On the night of the parents’ program, I arrived early. I looked for faces I knew but didn’t see Jump. Or June May. Or any other Justices. Or Tully.

I tried to quiet the bustle in my stomach by paying attention to things around me. The program was about to start when June May arrived and set the room whispering like wheat in wind. She led Miz Newcomb by the hand. Miz Newcomb made herself small but proper and sat in June May’s little chair; June May sat cross-legged at her feet.

One look at Mary Grace up front, batting her eyes at all and sundry and primping those curls, told me she didn’t know yet her loony momma was loose. I wondered what Mary Grace would do when she noticed.

I gave no thought to why June May was with Miz Newcomb. Maybe June May found her wandering and helped her in. June May had a knack for any living thing that wasn’t right, probably didn’t make any difference whether it was mind or spirit or body.

When Mary Grace went white as bedsheets, I knew she’d spotted her momma; of course, the girl was horrified. Her daddy must’ve been too because he suddenly materialized alongside his wife.

Crowds of parents, kids, and other relatives and townsfolk mingled, looking at the dioramas and drawings and maps placed all around the room. Most didn’t seem to have noticed Miz Newcomb yet, but Mary Grace pressed her way through the crowd. Only God knew what kind of scene she might make if she got there first, and nobody deserved that, least of all Miss Arthington.

I had to head her off at the pass. Crunching toes, ducking elbows, I was able to grab Mary Grace by the back of her starch-stiff, navy-blue pinafore. “Psst!” I hissed, though no one could’ve heard us over the chatter of grown-ups.

Her eyes put me in mind of a trapped animal. “Leave me be, Possum. I need to get Mother home before someone sees her. Before she does something.”

I took her hand and squeezed. “Mary Grace, you stay right here. Don’t you care about Tully? We need to stay put and stay quiet and see if our plan worked.”

At the sound of Tully’s name, some of the wildness left her eyes, but I kept hold of Mary Grace’s hand as Miss Arthington called for attention. I was itching to know if my school days were over. If I had won, for surely I wouldn’t need to be learning more stuff I didn’t need to know. ’Cept my eyes kept slipping back to the beautiful books in the bookcase. Never mind, I thought. In a toad’s leap I would have my own beautiful book.

I hate to say it, but I could not have been more surprised if Traveler had won the essay contest when Miss Arthington announced the winner. Of course, I was that proud too.

“I am so pleased with the results of our essay competition. As most of you no doubt know, the theme was ‘an important person in my life.’ And our prize is to go to the student I felt has shown the most improvement since the beginning of the school year.”

It felt as if half of the room leaned forward slightly. My fingers were crushed white where Mary Grace squeezed them. Even the clock seemed to hold its tick-tock breath.

“Tonight I am proud and honored to announce that our great admiration—and this beautiful book of stories—go to … Miss June May Justice. Would you come forward, please?”

A buzz went around the room, with not a little clapping and a few squeals from the younger girls. Ruthie ran to June May and grabbed her in a bear hug, beaming like she’d won herself and met the queen of England to boot.

I shot a look at Mary Grace. She appeared as perplexed as I felt.

I looked back at June May in time to see Ruthie, with more hug obviously left in her, put her arms around Miz Newcomb’s waist and hop a little jig into her skirts.

I turned my attention back to Teacher.

“Now June May will read her award-winning entry. June May is without question our most-improved student thus far in the school year. Her essay was chosen for her use of the topic—the children were asked to write about an important person in his or her life—and her use of language. It’s a poem as lovely as—”

Teacher blushed fierce as fever. “Well, I suppose you might say it’s as pretty as a nickel postcard. June May?”

Applause filled the room to the rafters. I listened to June May’s words with wonder and pride.