Richard’s funeral is today. Halfway through the morning, Mrs. Reynolds pages Silas, Leland and me to her office. Mrs. Reynolds is our new principal. She loves rules. Some of the kids call her Mrs. Killjoy. It’s mean. She makes us feel mean. Our school was a happy place before she arrived. Since she took over, we’re no longer allowed to use teachers’ first names or make calls on the office phone unless it’s a matter of life or death. We’re not allowed to throw balls against the school wall or climb in the ravine behind the school.
When Mrs. Reynolds started as principal, she met with about forty students. She met with Abelius, who has impulse-control issues; in kindergarten, he squished a caterpillar we were all sketching. Another kid she called in was Janine, who’s in my grade and still isn’t reading. She met with this kid Max, who is super artistic but cries a lot, and Amelia, who is really, really large.
She called in all the kids who sort of stuck out, or weren’t normal, whatever that means. That included me, Leland and Silas. She mentioned that we were late for school often and said something about how difficult life must be for our single mom.
“It’s not difficult, it’s fun,” Leland said.
“It must be hard not having a dad,” Mrs. Reynolds said.
“We have a dad,” I said, surprised by the anger in my voice. “He just lives far away.”
“I see,” she said snidely, as if our dad didn’t want to see us, which is total bunk.
“We’re usually late because I’m building with Lego and Leland is coloring and Liza is playing chess with Mom,” explained Silas. “We’re late because we’re happy.”
Mrs. Reynolds’s mouth opened and shut and opened again. She looked like a trout.
“Mom works hard,” Leland said thoughtfully. “All single moms do.”
Silas and I tried not to laugh.
Leland looked at us. “Well, that’s what Mom says!”
Silas and I shook with laughter. Leland laughed too. Mrs. Reynolds stood up to let us know we could go.
So now we’re in her office again. It’s totally tidy. The pencils in the pencil jar are all nibs up and perfectly sharpened. The three books on her shelf are about business management. The one plant is plastic. Nothing is out of place. Mom once said that Mrs. Reynolds was a “control freak.”
Mrs. Reynolds takes a stuffed owl down from a shelf and drops it into Leland’s lap. I guess it’s supposed to make him feel comfortable. “Your mom called to say she is taking you out of school before recess. Where are you going?”
My mouth locks. It’s none of her business where we’re going. Silas gazes out the window.
“To a funeral,” Leland answers.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Mrs. Reynolds says with genuine sympathy— I think.
“Yeah, it’s not a fun-eral.” Leland snickers at his own joke. “Mom says Silas and I can stay in the car, but Liza’s going into the graveyard.”
“Who died?” Mrs. Reynolds asks.
I close my eyes and frown. I’m trying to keep her out. Leland’s too young to realize she’s being nosy.
“A friend,” Leland says. “Well, a neighbor, kind of. But not the kind that has a house. He slept in the park.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Reynolds’s head jerks back. “A homeless person?”
“Kind of.” Leland glances at Silas. Tears run down Silas’s cheeks as he looks out the window.
“His name was Richard,” I burst out.
I stand to leave and motion to my brothers to follow. I want to get out of there. Only Leland says goodbye. Mrs. Reynolds says nothing.
We sit on the edge of a planter in the schoolyard and have our snacks. Mom drives up as I finish my carrot. There is no garbage can, so I ram the end of my carrot into the planter’s soil. I leave the green end sticking out. “Liza!” Silas hisses. Then he shoves his carrot into the dirt too.
On the way to the Royal Oak Burial Park, I breathe on the car window and write my name in the mist. The end of my finger is dirty from the planter. I think of Mrs. Reynolds with her tidy office and her clean hands. Richard was dirty and rumpled and didn’t have a job or money, but he was a better person than Mrs. Reynolds.