Max folds his arms and leans forward across his desk. “Yes. There’s going to be a fight,” he says.
“There’s isn’t going to be a fight,” Mrs. Hall says.
Suki is holding one of her small wooden blocks. She has a collection of them that she keeps in a box and I’ve seen her take one out when she gets nervous. She’s nervous now.
Shay glares at Keisha. Keisha is new this year and I’m surprised she’s said something.
Everyone is all riled up and I don’t even know how this all happened.
While Mrs. Hall tells them both to cool off and points out to Max that it’s foolish to root for a fight, Mrs. Silver waves me toward the door. What the heck is going on?
Once we’re out in the hallway, I can tell by Mrs. Silver’s face that it’s going to be another one of those times when I’ll have to say I’m sorry or explain why I’ve done something. The thing is, I have no idea why I’m even in trouble this time.
I stuff my hands in my pockets to keep them from doing something I’ll regret. I wish I could put my mouth in there, too.
“I just don’t get it, Ally,” she says. “You’ve done other things that have been inappropriate, but this is just . . . well . . . different. It’s not like you.”
It figures; I do something nice and she says it isn’t like me. And I can’t understand how buying a card is bad.
“Ally,” Mrs. Silver says. “If you’re looking for attention, this isn’t the way to do it.”
She has that wrong. I need attention like a fish needs a snorkel.
The door swings all the way open, hitting the lockers, and Oliver springs from the room. “Ally,” he says. “I think you gave her that card to tell her you’re sorry she has to leave us to go have some dumb baby. She’s probably really sad. I feel sorry for her, too.”
What is he talking about?
“Oliver?” Mrs. Silver asks. “Is there a reason you’re out here?”
“Yeah! I was going to . . . um . . . I was . . . going to go to the boys’ room. Yeah. That’s it.” And off he runs.
“Can I just go now?” I blurt out, feeling like the job of just standing here is something I can’t do for another second.
She shakes her head a bit as she speaks. “I just don’t get it. Why in the world would you give a pregnant woman a sympathy card?”
Sympathy card? I think. And I think some more. And then I remember. My mom sends those to people when someone they love dies. My stomach churns, wondering what Mrs. Hall must have thought.
“You do know what a sympathy card is, Ally, don’t you?”
I should deny that I know, but I nod because I don’t want to have to hear Mrs. Silver explain it. And besides, she’ll think I’m even dumber than I am. If that’s possible.
“Then why would you do such a thing?”
I stand tall, but everything inside shrinks. The thing is, I feel real bad. I mean, I felt terrible when the neighbor’s dog died, never mind if a baby had died. I just didn’t know it was a sad card like that. All I could see were beautiful yellow flowers. And all I could imagine was how happy I was going to make her.
But there are piles of reasons I can’t tell the absolute truth.
Not to her.
Not to anyone.
No matter how many times I have prayed and worked and hoped, reading for me is still like trying to make sense of a can of alphabet soup that’s been dumped on a plate. I just don’t know how other people do it.
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