Madeleine and I stood on opposite ends of the music room, our arms folded across our chests. Mrs. Hewitt swept through the doorway holding a bright yellow folder. She opened it and pulled out two sheets of paper—one for Madeleine and another one for me.
“What is this?” Madeleine held the sheet music away from her body like it was a banana peel.
Mrs. Hewitt sighed loudly. “I saw what happened in class today, ladies.” She leveled us with a look. “And because I’m a music teacher, we’re going to resolve this”—she gestured wildly at the space between Madeleine and me—“with song.”
I raised my hand. “I’m really not much of a singer—”
Mrs. Hewitt cut me off. “It’s a lovely song, and for two weeks I want you both to stay after school on Monday and practice this duet. If, by any chance, you don’t cooperate and do your best, that two weeks will become three, which will become four and so forth.”
I glared at the song’s title, in all caps at the top of the page: “WE’RE GOING TO BE FRIENDS.” This was a joke, right? I glanced around the room to see if maybe Ms. Smith, the principal, was hiding somewhere, ready to burst out laughing. Instead, I met Madeleine’s eyes. We finally had something else in common—mortification.
“My mom—” Madeleine started, but Mrs. Hewitt interrupted.
“Your parents have been notified.” She walked around the piano and bent over the keys. “Right now, they think you’re participating in an extra-credit music assignment. I would be happy to call them back and explain that this activity has since devolved to detention.”
The sharpness of her tone rang through the room. She was a tough cookie, Mrs. Hewitt. I wasn’t going to test her. Besides, after what had happened that morning, I couldn’t afford to get into any more trouble with Mom.
Without introduction, Mrs. Hewitt played the melody to “We’re Going to Be Friends.” After she’d finished, she waited a couple beats before saying, “Ready?”
Madeleine Brown and I stumbled our way through the first verse of the song.
I ran back to Mrs. Thomas’s class to grab my backpack before Mom came to pick me up from school. All the kids had left the classroom except CindeeRae Lemmings, teacher’s pet. Since school started, I had heard CindeeRae talk about her younger brother, soccer tryouts, her new Hot Stick rollers, all the books she was reading for the genre challenge, and of course, her lead as Annie, which had played at the Civic Auditorium that summer.
But unlike all the other times CindeeRae had come up to her desk to talk, Mrs. Thomas was not smiling with all her perfectly white teeth showing. Instead, Mrs. Thomas patted CindeeRae’s back while she cried, big dollops that left a slick spot on her desk.
“We got Lobster for Christmas two years ago. We named him that because he has red hair, too. He’s an Irish setter, and everyone loves him.” I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a string of snot was hanging from CindeeRae’s nose to the desktop. Mrs. Thomas must have noticed, too, because she pushed a handful of Kleenex toward her. CindeeRae cleaned herself up. “Who steals dogs? That’s the meanest thing I’ve ever heard.” Speaking that truth out loud must have made her even sadder, because she collapsed to the desk again, her shoulders bouncing with hiccuping sobs.
“Sweetie.” Mrs. Thomas pushed a strand of red curly hair from CindeeRae’s face and tucked it behind her ear. “Why don’t we call your mom so she can give you a ride home?”
CindeeRae sat up, her shoulders still hunched, and wiped tears from her face with the backs of both hands. Her cheeks were all splotchy and her breath uneven. She caught me watching her but didn’t look away. I thought of Genki and how sad I would be if he disappeared. I gave her a sad smile and she nodded at me like she understood.
“Okay, hon,” Mrs. Thomas said, guiding CindeeRae into the hall with a hand on her shoulder. “You head to the office and call your mom for a ride home.” We both watched her walk away, dragging her purple backpack behind her with one hand.
Mrs. Thomas turned around and smiled at me, all the shiny bangles on her wrists jingling as she brought her hands to her hips. “What are you still doing here, Kazu?”
“I stayed after for extra credit in music class.” I lifted my backpack from its hook, not meeting Mrs. Thomas’s eyes.
“Oh,” she said. “Extra credit.”
She drew the words out like something hid between the syllables. I realized she knew exactly what extra credit was code for.
“Don’t forget your homework folder.” She pulled it from my cubby and handed it to me.
I swung the backpack over my shoulder and clasped the gray folder to my chest. “Thanks, Mrs. Thomas. See you tomorrow.”
As I waited for Mom by the big window in the office, I watched CindeeRae walk from the school to where her mom was parked at the curb. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought it looked like her mom’s eyes were red and swollen, too. The Denver Dognapping Ring had grown by one Lobster, and it really was the meanest thing ever.