barton said, “I want to introduce our word study project. You will each pick a word to investigate. For instance, you might pick the word
dream
.”
Abby didn’t bother to raise her hand. “What do you mean, investigate a word?”
Ms. Barton opened a blue cloth-covered notebook, searching for a particular page. “I’ve already begun researching my word, which is
mother
.”
She read, “A mother is not a person to lean on but aperson to make leaning unnecessary.’ — Dorothy Canfield Fisher.”
“Who’s that?” Abby again.
“She was an educator and a writer. But that’s not the point.” Ms. Barton read again from her book, “In the dictionary, the word mother is defined as ‘A woman in relation to a child or children to whom she has given birth.’ “
“What about mothers who adopt children?” Erin asked. “They’re mothers too.”
“The dictionary leaves a bit out, doesn’t it?” Ms. Barton said. “Words like
dream
and
mother
are hard to define because they represent ideas that can’t be summed up in just a few words. The word
truth
is another one. Listen to this quote: ‘The truth is more important than
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