The Monday after market weekend dawned stormy and gray, which also happened to be about exactly how Daddy was acting. I never thought I’d rather be at school, but I wasn’t about to stay where the air was full of electricity and angriness, even if the alternative was a dose of that human castor oil, Mary Grace Newcomb. At least if I was at school I could keep an eye on Miss Teacher too and know she wasn’t anywhere near my daddy.

’Sides, at school I enjoyed the scratch of pencils and the squeaks of wooden desks, and I liked to watch the chalk dust swim through sun patches. Of course, it was interesting to talk trapping with one of the Justice boys at lunchtime or win a few marbles from Conrad Harris after school. And it was never too soon to see Tully again, even if we’d been out the night before frog gigging till midnight. Even the mix of smells from lunch pails and wood smoke was a welcome change from the nothingness smell of a house without Momma.

Matter of fact, if it hadn’t been for Trav, I might just as soon have been at school reading Heidi or Just So Stories from Miss Arthington’s shelf as go home to the empty house. Daddy seemed to spend every waking blink in his shop. And if he was in the house when I got home, as often as not, he’d make some excuse and leave till after dark.

But I was going to fix all that. I had to. I was going to find a way to stay home with Daddy and fix up our lives as best I could. Before he started to forget about Momma. Before Miss Arthington wiggled her scrawny self between us, trying to fill a hole in our hearts that couldn’t be filled.

’Cause even with home being less and less like home, I did not look forward to being pestered by the likes of Mary Grace Newcomb. Every day began with the “Pledge of Legions” said to the flag of our country, which hung in a corner, and grief from that girl.

We were sat together I guess because we are about the same age, give or take a lick of sense. And as soon as a day started, I felt like I’d been there forever.

“Something stinks,” she whinnied, soon as I sat. She made a face like an apple core and pinched her porky nose with two pink fingers. “My momma would never let me outta the house smellin’ like you.”

The clock being on the back wall made it hard to know how long I’d be stuck alongside her. I was clean enough to pass Daddy’s inspection, so I couldn’t figure. “Must be you,” I whispered back. I began to understand why an animal in a trap might chew off its own leg.

Then I remembered, the day before, me and June May found an interesting tree trunk, which we suspected of being rich in honey. We smoked out the bees from one end and took home two pails full of combs. ’Course, raw onion rubbed on is the best cure for bee stings, so maybe I did have a whiff of something about me.

I was about to explain all this to Mary Grace when she trod my foot. Right then I decided to bring fresh-cut onion to school daily. Maybe one in each pocket.

Nor did I enjoy this kind of distraction. If I had to be at school, I planned to show this teacher how Momma had already taught me everything worth knowing.

I just wanted to first see how things worked, which is about the best kind of learning a person can have. Daddy taught me to watch on top of the water to know where the fish whistle underneath. Far as I know, my daddy never didn’t catch a fish he wanted.

Already I could see Miss Arthington had a system. Some kids sat in front getting lessons; everyone else sat to the back and studied quiet till it was their turn. I liked to watch the bigger kids using what they called flash cards to help the littler ones with sums.

All the day, Miss Arthington taught about English and geography and arithmetic and history. After we played outside, we sang together. It wouldn’t have been too terrible, if I hadn’t known that every day I spent at school pushed me further away from Daddy and the life we built together, us and Momma and Baby.

“You sure were in fine voice today on ‘The Old Gray Mare,’ ” Tully said with a snicker.

I snorted. “I tried to be loud enough to cover someone, I’m not saying who, who sounded like a sack of cats being drowned.”

But I could not drown out when Mary Grace ran on all day answering Miss Arthington’s questions.

Even if they weren’t directed to her.

Even if they weren’t questions.

Even if she didn’t know the answers.

As I told Tully more than once, Mary Grace talked pure to hear her own voice, not that it was special.

“Aww, I dunno, Possum. She seems awright, I reckon.”

“Please, her voice sounds like it’s been covered in molasses on purpose. Mostly it comes out real sl-o-ow, then sometimes it shoots out faster and spikier than the quills on a porcupine.” Tully just shook his head and said nothing, because what was there to say when faced with the sad truth?

When Miss Arthington asked about the second president and Mary Grace started on about how Thomas Jefferson was her great-great-great-great-so-and-so’s something or other, I was ready to smack the girl just for breathing.

Instead, I raised my hand.

It was that or explode.

Miss Arthington “called on me,” which is what they say, even though it’s not visiting. I stood like I’d seen the others do. In my saying-prayers voice, I said: “The second president of the United States was John Adams.”

Teacher looked like she’d just eaten something GrandNam made. Mary Grace Newcomb looked like she’d just eaten something Traveler made, and I sat down feeling like pie.

“Now, students, if I may please have everyone’s attention?” Teacher clapped twice. “Pencils down please. Face front, hands folded, feet on the floor.”

When it sounded like everyone had settled, Miss Arthington said, “I have an announcement.”

Mary Grace primped her curls, like one had to do with the other. Then she went stock-still, staring at Miss Teacher. Or rather, at what Miss Teacher held.

“Class,” said the teacher in a hen-scratchy voice. “I am pleased to announce that this beautifully illustrated book of fairy tales will be the prize in an essay contest.”

It might have been a trick of the sun that the edges of the pages looked covered in gold—or it might have been another sign from Momma. Maybe she worked this out with God to make up for me having to be at school.

“Now, it’s not brand-new, but it was well cared for by a girl I knew who loved to have adventures. And she had many, in her mind, by reading these stories.”

I felt my insides swoop like blue jays and heard myself give a sharp in-breath. Mary Grace looked my way, so I crossed my eyes and stuck out my tongue.

“Don’t that girl want to go on ’ventures no more?” asked Connie. Then he stood, and said, “Sorrydon’t thatgirlwanttogoon’venturesanymoresorryandthankyoumiss,” and then sat down again real fast.

Instead of getting angry, Teacher smiled. “You know, the thing about stories is that once you read them, really read them, they stay with you for always and always, and maybe you don’t even need the book anymore but can share it with other children who want to have adventures of their own. Children like you.”

The teacher continued. “Sometime between now and parents’ night, each of you will write an essay.”

“What will we write about, miss?” asked one of those blond preacher’s kids, maybe Ruth. She might have been the one played the lamb in last year’s Nativity.

“Excellent question, Ruth,” replied the teacher. “I would like you to write on someone important to you. The student whose work this term shows the most improvement will receive this book as the prize.”

It came to me all in a flash. Write the essay, win the prize, prove once and for all to everyone—Daddy, the biddies, Miss Teacher, Scary Face Mary Grace—that Momma was right and the learnin’ she gave me is a far-sight better than any teachin’ I could get. Not even Miss Nagy could argue with a prize that included golden-edged pages.

After that, everything would return to normal. Or as near to normal as we could get without Momma. Daddy would forget all about his secret with Miss Arthington ’cause he’d have me to take care of him.

Some of the class murmured. Conrad Harris groaned out loud and earned a look from Teacher for it. Mary Grace licked her lips like some kind of lowly beast, some kind they would not have let into the manger when Baby Jesus was born.

Mary Grace picked up her pencil and wrote: “Essay, Imp person. FAIRY TALES!!!” The words fairy tales were underlined three times.

She was in for a sad shock. I pictured myself under Momma’s pecan tree, reading to her and Baby. I wasn’t about to let a prissy little Kewpie doll take what was rightly meant to be mine.

Mary Grace cupped one hand over her paper and wrote something else.

“I’ll leave this book up here to inspire you all,” Miss Arthington said, placing the lovely thing on her desk. “The essays also will be judged on how well you follow the topic and your use of language. I look forward to seeing what you come up with,” Miss Arthington said. “I know you will make me proud.”

Mary Grace shoved the paper my way. She’d written: “I’m going to win.”

“That ogre on the cover looks just like you,” I whispered.

Mary Grace Newcomb’s hand again swished into the air.

I put on my innocent face from the nose up and covered my mouth with my hand. “My, what big ears you have.” I threw in a pig snort for good measure.

On the schoolyard, away from Miss Arthington, Mary Grace got bolder than vinegar, talking about my hair and I don’t know what all. Luckily for me, usually she stayed inside for the chance to polish Teacher’s apple, but on that day, she had grabbed her dinner and practically skipped out.

I had my own bucket and went looking for food and fellowship, as Preacher says. Unfortunately for me, Tully was still inside making right the sums he’d got wrong in the morning. But June May had to be around somewhere …

Wait a second. Was that June May talking with Mary Grace?

But no, here came June May toward me, grinning like a melon slice. Mary Grace must’ve been picking on her some, probably to get at me. I’d deal with Mary Grace later.

“My ma makes all my pretty dresses and petticoats,” Mary Grace snorted loudly, twirling in the dirt near me. She was talking to the little girls, but I was sure she was doing it to bother me. I put my hand on the ear that had to suffer her most.

“Let’s eat quick, June May. I got business with Tully.”

June May put into her mouth a piece of corn bread that should not have fit and said, “You fixin’ to win that marble he got from his cousin this summer?” Only it came out, “You fifinwn ftmrfle he grfms hscsfn fis summer?”

“You bet,” I said, wiping a bit of her corn-bread spittle from my cheek. “Come see.”

But as I stood, somebody poked me from behind. Hard. I spun around, fists in the air.

Mary Grace sang-song at me, “My ma curls my hair every day. I might get me a permanent wave next year.”

Like I cared. “I’d give you a permanent wave good-bye if you’d go somewhere,” I said back. Then I pinched her arm hard, and she kicked at my shins, but missed, before running away.

I set the rest of my lunch on the step and went over to Tully, who had just emerged from the schoolhouse and eaten his bread and butter before his feet left the porch. Nothing like a good game of marbles to put that fool girl out of my mind. In fact, for a while, I was blessedly unaware of where Mary Grace or June May or any of the kids had got to. I was hunkered down and about ready to whoop Tully and win away his prize cat’s-eye.

Then from behind I heard, “Look at those wobbly biscuits!”

I turned to see Mary Grace pointing to where I’d left my lunch. “My biscuits are just fine,” I said, “you ham.” She was that pink. I swear.

I admit my biscuits weren’t always as round as they were creative, but who was Mary Grace to throw stones? Especially when she ate pork and beans from a can, which I wouldn’t feed to Traveler, just because her daddy took over the store and had fancy food to choose from on every shelf.

I was real sorry when Scottie lost the store and Mister Newcomb took over. I was sorrier once I knew Mister Newcomb had brought along this dis-Grace of nature.

I tried to ignore her and turned to Tully, who looked like he might cry, even though I was about to win that cat’s-eye fair and square. What was the matter with him?

Suddenly, he hiccupped something fierce. “HI-I-I-C-IC-IC!”

’Course, it isn’t sporting to play marbles when you’ve got hiccups, so we had to stop. What surprised me was it turned out Tully didn’t know how to get rid of hiccups, and I had to stop everything right then and teach him. If I had a brother, this was the kind of thing he wouldn’t have to learn out in the world somewhere but would already know, thanks to me, when he got there.

“What’m I s’posed to do?” Tully asked, like if I was queen of hiccups and all.

I tried not to roll my eyes; GrandNam said that was a sin even if it wasn’t in the Bible and even if no one saw you do it. At times, Tully was too simple for his own good.

“Tell them to go away,” I said. “Shoo,” I added for double measure.

“Shoo,” tried Tully, right behind me as usual. Then, “HIC.”

Some kids laughed. Ruth and the little girls in a corner of the yard stopped their clapping games and came near.

“Remind those hiccups they are not welcome—never have been, never will be.”

“You don’t got no call t’ HIC.” He sounded like a sick toad.

“Put one hand on your waist and waggle a finger, like this.” I demonstrated.

Conrad Harris and the middle-sized kids copied us. Good, I thought, they’re learning too.

“It’s rude to point,” sneered Mary Grace from about six feet away, where I had not noticed her pretending not to notice us. She sniffed.

Tully looked from me to Mary Grace. On its way back around, his turning-red head HIC’ed again something fierce.

I’d had the worst town visit of my entire life. I had a daddy who seemed to have forgotten my momma and was trying to make me forget her too. I couldn’t believe I had to put up with the likes of Mary Grace Newcomb on top of that, and I couldn’t even finish a danged game of marbles in peace and quiet.

I ignored her with a long-suffering sigh and hoped Tully would do the same. To him, I said, “It’s okay to waggle your finger at yourself, like in a mirror.”

“But I ain’t got no mir-HIC-ror, Possum,” Tully said, sounding like a scared little kid, which made the real little kids giggle.

“Just pretend, Tully,” I said. “ ’Magine it.”

“I’ll be your mirror, Tully,” Mary Grace said. That daft girl curved her arms above her head like if she was a ballroom dance in a marathon.

I lost my concentration and spun on her. “MARY GRACE, YOU GOT MORE GABBLE THAN A GOBBLER.”

Mary Grace turned another shade of pink and turned her back to me. She stepped away a few paces through the pack of my hiccup-lesson students.

“I know something else,” Mary Grace chanted real loud. “I know somethin’ REALLY GOOD, if anyone other than CERTAIN PEOPLE wants to hear it.”

I looked over my shoulder at her and darned if she didn’t have hold of half my crowd. “I know, and I’m gonna tell ’less’n that creature leaves me alone once and for all.”

That girl passed gossip like cows pass gas. But I had no secrets from the likes of her, so I shrugged.

“LizBetty’s daddy, Mister Porter, he’s sweet on Teacher.”

I heard that lion roar in my ears, and my eyesight went black around the edges. “Shut up!”

Mary Grace grinned. She knew she got me. “Your daddy’s sweet on Teacher.” She almost sang it.

“I said SHUT IT, Mary Grace.” I tried looking away. The girls who played jump rope near the footbridge had stopped their twirling and hopping. The boys edged closer.

“Your daddy’s a fool for love.”

My head snapped back to her, and I sized her up. I was a mite small for almost twelve, and she was big for thirteen. I was an inch shorter but wiry and a lot stronger. My fists curled of their own volition.

“Possum!”

From far away I heard Tully’s voice, like from the bottom of a well. I ducked my head.

“Possum! NO! Wait!”

That last word turned into a wail, then into the sound of the wind in my ears as I took a running start and rammed into Mary Grace something hard. She went “OOF” into the dirt, curls and all, and cried a river.

“Fight, fight,” cried Conrad Harris, but it was over before it started, for there was no chance that priss was going to take a swing at me. I was breathing hard but none the worse except for a scrape on a knee where I’d landed after I bounced off her belly.

Ruth and some of the little girls had stopped their hopscotch and jump rope to help up Mary Grace and lead her into the schoolhouse, while a bunch of the boys came over and patted me on the back or shoulder.

I felt like a hero, but I still got talked to. Miss Arthington said next time she’d tell Daddy. I didn’t want her talking to Daddy any more than she already had, so I promised to “be good,” whatever that meant. To me, it meant winning the essay contest, leaving school for good, and putting nothing but miles between Miss Teacher and Daddy.

I didn’t even snitch about what Mary Grace said, so she didn’t get into trouble at all, even though I got a week of after-school chores.

I knew I couldn’t let on, but it felt good to hit that girl. Fact is, the day you catch nothin’ fishin’ isn’t the day you talk about later. I knew it was shameful to feel so prideful and spiteful, and I told it all at the pecan tree that night. I think Momma understood. I really do.