before-the-turn-of-the-century schoolhouse. The
younger kids, grades one through four, occupied one room, and grades five through seven crammed into the second. Pine trees outlined the schoolyard and the fish-loaded creek flowed behind. The old fence had collapsed from lack of maintenance, but the school’s bright yellow exterior was painted by the students themselves. The rain puddles in the fall and the robins singing outside the windows in the spring made us all want to be outdoors instead of reading and writing.
This school was nothing like that. Budlong Elementary stretched the length of a city block. The huge, three-story, red-brick building towered over the playground and was surrounded by a chain-link fence. There were one or two trees on the playground, but nothing we could climb. Worn-out asphalt, not grass, covered the ground with cracked yellow lines indicating where to play four square, hopscotch, and dodgeball. Rows of swings, monkey bars, and two lonely slides sat inside what looked like a giant sandbox.
Addie walked along with Peewee, proudly swinging her metal Disney lunch box. Peewee swung her paper-bag lunch, just as proud. “This school is huge,” she said.
Students buzzed around, screaming and yelling, talking and running. Suddenly, a loud bell rang from the massive building. I jumped. Everyone froze. Another bell blared a minute later. Everyone scurried up to one of the yellow lines, filing up in rows by classroom, boys on one side and girls on the other.
“Come on, Regina,” said Keith, rushing past me. “We need to line up before we get in trouble.” I scooted into the girls’ line for Miss Davies’ class, across from him.
Teachers poured out of the building, each headed straight for their students. Miss Davies, wearing a pretty powder-blue dress with a poofy skirt and wide white belt, strolled toward us.
“Just follow the girl in front of you,” whispered Keith.
A girl put her finger to her mouth. “Shush. No talking in line.”
The day went by all right until Miss Davies assigned the line-shusher to me as my classroom buddy. I wasn’t crazy about that. The line-shusher told me her name was Alice and scrunched her nose every time she looked at me, and she only talked to her friends.
I wanted to be with Keith instead. After all, he had become my friend that summer, and we were in the same class.
I stopped him on our way out to recess. “What do you want to do at recess?” I asked.
Keith nervously looked down at his sneakers. “I can’t play with you, Regina,” he said, grabbing his jacket from the classroom hook.
I stared at him in shock. “Why?”
He glanced at some boys waiting for him at the door. They giggled and pointed at us. “I just can’t. Okay?” Then he left.
I stood there, not knowing what to do.
“Girls don’t play with boys, silly,” said Alice, who had annoyingly appeared at my side. “And you can’t play with me either. I’m already late for four square.”
She scampered out the door, snickering with her friends. Some classroom buddy she was.
“Run along, Regina,” Miss Davies said, urging me outside.
But I didn’t want to go outside. Apparently, boys and girls didn’t play with one another at school here. Break the rule and get teased. It was obvious Keith didn’t want that.
I finally went and looked for Peewee. She always made friends easier than I did. I didn’t know if it was being older than my classmates because of my early birthday or because, like Mama said, I thought about things a lot. Sure enough, I found Peewee laughing and jumping rope with a few girls from her class.
I ended up strolling around the perimeter of the playground. I watched boys bounce a ball against a large wall and girls hopping front and back on hopscotch squares. I stood nearby, wondering if they’d invite me to join in, but they didn’t.
Life at Budlong Elementary was not like 58th Place, and not at all like life back home. No trees, no creek, no robins, no playing with anyone you wanted to and lots of other rules I didn’t understand. I wasn’t sure I’d ever figure out how to live here.
14 Miss Elsie’s House
After school, Mama and Miss Elsie waited by the school gate. When I asked Keith why kids called his mama Miss Elsie and not Mrs. Bates, he said it was just something they did back in Arkansas.
As we all turned onto 58th Place, we waved good-bye to the Hernández brothers and then continued to Miss Elsie’s and Mr. Bates’s house.
Dozens of rose bushes, all perfectly arranged, filled the front lawn. Yellow ones. Red ones. Big bright pink ones. Circling the concrete porch were pansies and multi-colored snapdragons.
“Do you have a vegetable garden too?” I asked Miss Elsie.
“No, I don’t grow vegetables. Just flowers,” she said, smiling proudly. She turned to Mama. “Cate, would you and the girls like to come inside, and we can have a cup of coffee?”
Would I ever? I thought. I screamed inside with happiness when Mama said yes.
I hadn’t been inside anyone’s house since we moved to 58th Place. Like Addie at our house that first day we met, my curiosity was piqued to see how the Bates family lived. Even though their house didn’t look a lot bigger than ours, I could tell it was nicer just from the outside.
As soon as we walked inside, I saw how right I was.
Us kids settled in the family room, eating ham-and-cheese sandwiches off a pretty plate on top of a glass coffee table. Miss Elsie pulled the lacy curtains back, which let sunlight sparkle through the glass vases full of cut roses. Professional family pictures lined the walls, along with paintings of outdoor scenery. I could tell Mr. Bates had a good job at the post office. I hoped Daddy would get one too after he finished school.
Miss Elsie also had a special room no one could enter. In there, white plush couches with matching chairs, all covered in plastic, sat next to matching
