“They’re still waiting, you know,” whispered the driver as Ollie went by. “Beth and Cathy. You can hear them crying at night, or calling the boys. But they don’t answer.”
Ollie gave up all pretense of coolness and ran toward the horse barn.
10
BY THE TIMEOllie caught up, the sixth grade was trekking toward a patch of sunflowers whose petals had withered, their pods rattling with seeds. Ollie tried to sneak in with the group, but Mr. Easton spotted her. “Ollie!” he called.
She altered course. Mr. Easton was frowning. “I didn’t see you in the milk shed. I didn’t spot you in the horse barn either. Did you go outside?”
Ollie debated lying, decided Mr. Easton would know it, and said, “Yes.”
Mr. Easton looked concerned. “Did you need some quiet time?”
Ollie suddenly wanted to yell. Quiet time, always quiet time, as if she could make her own head and heart be quiet.
“Yes,” said Ollie again.
Mr. Easton sighed. “I understand. But next time, tellme. Don’t just sneak off. Now we’re going to harvest some sunflower seeds and then it’ll be time for lunch.”
Mr. Easton, Ollie thought, was nice.
Lunch was delicious. Misty Valley had an outdoor bread oven, which Seth handled with an old-fashioned bread paddle, a streak of flour on one sharp cheekbone. Lily Mayhew went back three times for bread, giggling. She and Jenna egged each other on. Even Ollie went back once, and when Seth winked at her, she smiled at him. He hadn’t winked at Lily Mayhew.
The bread was good. It had a thick golden crust and pale insides. There was honey you could put on top and a salty sort of butter. With the bread went a red tomato soup. “The last of the fresh tomatoes!” proclaimed Ms. Webster, presiding over the pot and big rounds of farmhouse cheese.
Waiting in the soup line, Ollie decided that she was fed up with being puzzled. When she raised her bowl to have it filled with tomato soup, she met Ms. Webster’s eyes.
“Hi,” she said, holding out her bowl.
The lady in front of her suddenly wore such a cold, sinking expression of fright that Ollie felt a prickling of nervousness between her own shoulder blades. “So nice to see you again,” said Ollie, in her best innocent voice.
Ms. Webster slopped soup toward Ollie’s bowl, but her trembling hand missed and sent cream of tomato allover the ground. “Clumsy of me. Um—no,” Ms. Webster stammered. “No—no, I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t remember meeting you. Sorry.” She ladled Ollie more soup with hands that still trembled.
“I’m reading it,” said Ollie, abandoning pretense. “I’ll give it back to you if you want. But I just have some questions.”
Ms. Webster’s pumpkin-head grin was more fake than ever. “Oh—I can’t imagine what you mean. Go along, dear.” She turned sharply to serve soup to the next kid, putting her back to Ollie.
Frowning, Ollie got bread and cheese and pumpkin pie and went to a table. She was more confused than ever. She wished she could sneak off by herself and finishSmall Spaces, but Mr. Easton was keeping a close eye on her.
When they finished serving food, Seth and Ms. Webster and the bus driver sat down with Mr. Easton. Ollie watched them closely. Ms. Webster was talking with frantic animation, like she was an actor in a play. Seth didn’t say much although sometimes he smiled. The bus driver was hunched over his food, eating as though he were starving, off a plate piled high. The food disappeared in a blink. His red mouth bit, gulped, swallowed.
It had to be him that Ms. Webster was scared of. Why? What connection didhehave to a book calledSmall Spaces? Why would he want Ms. Webster to get rid of it?
Coco Zintner plopped down on the bench opposite Ollie, breaking her chain of thought. Coco had aCarsBand-Aid on her chin, and her eyes were red.
“I hate them,” said Coco. “They all laughed at me. No one helped.”
Ollie hadn’t helped either. “Sorry,” she mumbled, still keeping an eye on the adults.
“You helped me yesterday,” said Coco. “I never said thanks. So, thanks.”
Ollie didn’t say anything.
“Don’tyouhate them?” said Coco, with a sweep of her arm to indicate their class. Ollie hurriedly rescued her cup of water, which Coco had almost sent into her lap. “You always sit by yourself.”
Ollie thought about explaining, and then she just said, “No. I don’t hate anyone.” That was true. She just didn’t care enough to try to be friends anymore. She hadn’t cared about much of anything in almost a year. She looked down again, finding her place on the page.
“Then why do you sit by yourself?” asked Coco.
