What Flora noticed at once on the first day of fourth grade had been the sudden confidence all of the former third graders seemed to have found, and she wondered where they had found it. Nearly all of her classmates appeared to be taller, louder, stronger, and possessed of a sureness of opinion that had been entirely absent the year before. The stumblers, the wanderers, and the floaters of third grade had suddenly, mysteriously, found their feet. They weren’t afraid of school anymore. Or maybe of anything.
All of this made Flora a little shy. She missed the uncertainty.
Fortunately, a new and uncertain person had arrived in room 22, and with him Flora was beginning to build that precious thing called friendship.
His name was Yury, which set him apart right away. His Eastern European name, combined with the burden of being the new boy, made Yury a very uncertain fourth-grade person indeed.
He wore large round glasses, which made him look rather owl-like.
And he was very smart, like an owl, beneath all of the new-boy uncertainty. Flora knew this right away because he was clever. Clever the way her father was clever. Yury could look at a situation and in one or two sentences say all that needed saying about it. But he shared his cleverness with only one person in fourth grade: Flora. He sat behind her in class, so it was easy for him to whisper to the back of her head. Yury whispered, Flora smiled, and the seeds of friendship were planted.
They walked the same route after school three afternoons a week. Yury walked to his father’s office on State Street, and Flora walked to the bookshop on Main.
Yury’s father was a doctor.
“Do you help in the office?” Flora asked one day as they walked their route together.
“My father has given me the job of making tea for everyone,” Yury answered.
“Even for the patients?” asked Flora.
“Yes,” said Yury. “It is healthy tea which is called Mo’s 24.”
“That doesn’t sound very healthy,” said Flora. “It should be called Tea for Long Life.”
“The 24 are twenty-four herbs,” explained Yury.
“Well, then, who is Mo?” asked Flora.
“Oh, he’s Curly’s brother,” said Yury, grinning.
“He is not.” Flora laughed. “I didn’t know that the Three Stooges were popular in the Ukraine,” she said.
“Even Ukrainians need their yuks,” said Yury.
How strange, thought Flora, to be walking in Rosetown with a Ukrainian boy who served tea in a doctor’s office every afternoon, the doctor being his father.
She had told Yury about Laurence’s passing. Yury had also said good-bye to an old pet, a cat whose name was Juliette, so he understood. Flora enjoyed Yury’s company, but she especially appreciated his compassion.
When they reached the bookshop, Flora and Yury stood together in front of the window and inspected the week’s display.
“I would like to go there,” Yury said, pointing to a book about Key West. “I would sail a sailboat.”
“And follow an octopus,” said Flora.
“To South America,” said Yury.
“To find a town filled with . . . ,” Flora said, then waited for his answer.
“Elephants,” finished Yury.
“You could write a book about them, and Miss Meriwether could put it in this window,” said Flora.
“And we could stand here on the sidewalk together and look at it,” Yury said.
Flora smiled.
She was starting to feel more certain, knowing Yury.