The Year of Billy Miller (2 page)

“Of course you will,” said Papa. He was looking right at Billy, directly into his eyes.

Billy glanced down at what was left of his pancakes. With his thick, work-gnarled finger, Papa lifted Billy’s chin. Their eyes met and held. “Ms. Silver and the great nation of China might think that this is the Year of the Rabbit,” said Papa. “But I know—and I know everything—that this is the Year of Billy Miller.”

Billy smiled. He couldn’t not. He repeated Papa’s words in his head. This is the Year of Billy Miller.

2

Billy was waiting by the front door. “I’m ready,” he said.

Papa was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “We’re ready,” he yelled up to Sal.

“I’m ready, too,” Sal called back from the upstairs hallway. “It’s the Drop Sisters who are slow this morning. They all have to go to the bathroom.”

“Well, tell them to hurry up,” said Papa. “We need to leave.”

“Coming,” said Sal. The toilet flushed.

Then Sal descended the stairs dragging a grungy pillowcase behind her. The pillowcase was full and lumpy, and it bumped silently down each step. Inside the pillowcase were the five Drop Sisters: Raindrop, Dewdrop, Snowdrop, Gumdrop, and Lemondrop. They were nearly identical, pale yellow plush whales. Each had blue button eyes and water spouts made of glittery white yarn.

Raindrop was the original Drop Sister and was the most worn, the most beloved. The others had been bought by Mama and Papa or given by relatives in case Raindrop was ever lost. They’d been hidden in Mama and Papa’s closet. One day Sal found them by accident and adopted them instantly.

“I think you’re smarter after you go to the bathroom,” said Sal.

“I didn’t know that,” said Papa. With his hand on her shoulder, he scooted Sal along. “We don’t want to be late.”

“I wish I could go to school,” said Sal.

“You will,” said Papa. “Soon enough.”

“I wish I could go now,” said Sal.

“I wish you could go for me,” said Billy.

“Go, go, go,” said Papa. “Everybody go.”

And they—Billy, Papa, Sal, and the Drop Sisters—were off to Georgia O’Keeffe Elementary School in Constant, Wisconsin.

Billy’s best friend, Ned, was leaning against the stop sign at the corner. His mother, Amy, was standing beside him, fluffing his hair. She glanced at her watch.

“We’re running a little late,” said Papa, leading the way, nearing the corner. “Sorry.”

“Hi, Lumpy,” Ned said to Billy. He laughed. “Hi, Papa.” He ignored Sal.

“My lump’s almost gone,” said Billy. He hoped that when the lump disappeared so, too, would his worrying.

“Don’t call him Papa,” said Sal. “He’s not
your
papa. You should call him Cliff.”

Ned paid no attention to Sal.

Ned always called Billy’s father Papa. Billy thought this was funny, but it bothered Sal. Ned called his own father Dad; everyone Billy knew called their own fathers Dad. When he was little, Ned had thought that Papa was a name like Billy or Cliff or Sal. Now he knew better, but it was a habit hard to break and a joke everyone but Sal enjoyed. Lately Billy had considered calling Papa “Dad” in public. He wondered if the word
Papa
sounded babyish. It was one thing for Ned to use it for fun, but another thing for Billy to use it for real.

“I can’t believe you two are second graders,” said Amy.

“I can’t believe you’re walking us to school,” said Ned.

“Just today,” said Amy. “Give your poor mother a little joy.”

“And we’ll stay a safe distance behind you,” said Papa. “We won’t embarrass you.”

It was only five short blocks to school. Billy and Ned walked as fast as they could, to get away from their parents. Walking fast made something click inside Billy. He felt as if he had a motor embedded in his chest, independent of his control. The motor was revving up. “Let’s run,” he said.

After several long strides, Billy heard the joyful, rowdy sounds of his schoolmates, and was drawn to them as if he were being pulled by a strong invisible force. When they reached the edge of the playground, Billy turned around. Papa, Sal, and Amy were more than a block away. He and Ned waved good-bye and then plunged into a noisy group of kids charging around the playground like a pack of dogs.

The bell rang much too soon for Billy. Everyone lined up along the fence by grade. Mr. Tuttle, the principal, kept saying, “Welcome back!” with a megaphone. Billy and Ned pretended they held megaphones and yelled, “Welcome back to you!”

And then, at Mr. Tuttle’s command, Billy’s line moved. Caught up in the motion, he was pushed and pulled until he found himself funneled into the old brick building and entering Room 2.

3

Ms. Silver had chopsticks in her hair. That was the first thing Billy noticed about her. Her wavy blond hair was coiled into a bun and held in place with two shiny red chopsticks. Billy’s parents liked to eat with chopsticks sometimes, but he had never seen chopsticks on someone’s head before.

Without thinking, Billy whispered, “Chop, chop” as he filed past her. Ms. Silver just smiled at him, but then, she seemed to be smiling at everyone, even Ned who asked, “How many days of school until summer vacation?”

There were six tables with four chairs each arranged around the room. “Look for the place with your name,” said Ms. Silver. “When you find your place, you may sit down.”

“Here’s my seat,” said Ned. He pulled out his chair and plopped onto it. Then he patted the tabletop next to him. “Sit here,” he told Billy.

It made sense that he would be next to Ned. After all, they were neighbors and best friends. Maybe Ms. Silver knew that they were friends. Billy sat down without looking at the name tag at his place.

Billy felt breath on the top of his head. He turned around. Standing too close was a girl he didn’t recognize. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, her arms were crossed, and her fingers were drumming on her elbows at a rapid-fire pace.

“Excuse me,” she said. “You’re sitting at my place.” She paused. “Unless
your
name is Emma Sparks, too. Then we have a problem.”

The girl stepped aside to let Billy get up. “If your name is Billy Miller, you sit there,” she said, pointing. “If your name is Grace Cotter, you sit there.” She pointed again. “He must be Ned Henderson,” she continued, nodding. And then she pointed once more, this time at Billy. “I have a feeling you’re Billy Miller.”

Everything about the girl made it seem to Billy that she should be, at least, a third grader. She talked like an adult. She walked like an adult. And she wore her sweater tied around her waist, which for some reason seemed very adult.

Billy shuffled around the table to his spot, kitty-corner from Ned.

Grace Cotter slipped into her chair. Billy had known Grace since kindergarten. She was so shy she seemed almost invisible. Like vacuums, her wide eyes were sucking in everything.

When the four of them had settled into their proper places, Emma Sparks smiled an enormous smile. “My nickname’s Emster,” she told them. “You can call me Emster.”

Billy misheard her. “
Ham
ster?” he said in a voice much too loud. “Your name is
Ham
ster?”

Everyone laughed. The laughter was pleasing to Billy. It gave him a tingle. Whispers of “Hamster” rippled throughout the classroom.

Emma glared at him. “I said
Em
ster. E-M-S-T-E-R.”