CHAPTER 3

I hadn’t the foggiest idea of where I was when I woke; I just knew my arm was asleep from resting on it. ’Course, I forgot I was perched on a couple of desks, so when I stretched, I fell smack-dab onto that dirty closet floor.

That’s when the events of the day splashed across my mind like a cold glass of water. And the thought of a cold glass of water made me want one like I’d never thirsted for something before in my life.

So, polite as I could, I knocked on the door, hoping Miss Meany-Beany would decide I’d been in there long enough, never minding how long “long enough” had been.

My polite knock didn’t get any attention, so I knocked less polite and then much louder.

I figured Miss Meany-Beany was being stubborn, but I’d had enough. I decided it was time to walk out of that closet.

And wouldn’t you know it, that door wouldn’t budge.

I pulled and pounded on it. And then I took to screaming like the school was on fire. In fact, how was I to know the school wasn’t on fire? “Let me out! Now! Get me out of here!”

But no one came.

After a while, I noticed something that made my heart stop a bit.

There wasn’t a sound coming from the entire classroom.

That could only mean one thing: they’d all left. With me in that closet, they all up and went home to their cold drinks of water and family dinners and soft beds.

I was so dang mad I’d rather spit than cry, but something inside me forgot to tell my eyeballs that, ’cause soon as I sat down and leaned against the wall, tears started flowing.

And right between my sobs, I heard the closet door shaking and groaning before it opened.

I jumped up to thank whoever saved me, till I saw it was none other than Ricky. Rotten Ricky.

“Whatcha doin’ in here?” he asked like he had no idea why I might be hanging out in a stinky coat closet after everyone else went home. Like he wasn’t the one to have practically put me there himself.

I lunged at him so hard he toppled down like an axed Christmas tree, and I’m not sure who my outburst surprised more.

“Prudence!” Miss Meany-Beany’s voice rang out and sounded like she was most surprised of all. ’Cause there I sat, on top of Ricky. I stood up and straightened the darn dress I had to wear to school instead of my comfy overalls.

“Shoulda left ya to rot in there,” Rotten Ricky mumbled as he stood up and stormed out of the room.

Miss Meany-Beany’s eyes were looking at me like I had three heads. “I know things at home are . . . challenging . . . but your behavior is not acceptable.

“Right at the end of school today,” she began to explain, “I got called to a meeting with the superintendent, and, well, I forgot to get to you first. As soon as I remembered, I ran here, and that’s when I saw you pushing Ricky. After he helped you out . . . I just don’t understand.”

Then Miss Meany-Beany sighed. “You missed the bus. Come on . . . I’ll take you home.”

“I’ll walk,” I mumbled.

“Your farm is over five miles away.” She said that like she had to remind me where I lived.

But I bit my tongue to keep from mouthing off. Instead, I followed her out of the classroom and toward the front door. That’s when Miss Meany-Beany stopped and looked at me.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Now, why’d she have to go and do that? I can’t stand it when I’m good and mad at somebody and they apologize. And then I just can’t muster up any more mad.

I stopped and stared at the floor, but it was getting blurry from the tears in my eyes.

Miss Meany-Beany knelt down to talk to me like I was five years old. “Prudence,” she said softly, “I’m sorry I left you in the coat closet. And I’m really sorry about Charlotte. I know how this must be affecting you.”

You don’t know a thing about me, I wanted to say. But fortunately, my mouth wasn’t moving any more than my legs. The only part of me that was doing anything at all right then was my eyes, and I didn’t like all those tears.

Miss Meany-Beany took my silence as an invitation to keep talking. “I think we got off on the wrong foot when you came last winter. And then, this whole . . . ordeal . . . with Charlotte . . .”

Ordeal . . . trouble . . . affliction . . .

I was tired of grown-ups calling it all sorts of names, as if dressing up a pig in your Sunday best would make it anything other than a pig. I wanted to yell, My sister has polio. Polio! And it’s my fault, and I hate it. Hate it.

But instead, I just looked Miss Meany-Beany in the eye. And for a second she wasn’t so mean. Her lips even seemed to be forming a sad-looking smile as she nodded toward the front door of the school. “Let’s go now.”

It wasn’t until I was on my way out with her that I saw Rotten Ricky in a classroom with a bucket of something, hearing every word Miss Meany-Beany said and probably some of the ones I didn’t say.