When it was time to go home, Teacher reminded us, “I hope you all have been working on your essays for parents’ night. If anyone would like to discuss his or her project, you may stay behind.”

Mary Grace sucked her breath in across her teeth.

“LizBetty, please sit with your hands folded until I give you your first chores.” It was the first day of my week-long punishment, doing chores after school.

One way school’s like home is all the work to be done, and not just sums or book reports. The water pail has to be kept full with fresh, cold water from the pump in the yard. The floor needs sweeping, the blackboards washing, and the erasers beating. Wood doesn’t just walk in on its own, any more than ashes from the stove carry themselves out.

Truth was, the work itself was no punishment—I’m strong and quick when I fix my mind to be. But all that quiet except for the sound of Miss Arthington’s pen and the rhythm of the clock was a special kind of torture. It was funny to me how I never heard the pendulum swinging when the room was full of learning, but in those afternoon hours, it was like to drive me mad with tick-tocking and Miss Arthington’s pen scratch-scratching along. It put me to thinking she might be writing secret notes to my Daddy, and the clock seemed to be counting down the minutes until she decided to ruin our lives forever.

On the last Friday of that punishment, Teacher finally said I could go. I ran for the door and freedom and Miss Eulah’s place, for I needed to see her about a cure. Since none of my plans seemed to be working, it was time to consult someone with more experience in such matters.

I was past the creek, over the first fence, across the gully, and up the slope when I remembered I’d left my dinner bucket. Shoot! I was running low on time, and it was getting dark. But I knew I’d need my bucket come Monday, so I turned back quick.

Often as not, when I was kept after school for doing something that did not agree with Mary Grace, she would hang around like a noose and try to be useful, which was like asking a goat to say “please.” Didn’t she have anywhere to go?

But so far I was in luck. No sign of Mary Grace in the yard. I opened the schoolhouse door quietly, hoping to avoid any unnecessary conversations.

Right off, I saw Miss Arthington was alone, back to the door. She was leaning on her desk. I saw her shoulders shake and thought she might be laughing at something on the floor. Then, from the sounds she made, I realized she was crying.

She wiped her cheek, and I saw a sheaf of pages in her hand. A letter! But who would be writing so to make her cry?

She didn’t turn, so I guessed her own snuffly noises had kept her from hearing me. Quiet as catfish I backed out and closed the door.

On the steps was the last person I expected to see at school after hours. What was a shame-faced Tully doing sneakin’ around there?

Tully turned red and ducked his head. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward the creek.

“What’re you doing here?” I whispered.

“I … um … see … lookin’ for you?”

“Here I am, plain as your nose. And make it quick; I need to get to Miss Eulah’s.”

A shadow of what might have been worry crossed Tully’s face. “You sick, Possum?”

Sick of Mary Grace.

But I shook my head. “Naw, I need to see her about something special, about a cure. I don’t really wanna talk about it, but it’s for Daddy, if you must know. It was something I couldn’t even talk about with Momma, so I decided to go see Miss Eulah.”

Tully motioned me behind the schoolhouse. We sat at the base of Hefty Rock before I asked again.

“Whatcha lurkin’ around here for?” I poked my jaw toward the schoolhouse. Usually, he kept his distance from school like it was a rattler pit—actually more, ’cause a rattler pit would be more interesting.

“Well, ya see.” Tully wasn’t much of a talker.

Usually, I knew what he was thinking and asked it for him, then went ahead and answered him too. But this time, I was stumped on top of perplexed. I needed more to go on. “Spit at the devil, Tully, and spit it out.”

“Okay, okay.” He swallowed and looked away. “I’m p—sh—M—eeg—s.”

I breathed in. I rubbed my ears. I blinked my eyes. I wet my parched lips.

“What?!”

“I’mpartialtoMaryGrace.”

Tully spit it out all at once like if it was rattler poison, but I was pretty sure I’d made out the words all right. Just in case, he said it again, slower, like he was getting used to the idea himself.

“I’m. Partial. To. Mary. Grace.” Then he ducked, like I might punch him, which I might have, had I not been more stunned than a wild turkey beaned by my flip.

He was sweet on that, that … useless Mary Grace? I nearly fell over just with the thought of smacking him in the head.

He could have said almost anything—that he was giving up hunting or decided to become Conrad Harris’s best friend. Anything. But—sweet on her? I thought I might be speechless. Though my speechlessness didn’t last long. “That, that, prissy little know-it-all?”

I tried to recall if he’d knocked his skull harder than usual lately. “Why’re you talking crazy? Look at me.” I checked his eyes, and, no, they weren’t shifty, although they did look a might red. “You get into the dandelion wine again?” I was noting his symptoms; maybe Miss Eulah’d have a cure for him too.

Suddenly, Tully gave what amounted to a sermon for him. “I want to make her like me. What can I do to make her like me?”

His lip quivered too much to be playing a joke. I knew when Tully was lying. This was something altogether new.

“Why don’t you just poke me in the eye while you’re at it, Tully Spencer? What for you askin’ me what girls like?”

“I figured, with you being, you know, a girl—won’t … you help me, Possum?”

“Tully. You. Mary Grace. That—no. No, I will not help you.”

Would Miss Eulah have a cure for traitors? Or maybe a curse?

“Possum!” he bleated.

I couldn’t decide if there was something wrong with his voice or my hearing. It seemed I might be losing my best friend on top of my momma, my daddy, and my Nehi treats. Why didn’t he just take my dog and my flip, long as he was ripping my heart out?

Tully whimpered like a sick sheep. “How can I get her to like me, Possum? She’s so … clean.”

I figured Tully’d gone plumb loony. I sighed and squared my shoulders. Being as he was my best friend and might have a fever to boot, I reckoned I’d do my best to humor Tully. But if I was going to lose anything else I held dear, I’d see to it he did too. I felt a plan building in my head like autumn storm clouds.

“Why don’t you give her something special, Tully? Something you really care about.” All I knew was it should not be that green cat’s-eye marble. I did not say this aloud, but I thought it real hard.

“You mean, like a present?”

“That’s right, Tully, a present.” I saw him furrow his forehead and let him stew on that for a while. “I know!” I said. “The rattler!”

That was one mighty fine snakeskin. I’d wished it mine plenty. It was a beauty. That’s how I knew Tully was truly touched. Why else would he be willing to give up a two-footer?

“Guess I’ll give it to Mary Grace at school Monday,” he said. “Think she’ll like it, Possum, really?”

This was not the Tully I knew. I wondered where the real one’d got to. My Tully could field-skin a rabbit quicker than a person could pick up chiggers. He was almost perfect. But giving up his prize snakeskin?

Tully mistook my quiet.

“It’s the best I got, Possum,” he whined. “ ’Cept for my green cat’s—”

“I reckon it’ll do fine,” I said quickly.

He didn’t say anything.

I repeated, “I reckon it’ll do.”

He stared. I knew then that wasn’t all he wanted. I considered my options. I didn’t seem to have any. Finally, I bit. “What?” I asked. “Ya want something else, don’cha?”

Tully chewed on saw grass awhile. “I reckon this is asking a lot—”

I knew whatever it was, it would be. Church-truth, I was tired of his babble, and I reckon it showed, ’cause just then he blurted, “Would’ja give it to her for me?”

That did it.

“I believe, Tully, that girl’s got you soft in the head.”

Like GrandNam always said, Eyes never know what God sees.

“Possum, puh-lease?”

It was not pretty to see a boy the size of Tully beg like a baby bird. I would have liked to be anywhere except with that boy at that second. I’d heard about others acting the fool over women, but this was Tully. Usually, he was first to pitch jibes when others pitched woo.

Then he went one tick too far for scratching. “Well,” he said, “if you’re afraid … ”

Huh! “Am not scared, Tully Spencer, so just take that back. ’Sides, I didn’t say I wouldn’t.” Thinking, thinking. Aha! “I just wonder what you’re gonna give me for it, is all.”

Sometimes words jump out of my mouth like bullfrogs, without warning.

I almost felt sorry for him, about to give up two of his best treasures on the same day.

“Hand it over.”

It’s not that I wanted to take Tully’s cat’s-eye from him when he was plain feverish. I knew I’d win it from him soon enough.

“You know what I want.”

He fished it out of his pocket, and I simply accepted it as just payment for this fool’s errand on account of it seemed to make him feel better for me to take it. All along I figured, once Tully came to his senses, I could return the cat’s-eye to him out of pity, then win it from him fair and square.

“Now leave me be. I need to get to Miss Eulah’s and home.”

“Possum!”

“Tully! This is an emergency with Daddy. I’ll take care of your fool’s errand tomorrow. I reckon that’s soon enough to throw your life away. Just leave it at the place.”

Tully nodded once and left his gaze on his feet. I tore off for Miss Eulah’s. First Daddy, now Tully. Was there no stopping the changes once the first rotten apple had toppled off the barrel?