The next morning, before the bell,
I was too scared to walk into my classroom.
I didn’t want to see anyone
who knew what had happened
the day before.
I wanted so badly
to hide in the bathroom.
But I couldn’t!
Because what if Pearl and Ainsley were
back in their stall?
Or
what if the kindergartner was there?
that I’d yelled at?
Instead of the bathroom,
I stuck my head in my cubby
for a very long time,
pretending to look for something.
I heard crowds of kids walk by.
I ignored them all.
I ignored the pain in my neck
and back and shoulders, too.
Until the warning bell rang.
And I had no choice.
I had to go in.
As soon as I stepped into the classroom,
I noticed Adam and Ben
at the back of the room,
tossing a squishy football
and laughing.
I glared at those happy boys.
Especially Ben,
who’d started everything with his stupid chanting!
And then Mrs. Ramji exclaimed, “Eleanor!”
I turned to her quickly
and held my breath.
Was she mad at me?
Had she heard about my meanness?
She didn’t look mad.
“I love your sweatshirt!” she said. “It’s so lively!”
“Thanks,” I said.
I glanced over at Ainsley then.
She was sitting at her desk.
I’d hoped she might smile
if I wore the sweatshirt.
But she was definitely not smiling.
I told Mrs. Ramji quickly.
So Ainsley would hear me give her mom credit.
But Ainsley just frowned deeper.
She looked like
she wanted me
to take the sweatshirt off.
I crossed my arms over my chest.
I didn’t have anything to change into!
“Your mom is very talented, Ainsley,”
Mrs. Ramji said.
Ainsley did smile a little then,
but only at Mrs. Ramji.
And she thanked her.
Then Mrs. Ramji said to the whole class,
“All right, everyone. Let’s get started.”
So I had to go sit in my seat.
She wouldn’t even look at me.
She leaned away from me
and took a notebook out of her backpack.
I’d helped her decorate the outside of that notebook!
But she definitely wasn’t having
happy decorating memories.
She set the notebook down, hard, on her desk
and slammed a pen on top of it
and stared straight ahead.
I kept looking at her.
But she wouldn’t look back.
“I’m sorry!” I wanted to tell her.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.”
But I’d already tried that.
And she’d told me to go away.
My shoulders slumped a little,
and I shook my head.
I’d never get Pearl back.
We’d never be friends again.
She’d never tell me one of her poems
or call me on the phone and shout,
“Eleanor! It’s Pearl!”
I was starting to cry
in school
for the second day in a row,
when a wadded-up ball of paper flew through the air
and landed on my desk.
I knew exactly what that flying piece of paper was.
I opened it up
and smoothed it out.
Sure enough, Nicholas Rigby had drawn me a picture.
This one had a little row of chicks.
He’d labeled them “Marshmallow Peeps.”
And he’d written,
right above them,
“Don’t be sad.”
I wiped tears off my cheeks
and folded that picture neatly
and put it on top of the pile of pictures
I kept in my desk.
Then I turned and whispered to him, “Thanks,”
like I always did.
He kicked the back of my chair,
not too hard,
like he always did.
And I had to admit,
he’d made me feel better.
