On the day of Robin’s homecoming, I stood on a chair and tied a sign between two of the front-porch pillars. It said, WELCOME HOME ROBIN.

“It looks good,” Ruby said.

I was surprised to see her standing in my yard. Granny and Miss Irene still worked together like nothing had happened, but since that day in Granny’s kitchen, Ruby and me had been avoiding each other.

She held out a pie plate. “Ma Rene baked a peach cobbler for Robin’s homecoming.”

My mouth started to water. Miss Irene had a way with pies. “That was nice of her. You can leave it in the kitchen with Granny.”

After Ruby dropped off the pie, she helped me tie balloons to the porch railing. “We need to talk,” she said.

I pointed to the open window. I didn’t want Granny listening in. “Let’s take a walk in the woods.” We didn’t go far, just out of earshot of the grown-ups.

“I blabbed your secret for a good reason,” Ruby said. “It’s too big to keep. If you won’t tell your parents, you should at least talk to your granny about it.”

“Are you apologizing?”

“No, I’m telling you the gospel truth.”

Ruby owed me an apology. I stopped walking and crossed my arms. “You broke a pinkie swear, so I don’t trust you anymore. That’s the same as lying.”

“It is NOT the same as lying,” Ruby said. She put her hands on her hips. “Here’s a newsflash: I don’t trust you either. You may talk big, but you still eat at Bubba’s Grill and swim in the town pool. You don’t stand up for what’s right. No wonder you’re lying to your parents. Covering up IS the same as lying.”

“Ah!” I touched my cheek. It hurt as much as if Ruby had slapped me. “Ruby Lee Kimmer, you’re mean and hateful. And you’re not my best friend anymore either!”

Ruby shook her fist at the sky. “I don’t know why I listened to you in the first place. I knew we couldn’t be friends at school.” Ruby tossed her head. “Sarah Beth Willis, you ain’t my best friend either. Fact is you’re more like a chicken than a Freedom Rider!”

“You take that back!”

Instead, Ruby put her hands underneath her arms and flapped them like wings. She circled around me making chicken noises. “Bawk, bawk, bawk, bawk, bawk!”

“Stop it! Stop making fun of me!”

Ruby bawked even louder.

All the guilt and fear spewed out of me like a flash flood. “I hate you, Ruby Lee Kimmer. You’re a—” And then I called her the most vile name I could think of. A name I knew Ruby hated. A word intended to make her people feel like dirt.

Ruby stopped bawking.

The look on her face made my chest feel tight. She had tears in her eyes, but looked as fierce as a warrior. “You are a racist,” she said.

“I … I … I didn’t mean it. You just made me so mad. All I wanted was for you to shut up.”

“Some words can’t be taken back,” Ruby said. “Nobody is born a racist, at least that’s what Ma Rene says. She’ll see a little white baby and say, ‘Look, ain’t it precious, but before that baby is full-grown, its heart will be full of hate.’ Guess that’s what’s happening to you.”

“No!” I wailed. “I just got mad and said something stupid. Hasn’t that ever happened to you? What about the time you told Ma Rene you hated her?”

“It’s not the same,” Ruby said. “You’re white trash and don’t have no room to be calling names. Don’t you ever speak to me again. You hear?”

I was so rattled that I couldn’t even think of a reply. After Ruby stomped off, I yelled, “Get off our land and don’t come back!” Ruby turned around and put the stink eye on me, but she didn’t say any more. We’d been friends since we were babies, but it only took five minutes to blow that friendship to smithereens. Some words are like a stick of dynamite.

Granny opened the screen door and joined me on the porch. “Why such a glum face?”

I was still ashamed over my fight with Ruby, but I didn’t want to ruin Robin’s homecoming. “What is taking them so long to get here?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Granny said. She shielded her eyes from the sun. “A watched pot never boils. Why don’t you help me in the kitchen?”

I would have rather kept watch, but I followed Granny into the house. I started making biscuits, sifting the flour and working in the lard.

Granny put the chicken breasts, thighs, and legs in a cast-iron skillet full of hot grease. “After you finish the biscuits, you can help me make thickening for the gravy. It’ll be good practice.”

I made a well in the sifted flour and poured in some buttermilk. “Do you think Robin will ever be just like before?” I asked. “Able to run and jump?”

“Is that what’s been bothering you?”

“Yeah, and a few other things.”

“I reckon a big girl like you is asking for the truth,” Granny said. “And the truth of it is nobody knows for sure. Not even the doctors.” Granny wiped flour off the countertops. “All we can do is take good care of her and try to keep her spirits up.”

While I finished the biscuits, I thought about Robin and Ruby. I would find a way to keep Robin’s spirits up. Maybe if I thought of the perfect way, she would get well, but I wasn’t sure what to do about Ruby. She made me mad enough to spit nails.

The meal was almost ready when Rowdy started barking. I ran onto the front porch and gripped the railing.

Dad and Grandpa carried Robin between them. Her cast started underneath her arms and covered her chest. A pair of makeshift shorts with snaps on the side hid her private parts. And then the cast fit over her legs. On the right side, only her toes were peeking out. On the left, the cast stopped just below her knee.

Sweat trickled down my neck. Robin must have been about to roast in that big plaster cast. Our little house didn’t have air-conditioning either. That would make it even worse.

Robin didn’t sleep well on her first night back home, and since we shared a room, I couldn’t sleep either.

“Itches,” Robin said. “It itches inside my cast.”

My legs and arms started itching too. I clawed them with my fingernails. “I’m sorry,” I whispered in the dark. “What about if I tell you a Billy and Blaze story?”

“No,” Robin whispered back. “Make up a story. Make up a story about me.”

I thought for a minute. “Okay, this story is about the Fourth of July Parade. Robin wanted to be in the parade, but she didn’t play an instrument or know how to twirl a baton. She really wanted to ride a horse in the parade, but she didn’t own one.”

“Someday I will,” Robin said.

I racked my brain for what might happen next. Figuring out the plot was always the hardest part. “Well, Robin was playing in Grandpa’s barn. She saw the old hay wagon and had a great idea. She asked Grandpa to help her clean and paint it. That way they could hitch up the plow horses and drive the wagon in the parade.”

“The horses’ names are King and Nick,” Robin said. “You should use their names.”

“Okay. That way they could hitch up King and Nick.”

“Did we decorate the wagon too?”

“Yep. With red, white, and blue crepe paper and balloons. The newspaper took a picture of Robin and Grandpa, and they were on the front page. They were called ‘Pioneer Stars’!”

“I like that story,” Robin said, and pretty soon she fell asleep.

The next morning my arms and legs were covered in a red rash. The doctor said I had hives.