“Unkempt hair is a reflection of poor parenting,” my momma was saying as she tied the red grosgrain ribbons in my pigtails. She was always trying to give me little pearls of wisdom here and there for when I grew up and had babies of my own. But I could hardly listen that morning I was so excited. All I could think was,Fifth grade, over and over again. I smiled at myself in the mirror, thinking of the comments from the other mothers in town.
“Fifth grade really is the hardest year,” they had said.
“Now you know,” Momma said, “fifth grade was tricky for Lib, so don’t be surprised.”
I smiled again. I absolutely adored school. The chalk, the blackboard, getting to be the teacher’s pet, the one who got to bang the erasers clean after school. I had never made less than perfect straight A’s, so fifth grade was going to be the challenge I was looking for.
“I have bacon and eggs ready and waiting,” Momma said, smiling as she finished that last bow, satisfied that I looked perfect.
She put her hand up to the string of pearls on her throat. They were her grandmother’s, a family heirloom, and one of the only things of value she had managed to hold on to when the Depression hit. Her wedding ring had gone, Daddy’s pocket watch, the extra car. But we had made it through.
“As long as we can keep the house we’ll be okay,” Daddy had said over and over again. And we had.
There had been a few presentless Christmases, and I didn’t care if I ever ate soup or grits again. But we had kept our home. And Daddy was so proud.
Later, at the table, I asked, “Momma, do you think Katie Jo and I will be in the same class?”
Momma rolled her eyes and exhaled. She didn’t like me being friends with Katie Jo, not one bit. She peered at me over her plate, and Daddy peeked over his newspaper and laughed. “Just you don’t start acting like her, Lynn.” His smile was warm but he added, “Now, I mean it.”
Momma sighed again. “There’s only one class this year, so I’m sure you will be.”
I had barely touched my eggs, but, all the same, I couldn’t contain my excitement anymore. I kissed Momma and Daddy and said, “Can’t wait to tell you about it!”
I ran down the driveway, that nervous energy breaking out humidly on my forehead by the time I got to the end of the driveway and Katie Jo.
She reached conspiratorially into the pocket of her jumper and smiled, handing me two pieces of hard candy.
I gasped. “Momma would never let me eat candy so early in the morning.”
Katie Jo shrugged and smiled. “But she’s not here.”
I popped the first piece in my mouth, strawberry with a chewy center, and kicked the dust of the road out from under my saddle oxfords.
“You think there’ll be any new kids in our class?” I asked.
Katie Jo groaned, “Who in their right mind would move here?”
I giggled. “What’s so wrong with here, Katie Jo?”
“It’s just so dull. I’m going to grow up and move somewhere marvelous. Maybe New York City.” Then she shrugged. “Maybe Florida.”
What seemed like too soon later, the stern, unsmiling Mrs. McLeary was saying, “No, no, you’re an ‘S,’ so you go here. Move over a spot.”
While Mrs. McLeary was discussing something with the sixth-grade teacher, as she was just beginning to line up her row of freshly washed children, shirttails slightly askew from the morning walk to school, Katie Jo darted out of line and stood behind me. We both giggled.
I couldn’t imagine ever being as brave as Katie Jo. But thank the good Lord she was. Because if Katie Jo hadn’t been her rule-breaking self that morning, my entire life could have been different. Katie Jo’s spot behind me moved everyone up one space, and, as I would find out only moments later, put me beside the most beautiful, blue-eyed, blond-haired boy I’d ever seen.
“Who’s that?” I whispered to Katie Jo.
She shrugged. “Never seen him before.”
I looked back over, my first real crush grabbing my heart right out of my chest before I even knew what a crush was.
There we were, me in the fifth-grade line, him in the sixth, out front of the one-story elementary school, standing on the blazingasphalt. That massive flag waving was something to be respected almost as much as the cross itself. And the president was only a step below Jesus.
As we finished reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, little hands over so many beating hearts, Dan turned, those dimples gleaming, to smile at me. I heard Katie Jo giggle, and I guess I borrowed a little of my best friend’s gumption that day. My ribbon-tied pigtails trembling with anticipation, I reached over and took Dan’s hand. And that was it. My heart was stolen forever.
Annabelle
