Chapter Thirty-Nine

In Mrs. Ellsworth’s office, Principal Cullen’s paddle is gone. Two diplomas and a photo of six grandchildren hang on the wall in its place. The grandchildren, who are dressed in matching red vests, are all trying to touch a Great Dane.

“Mrs. Davis said that Sam would be at school tomorrow,” Mrs. Ellsworth says.

“Sam is so excited,” Miss Perkins says. “He wanted to start today, but his mum convinced him to let her take him shopping.”

“Was there anything in particular you wanted to discuss? Because, if not…” Mrs. Ellsworth’s gaze fixes on the clock on her desk.

10 a.m. My goodness, Miss Perkins thinks. I have been here for a while, haven’t I?

“I just wanted to make sure. You see, Sam’s been through so much. I know that Mrs. Riley, the P.T.A. president …”

Sometimes, despite all her words, Miss Perkins thinks, she has as much trouble communicating as Sam.

Mrs. Ellsworth nods. “The P.T.A. was upset about Sam. Luckily, we have an enlightened superintendent. When the newspaper story broke about Sam’s prize, Superintendent Dewitt called and demanded an explanation as to why Sam was no longer at Stirling.”

Miss Perkins catches a hint of steel behind Mrs. Ellsworth’s smile. “If any parents are upset about Sam, they’ll need to talk to Superintendent Dewitt,” Mrs. Ellsworth says.

Miss Perkins lets out a sigh of relief. “I’m so grateful. I can’t…”

“If you arrive by 8:15,” Mrs. Ellsworth interrupts, “we’ll still be in assembly, and I’ll welcome Sam.”

“Thank you so much,” Miss Perkins says.

“Times are changing, Miss Perkins. Soon, I believe that even crippled kids will be entitled to a public education,” Mrs. Ellsworth says.

As Miss Perkins gathers her purse to leave, she does feel hopeful. More hopeful than she’s felt in a long time.

The next morning, Sam rolls across the parking lot in back of Stirling Junior High. The trees are bare now, and the wheelchair crunches dead leaves. Due to the cold, Sam sees the puffs of Miss Perkins’ breath, small clouds. He hears the band playing The Star-Spangled Banner. The school must be having an assembly. He’s never been to one before, and he’s excited. Along with his coat, he is wearing a new pair of blue jeans and tennis shoes. He’s refused a haircut. All to get ready for school.

He stares at the double green doors. He’s really returned to Stirling. He’s escaped from the bad food, the smell of pee and the noisy front room. He’s heard of people who stay in school for their whole lives, and at that moment, he wants to be one. He’ll gladly memorize thousands of prepositions now.

When he and Miss Perkins arrive at Mrs. Martin’s room, the classroom is empty. As they pass by the open door, he eagerly soaks up the sight of the potted plants and the dusty blackboard.

“Mrs. Ellsworth tells me that not only was Principal Cullen fired, but he can’t ever teach school again. He hit Bobby Sur so hard that he broke the boy’s rib. All because Bobby was blowing a gum bubble.” Miss Perkins pushes Sam past the classroom doors down the long hallway. The other classrooms are empty, too.

Inside the auditorium, Sam sees a petite woman with white hair standing on the stage. She is holding a microphone.

Sam takes it all in. The kids wiggling in their seats. The band on the stage. The flagpole. The box marked lost and found. The red and white banner—Stirling Tomcats, Tournament Champs. Unlike the noise at Mannville, this din sounds happy.

“Those who want to go on the field trip need to turn in their permission slips,” the woman says into the microphone. Sam decides that the speaker must be Mrs. Ellsworth, the new principal. “I repeat. No one can attend who has not returned their form.”

“Our final announcement.” Mrs. Ellsworth gestures towards the back of the auditorium. Sam doesn’t even have time to straighten in his chair. “Sam Davis, our League of Women Voters award winner, has returned to school today.”

The kids start clapping.

“TThank You,” Sam murmurs.

If you can’t have the world’s applause, a whole school’s is pretty good, Winnie says.

For once, Sam is tongue-tied inside and out. He can’t think of anything else that he even wants to say to the auditorium of cheering kids.

Sometimes, short speeches are best, Winnie says.