Authors: Dianna Dorisi Winget
I nodded, though I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what he’d said. He might’ve told me to jump over the moon, and I would’ve nodded just the same.
“Tell him I’ll put his letter with the rest of his daddy’s mail being held for him. And as soon as he gets outta solitary, he’ll get it.”
“He missed the last couple days,” I said. “I’ll tell him soon as he comes back.”
“No,” Ben said, “you need to tell him now. It’s not right to make him wait.”
That caught my attention enough to make me look up.
Ben held his cell phone, his thumb poised over the buttons. “I found his number. You ready?”
No, I wanted to say. Not really. But he pushed a couple buttons and handed me the phone. “Step outside if you want a little privacy. But you make darn sure he understands.”
So with no chance to get ready, I stood outside the garage and listened as the phone rang at Ramsay’s house. And somebody with a deep voice answered—one of the older brothers, I guessed—and he yelled for Ramsay. And in a quiet, wooden voice I told him what Ben had told me to say, and then added that I knew he hadn’t really been sick and I hoped he came back to school soon. And it wasn’t until I hung up that I realized I hadn’t given him a chance to say anything at all. But it was too late, and I didn’t care anyway.
I set Ben’s phone on a tool box inside the door, and he watched me but didn’t say anything. Then I went and got a long, cold drink of water from the garden hose. I didn’t feel ready to face anyone, so I crawled underneath the trampoline to lay in the shade until my hands quit shaking. Ben hadn’t said if Mama knew about Ramsay’s letter, but I had a feeling she didn’t, and that was fine by me.
When I finally went inside, Mama chatted on the phone, and Ginger slumped in front of the TV munching on potato chips, so I was spared having to talk to either of them. I passed Mama with a little wave, like everything was hunky dory, and she smiled back. But as soon as I got into Ginger’s room, I caught a glimpse of the cap I’d planned to give Ben, peeking out from my side of the closet, almost like it was laughing at me, and it made everything feel so hopeless.
I flopped across my bed and started to cry again. Ben thought I was fighting him on purpose, that I was
trying
to make things hard for him. And realizing how he felt caused a deep ache in my bones, way worse than any flu.
T
he next couple of weeks drifted by, kinda distant and hazy, like something you see out of the corner of your eye but don’t really focus on. Ramsay came back to school, though we barely said boo to each other, and I got the feeling he was pretty much drifting too.
Ben didn’t say anything more about Ramsay, and even though he didn’t act put out with me, I couldn’t help tiptoeing around him, being extra careful not to say or do anything to upset him.
The storage closet tripled in size, from a cramped, cluttered space to a nursery with plywood walls, a double paned window, and a floor made of pine planks that Ginger and I sanded, using little blocks of wood with sandpaper nailed around them. Mama coated the walls with white primer, followed by soft, sea-green paint that reminded me of the Atlantic when the sun hit the shallows near shore.
When we weren’t helping on the nursery, Ginger and I worked on our book reports. The day before they were due was the same day Mama had her doctor appointment—the one where Dr. Morgan told her she could go back to work on a very limited basis, but it would be safer if she didn’t.
Mama and Ben didn’t argue much, at least not in a serious way. But that evening, they had their worst fight ever. Ben told Mama she
had
to quit work, and Mama said it was
her
decision to make. They both raised their voices, and Ginger and I hid in the bedroom and listened to every word.
We were trying to practice the oral part of our book report, on account of the next day we had to give them in front of the class. It was the day I’d been looking forward to for several weeks—the day we finally got to put Angela in her place. But it was tough to think about Angela or the book report with the way Mama and Ben were carrying on. The anger in their voices made my heart pound and my belly hurt.
Ginger sat in her bean bag with her knees drawn up and her lips pressed together, gripping the book report in her hands. “Why does Mama wanna keep working so bad? Is it the money, or don’t she want to be home with us?”
I didn’t know how to answer. But it gave me a start to hear her ask the very same question I’d been wondering. Mama and Ginger seemed to get along so good, like they were a real mama and daughter. But maybe Ginger was just a good actress. Maybe deep down, she had some of the same fears about Mama’s love for her that I had about Ben. And I thought it strange how the possibility left me feeling almost relieved, like a cool rain in July.
Finally, Mama’s voice clogged with tears, and the screen door slammed, and I heard Ben stride across the porch and down the steps. I scrambled up. “I gotta go check on Mama.”
She slouched on a kitchen chair with her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. Seeing her like that made me want to cry too, it made me real angry at Ben. I crept up and put an arm around her, and she flinched. “Oh, Piper Lee, I didn’t know you were standing there.”
I held out the box of tissues. “Are you okay?”
She took a tissue and balled it up in her fingers. “I’m fine, honey. Just … a little put out is all.”
“Is Ben gonna make you quit?”
She sniffed. “He’s doing his best.”
“Mama, why do you wanna go back to work so bad?”
She wiped her nose. “I don’t really … I don’t know what I want. I just hate sitting around so much when I feel perfectly fine, and I know we need the money besides.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say. I gave her shoulder a pat. “I like having you home more.”
She put an arm around my waist and pulled me close. “I know, honey. I like being home too. I guess I should be more appreciative of the way Ben looks after me.”
“So what are you gonna’ do?”
“I’ll give Hattie a call. See if there’s a way I could just come in one day a week for awhile, maybe Ben could live with that.” She tipped her chin up and scooted back her chair. “Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.” She planted a kiss on the top of my head and then took her cell phone outside to the porch swing.
I went back to the bedroom feeling better. Ginger still sat on the bean bag clutching the book report. I could tell from the look in her eyes that she was suffering a real bad case of stage fright. “I don’t wanna do this, Piper Lee.”
Impatience surged through me. “You have to. We’ve spent too much time workin’ on it for you to chicken out now.”
She gave me a long, helpless look before her shoulders slumped.
I squatted in front of her and leaned in close. “You want Angela to keep bullying you for the rest of the year?”
“No.”
“You want her to do it to other kids?”
“Course not.”
“Okay, then. We got to teach her a lesson. Show her that she can’t just steamroll over people any time she wants. Now read me the report one more time.”
She swallowed and stared off into the air for a long minute, then she puffed out a breath and started reading. I rocked back on my heels to listen, and I couldn’t help but slap my knee and grin on account of how good it was … amazingly good.
Ginger didn’t look convinced. As soon as she finished reading she put her hand over her face and peered at me through spread fingers. “Angela’s gonna kill me.”
“No, she’s not. She won’t have the chance. We’ll tell Mrs. Holloway what’s been goin’ on, and then Angela will get in trouble for acting like a bully.”
“We might get in trouble too, y’know?”
That gave me pause, but I gave a carefree shrug and tried to act like it didn’t. Because even though Ginger was right, I couldn’t bear to think about it. Our plan had to work—I had to come out looking like a hero. And not just any old run of the mill hero, but a real knight in shining goodness. Because if I didn’t, I knew Ben would never, ever change his opinion of me.
• • •
The next morning, Mrs. Holloway took attendance and passed out a list of spelling words for the week, then told us to get ready to give our oral book reports.
“I’m going to choose the books in random order,” she said, sounding all perky, like this was something she’d been looking forward to for a long time. “And each team can choose who’d like to do the actual reading. If there’s too much dickering, I’ll pick.”
Ginger’s eyes turned into huge saucers, and she fixed me with a terrified look. I could read her mind perfectly. What if Angela refused to read the book report and Ginger had to? Our whole plan would be ruined.
Brian read first, followed by Kinsey, then Rowdy, but I didn’t hear a word any of them said. I felt like I had ants swarming inside my belly. Finally, Mrs. Holloway said, “Next is Huckleberry Finn. Angela and Ginger, are you girls ready?”
Ginger sat ramrod straight. Her mouth opened like she was about to say something, but no sound came out.
“I’m ready,” Angela said, and she paraded up to stand beside the teacher’s desk with a smug look. “I worked real hard on this.”
Ginger ’bout wilted right out of her desk.
Mrs. Holloway seemed delighted. “Well, I’m so glad to hear that, Angela. Go ahead whenever you’re ready.”
I wiped sweaty palms across my jeans.
Angela raised the paper with a flourish, and a twitter of laughter rippled through the room. She cleared her throat like some queen calling her royal court to order. “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain,” she began. “Huckleberry Finn was a very good book. I ended up liking it more than I thought I would. I especially liked Huck and all the crazy stuff he does. Huck Finn is the main character. He’s from St. Peters, Mississippi and is being raised by his Grandma Douglas.”
Mrs. Holloway’s smile faded a bit.
“Huck’s dad, Pap, is not very nice, but he does love Huckleberry. He yells at him a lot, though. At one point in the story Huck gets tired of being yelled at by his dad and decides to fake his own death. He kills a rooster and puts some of the blood on himself.”
“Ewwwhhh!” Kinsey gasped, and everybody laughed.
Angela looked up with a grin. “I know. Gross, right?”
Mrs. Holloway cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Angela, but what type of animal did you say Huck killed?”
“A rooster. Why?”
“Because it was definitely
not
a rooster.”
Angela’s grin faded. She squinted at the book report. “But it says a rooster.”
Mrs. Holloway arched an eyebrow. “Ginger, do you agree with that?” Ginger’s face was so white her freckles popped out. “Uh, no, ma’am,” she squeaked. “It was … a pig.”
Angela’s mouth dropped open. She scowled at Ginger. “Then why did you …” Too late, she caught herself. She turned to our teacher and jabbed a finger toward Ginger. “It was
her
turn to read when we got to that part. I thought she said it was a rooster.” The whole class started to laugh, and Angela’s throat bobbed as she swallowed.
Mrs. Holloway raised a hand to quiet everyone. “All right now, y’all. That’s enough. Go ahead and continue Angela.”
Angela stared back at her paper, but she didn’t look quite as smug as before. “So, like I was saying, Huck kills a
pig
and spreads its blood around the cabin. Then he hides out for a while and ends up meeting a runaway slave named Jerry.”
“Jim,” Rowdy said. “Not Jerry.”
I faked a yawn to hide my grin.
Angela rolled her eyes at Rowdy. “Jim … Jerry, whoever. The two of them decide to stick together, and on the night of a full moon they escape by stealing a horse and cart. Then they …”
Mrs. Holloway cleared her throat. She crossed her arms. “Angela, did you
really
read the book?”
Angela’s brows knit together as she snorted. “Why, did I get something else wrong?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Holloway said. “I’m afraid you’ve gotten most everything wrong. Huckleberry Finn is from Missouri, not Mississippi, and the widow Douglas is not his grandmother. His father, Pap, is an alcoholic and does not show Huck any love at all. As Rowdy correctly pointed out, the slave’s name is Jim, not Jerry. And the two of them escape by steamboat, not horse and cart.”
Angela stared back at her, stunned. “But … I
did
read it.”
“You obviously didn’t,” our teacher stated firmly, “and there’s no point in pretending. I’d appreciate it if you’d just be honest with me.”
There wasn’t a peep in the classroom.
Ginger went from white to lima bean green.
But then Tommy Davis garbled out the sound of a crowing rooster, and a ripple of laughter quickly spread into a roar. A red tinge crept up Angela’s neck and bloomed her checks bright as a plum tomato.
Mrs. Holloway snapped her fingers at Tommy, but before she could speak, Angela did something I never expected in a million years. Her bottom lip started jumping around like it was alive, then her face squished into a huge wrinkle and she burst into a flood of sloppy tears.
The laughter stopped as fast as it started. Everybody stared in slack jawed wonder as Angela crumpled the book report into a ball and hurled it to the floor. “Who cares,” she shrieked. “It was a stupid book anyway.” Then she bolted from the room.
Mrs. Holloway put her hands on her hips and fixed the rest of us with a severe look. “That is quite enough class! Now y’all review your spelling words while I go and check on Angela. And I don’t want to hear a peep from any of you.”
Icy cold fingers raced down my neck as I fumbled for my list of spelling words. Ginger sat stiff as a 2x4, her hands curled into fists.
Tommy waited until Mrs. Holloway had slipped from the room, then he started in with his rooster crow again. Most of the kids slapped their hands over their mouths in an attempt to smother their laughter. Even Ginger’s lips slowly turned up in a crooked smile.
I waited for the laughing bug to bite me too. After all, our plan had worked perfectly. Angela had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. She’d embarrassed herself in front of the whole class and proved that she wasn’t Miss Awesome Arizona.