Chapter Three

Room 114. Sam reads the big numbers above the wooden door.

A woman wearing a nubby blue skirt that falls above her knees and a tailored white shirt is standing near the entrance. She is petite like his mother but the resemblance stops with size. Although the woman’s brown hair is shiny, her dark eyes don’t sparkle. Sam decides that the woman’s face looks strict.

“May I help you?” she greets them.

This must be his new teacher, Mrs. Martin. He’s sorry to hear that her voice matches her eyes.

“This is Sam Davis, and I’m Abigail Perkins,” Miss Perkins answers cheerfully.

The woman’s thin eyebrows rise above her horn-rimmed glasses. She grasps Miss Perkins’ arm and leads her a few steps away.

“He’s my new student?” Mrs. Martin’s voice is not so soft that Sam can’t hear.

Sam reminds himself that Winnie often created a bad first impression. How often had Miss Perkins read that, “The first time you meet Winston, you see all his faults, and the rest of your life you spend in discovering his virtues”¹

“Yes, ma’am,” Miss Perkins says.

Sam tries to hold his neck straight.

“I was told that the boy had cerebral palsy, but he looks like he needs special instruction. I have thirty kids in this class,” Mrs. Martin protests.

As he has in the past, Sam wonders if his keen ears are really a blessing.

“I understand. I’ll stay with Sam,” Miss Perkins answers his teacher firmly.

“This is a 6^th grade class. Are you sure he’s on grade level?” Mrs. Martin asks.

“Well, you see,” Miss Perkins confides, “he can’t be tested properly.”

His mother has told Sam that Mrs. Ellsworth, the school’s vice-principal who performs student testing, is on maternity leave.

“So until Mrs. Ellsworth returns,” Miss Perkins continues, “Principal Cullen agreed that Sam could be with boys and girls his own age. And since speech is difficult for Sam, we’re not sure what level he’s on.”

Mrs. Martin gives a little sigh and approaches Sam. Her crestfallen expression reminds him of his mother’s when she has to wash the dishes.

“Hello.” Mrs. Martin bends down and introduces herself to Sam.

Sam does his best to smile at her. Her glasses and her stern expression had fooled him. Up close, he realizes that his new teacher is young. He doesn’t know any college students, but he guesses that she looks like one.

Inside the classroom, a boy shouts, “Give me my pencil. You stole my pencil.”

Mrs. Martin rushes away, yelling, “That’s enough. Enough!”

Miss Perkins grips the handles of his wheelchair and pushes him forward. It’s only then that Sam notices that the classroom door is narrow. Suddenly, he’s afraid that his wheelchair isn’t going to fit. To his relief, he barely edges through.

He’s terrified when he feels all the kids’ eyes on him. About thirty kids are sitting behind wooden desks all in rows. He scans their faces. Some eyes are filled with curiosity, many with pity, a few with fear. He searches the whole room without finding any that hold just basic friendliness.

To work up his courage, Sam takes a deep breath, but before he can say hello, Mrs. Martin nods at Sam. “Class, this is Sam Davis. Since Sam is unable to talk, Miss Perkins, his nurse, will be attending with him.”

I can talk, Sam wants to protest, but he doesn’t dare shock the kids with his voice. Not yet. He remembers Miss Perkins’ advice. Best to let the other students get to know him gradually.

“Why don’t you push him over there?” Mrs. Martin points at a table labeled “Science table,” crowded with a small forest of potted plants, two avocado seeds in water, a jar of magnets, a scale and a few stray erasers.

Miss Perkins must have decided not to argue with Mrs. Martin either. She obediently wheels him over to the table and settles herself in a small chair next to him. As she pats his leg, she whispers, “That’s my boy, Sam. Stay calm. Let’s count potatoes.”

Sam feels insulted. Miss Perkins is acting as if he might stage a tantrum inside the classroom.

“One potato, two potato…” Softly, Miss Perkins encourages him, and out of habit, Sam begins counting in his head. During World War II, Miss Perkins’ family had recited this rhyme in their basement while they waited for the bombs to stop falling. When Sam gets upset, his body becomes as rigid and lifeless as a board. As he follows along now, his body grows softer until he is aware that he is breathing again.

Finally, after the sixth potato, Sam has calmed down enough to admit to himself that, maybe, Miss Perkins’ concern wasn’t entirely foolish. His teacher’s remark did make him angry, and perhaps, when he was younger, he might have howled.

Sam is noticing the posters on the wall—a map of the world with the State of Massachusetts marked in red, a reading chart alongside pictures of Zeus, Hera and the other Greek gods, and a picture of the solar system with red, blue and green planets—when the bell rings. It’s louder than Sam expected, but by holding onto the armrest, he manages not to jump in surprise.

And the next thing he knows, Mickey Kotov slips through the door. In the harsh light of the classroom, Sam is able to see Mickey clearly for the first time. He’s a dark-headed boy with perfect features, an uneven part to his hair and specks of mud on his black slip-on tennis shoes. By his rounded shoulders and downcast eyes, Sam knows that the boy feels like he’s done something wrong. But he’s only a minute or so late.

Although his version of whistling is wet, Sam longs to whistle. The only boy whose name Sam knows in the whole school is in his class!

Mickey ignores Sam’s smile, but when Sam’s gaze shifts, he sees that the girl next to Mickey is watching Sam. Her white-blonde hair frames a sharp nose and close-set blue eyes. She’s wearing a red and white plaid dress with a black sash.

“Mickey, this is the third time this week that you’ve been late,” Mrs. Martin says. “After the pledge, go straight to the principal’s office.”

Mickey’s blank expression doesn’t change.

“This is Principal Cullen,” a loud voice announces over the intercom. “Good morning, students. It’s another great day at Stirling Junior High. Please stand for the pledge.”

Papers rustle. Knees knock against desks. Feet shuffle as the kids stand and put their hands over their hearts.

Sam glances at Miss Perkins. His seat belt is easy for Miss Perkins to unbuckle, but she doesn’t like for him to stand or walk more than necessary. She and his mother are both scared of injuries. Since she makes no move to remove his belt, Sam can’t stand. Instead, he squeezes his arm muscles until his hand grazes his shirt. Once he’s in proper position, he turns his attention to the class. Instead of looking at the flag, he finds that all of the students are staring at Mickey.

Mickey is the only kid who is not reciting the pledge. His lips are stubbornly pressed together. His long arms dangle at his sides. His eyes are downcast.

“He speaks Russian,” one boy says softly.

“He’s a spy,” another says.

A few of the kids snicker. “We’re fighting the Russians in Vietnam.”

“I’m fighting Mickey,” another says.

Mickey must be from the Soviet Union, Sam decides. That would explain his father’s heavy accent. But Sam is surprised, because Mickey plays basketball better than most Americans.