The Class

by Frances O’Roark Dowell

  “Just ask around,” her mother had said when she found Ellie tearing through her backpack for the third time the day it disappeared. “Someone probably accidentally picked it up.”

  That was what Ellie had worried about—that someone had accidentally (or on purpose) taken her notebook and was deciding what to do with it. If they shared what she’d written about her various classmates, Ellie would be done for. It wasn’t that she’d written anything mean; she’d just tried to write the truth. But who wanted to hear the truth about themselves, or at least another person’s version of the truth? Did Bart want to be reminded that he bit his fingernails during tests and quizzes? How would Ariana feel when she learned at least one observer thought that deep down, there was a little meanness mixed in with all that niceness?

  She had no idea why this stuff would be interesting to Sam, now that he wasn’t in their class anymore. But maybe Sam was a writer, same as her, and writers made a point of being interested in everything.

  Ellie glanced at the clock. They had five minutes before the bell rang for first period. She pulled out her new notebook and wrote, Petra Wilde is gone for good. Who will she be at her new school? Will she go back to acting like old, mean Petra? Or will she continue down this new path? What if she’s the one who stole Mrs. Herrera’s kittens and returned them before she left?

  Ellie sat up and chewed on her pen. But why would Petra have stolen the kittens in the first place? Even with her new hair, she wasn’t really the tiny ceramic kitten type. Maybe it was Becca Hobbes after all. She’d seen Becca on Friday tidying up the book nook just like it was old times, like the haircutting incident had never happened. And she’d seen her helping Matt Collins with his history project on Friday in Mrs. Hulka’s class. Matt had been really vocal about it too. “Gee, Becca! Thanks for your help! Wish everyone was as helpful as you are!” Weird. It was like Matt had become her press agent.

  So the old, goody-goody Becca Hobbes was back. Maybe bad Becca had stolen the kittens and the newly good Becca had returned them. Ellie wrote this down. It was a theory worth pursuing.

  “Ellie?”

  Ellie looked up to see Felicity Wallack standing next to her desk. Had she been reading over Ellie’s shoulder? Ellie leaned over her notebook and covered it with her arm. “Uh, hi,” she said. “What’s up?”

  Felicity shrugged. “Nothing. What are you writing? Not that it’s any of my business. I’m just being nosy.”

  Ellie had been writing in one notebook or another since the beginning of school, and Felicity was the first person to ever ask what she was writing about. Not that Ellie wanted to admit she’d been taking notes on her classmates. “Just a story about a kid who’s hiding out in his old school,” she halfway lied. True, she was working on a story like that, just not at this very second.

  Felicity’s eyes widened. She leaned down close to Ellie. “So you’ve seen him too? Sam, I mean?”

  “A lot of people have,” Ellie replied. “Have you?”

  “I saw him outside this morning,” Felicity said in a quiet voice. “I was looking for my spelling notebook before school—I thought maybe I left it on the playground on Friday—and he poked his head around the corner of the building. You know where Becca used to hang out at recess? That’s where he was.”

  “This morning?”

  Felicity nodded. “And Henry told me he saw him in the bathroom last week.”

  “I’ve seen him a couple of times,” Ellie said, deciding not to mention that one of those times had been in the middle of the school day, in this very classroom.

  “You know what the funny thing is?” Felicity leaned even closer to Ellie and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Elizabeth said that she and Petra saw him at the homeless shelter on Saturday, when they took over some clothes to donate.”

  What was Sam Hawkins doing at the homeless shelter? Was it near his new neighborhood?

  “Something strange is going on,” Ellie said. “Something really strange and mysterious.”

  Felicity nodded. “I think so too. Do you think Mrs. Herrera knows about it?”

  Oh, Mrs. Herrera knew about it, all right—whatever it was, Ellie thought. She had to. But for some reason, Ellie was reluctant to share this information with Felicity. Felicity hadn’t really been a part of their class. Maybe she’d use the fact that Sam had been seen in Mrs. Herrera’s classroom during the school day against their teacher, who as everyone knew, was already in some kind of trouble.

  “What do you think?” Ellie asked, avoiding the question herself.

  “I don’t know,” Felicity admitted. “I mean, why would she?”

  “Almost time for the bell,” Mrs. Herrera called out. “Start gathering your things.”

  Felicity stood up. She looked uncomfortable. “Listen,” she said, “I think I have something that’s yours? Someone gave it to me in car pool last week, only I’m not supposed to say who.”

  She went back to her desk and returned a moment later with Ellie’s missing notebook, which Ellie snatched out of her hands, holding it tightly to her chest. “Last week? You’ve had this since last week? Did you read it?”

  Felicity nodded, turning red. “The person who gave it to me to give you told me not to, but I couldn’t help it. Actually, I learned a lot. I mean, you’re really observant.”

  Not about you, Ellie almost said, and it was almost like Felicity had read her mind. “Not that there’s much about me in there,” she said. “I guess in a way I haven’t really been a part of this class.”

  “Not really,” Ellie agreed. “I mean, you’re in classes with us and everything. Your brain is in this class. Your heart is with Mr. Lee’s class.”

  Felicity’s expression darkened. “Maybe not so much anymore.”

  “Oh,” Ellie said. Her fingers itched to start taking notes. At last she was getting the inside scoop on Felicity Wallack!

  And then she remembered Felicity had read her scoop on everybody else.

  “Are you going to tell everybody what I wrote about them?” Ellie asked. “It probably doesn’t matter, but I guess I don’t want everyone to hate me. Even though they sort of do already.”

  Felicity was opening her mouth to say something when the bell rang. Oh well, Ellie thought as she stuffed her notebook into her backpack. It wasn’t like she could lose any friends, since she didn’t have any to begin with.

  “Do you want to sit together at lunch today?” Felicity asked as Ellie was starting to stand up, which made Ellie sit right back down.

  “You mean together?”

  Felicity nodded. “I’m pretty sure that’s what I just said. I mean, we’ve eaten lunch apart up to now, right?”

  “I’ll eat lunch with you,” Ellie said, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. “I mean, if you really want to.”

  “Good,” Felicity said. “I’d love to figure out this deal with Sam, what’s going on. Do you think he’s in trouble? Maybe he’s why Mrs. Herrera is on thin ice. I wonder if there’s something we can do to help him—and Mrs. Herrera. And who do you think took the kittens? Was it the same person who returned them?”

  Felicity kept talking as Ellie got up and followed her to her desk. Who knew she was this chatty? Or this curious?

  It was the third week of October, nearly two months into sixth grade, and Ellie Barker was pretty sure she was about to make her first friend.

  Chapter Twenty

  Garrison

  Tuesday, October 17

  Dear Mrs. Herrera,

  I have a confession to make.

  I’m not who you think I am.

  Okay, maybe in some ways I really am who you think I am. You think I’m a jock, and I am a jock. I play AAU football in the fall and travel lacrosse in the spring. Football’s my number one sport, but I have to give it up in ninth grade. My dad played college ball and even went to the NFL’s Combine in February of his senior year. But he didn’t get drafted, so he let football go and went back to school to get a business degree. Now he’s
glad he did, because a bunch of his buddies who played in the NFL are starting to have some serious health problems from too many concussions and injuries. That’s why I can’t play in high school, even though the rules are changing and the safety equipment’s a lot better now.

  There’s things about being a jock that I like, and some things that I don’t. The most obvious is that I like playing sports. I like the way I’m tired in a really good way at the end of the day. I feel used up, like I put everything I had out there. That’s what my lacrosse coach says, leave it all on the field, don’t save anything for later.

  What don’t I like? Getting automatically lumped in with a group of people, like everyone who’s an athlete is exactly the same. It wasn’t like that in elementary school. I mean, there were some people who were good at sports, like me and Carson, and some people who stunk up the gym, like Stefan and Bart, but being good at sports was just one part of who you were. Just one part of who people thought you were. And I had friends who weren’t into sports, like Jason Donnell, who’s in Mrs. Logan’s homeroom this year, and nobody acted like we shouldn’t be friends because I played sports and he didn’t, except for swimming.

  Last year nobody called me a jock, and this year everybody does. I’m in a category now, so people think they know all about me. They think I think I’m cool (I’m not), and they think I’m probably dumb (even though I’m in pre-algebra with Stefan and Ben), and they think every girl’s in love with me and that I’m into all the hot girls. Girls keeping texting me and asking me who I like and who I think is hot and who I’m taking to the dance. One girl texted me a selfie with her tongue sticking out. I think she was trying to be sexy or something, but it was sort of gross. My mom checks my texts, and when she saw that one, she was totally freaked out. She called the girl’s mom, and the girl’s mom yelled at my mom. She said that boys like me force girls to act that way.

  I don’t even know what she was talking about. I don’t even like girls. I mean, not like that. Not yet anyway. But everyone thinks that I do or I should or that I should be all happy because a girl wants to text me a picture of her tongue hanging out.

  You might think I’m the kind of guy who likes sitting at a crowded cafeteria table with all the other jocks and girls like the tongue-texting girl, but I don’t. I mean, yeah, I sit at that table, mostly because I don’t know where else to sit. That’s where people expect me to sit. One time I tried sitting with Ethan, Rogan, and Cole, but they acted all goofy, even though Ethan and I went to the same lacrosse camp this summer and played on the same team in fourth grade.

  The good thing that happened that day? Ethan was talking about this book you gave him called Hatchet and how it was the most awesome book ever. The more he talked about it, the more I wanted to read it. The more he talked about it, the more I wanted to be Brian, a kid stranded on a desert island with only his wits and a hatchet to survive. That sounded like the coolest thing ever.

  I went to the library, but Hatchet was checked out. Ethan had the copy from the book nook. That only left one copy. Your copy.

  I took it on Friday afternoon, thinking that I’d bring it back Monday morning and you’d never know it was gone. It didn’t even feel like stealing to me. It just felt like borrowing without permission. I’m pretty sure there’s a difference. Besides, I felt like I had to read that book right away. It’s like I needed it to survive.

  Remember the girl who sent me that text? The night before I stole Hatchet, she sent me another one. It was a picture of her in her nightgown. It wasn’t like she was showing anything, but it wasn’t supposed to be this innocent picture, either. I deleted it before my mom could see it, and I blocked her, but it bugged me even more than the first one. Why did she keep sending me this stuff? Did she think I liked it? Did she think I liked her? Why would she think that? I’d never even spoken to her.

  I know I’m supposed to like getting those texts. You probably think I do. But I don’t. So when Ethan was talking about this kid getting stranded on an island in the middle of nowhere, I was like, Dude, take me there now. Seriously. Because I’d rather be roughing it on a deserted island than dealing with that girl and her crap.

  I don’t have to tell you that it’s an awesome book. You might not think I’d be into camping or fishing or survival stuff like that, but I totally am. My dad’s big on camping, so he takes me and my little sister Florence on camping trips in the fall, after football season’s over. My mom stays home because she refuses to sleep on the ground.

  You might not think I’m the kind of person who would read the same book three times in one weekend, but I am. It helped that my game got rained out Saturday and I didn’t have a lot of homework. And it helped that I could totally see myself in Brian’s shoes, except for the part about wanting to be rescued. Me, I’d rather be left alone for a while. I mean I know I’d get lonely. I’d miss my family and I’d miss playing football. But sometimes being alone just seems easier. Nobody’s saying, You’re supposed to be this way or You’re supposed to be that way. You can just be who you are, no comment.

  Anyway, I meant to give Hatchet back on that Monday, but I left it at home by accident. I left it home by accident for a week. My mom says that sometimes I do things accidentally on purpose. To be honest, I might not have ever brought it back, but yesterday I heard about how you’re probably going to get fired because you’re letting some homeless kid hang out in your classroom. I hope that doesn’t happen, but if it does, I think you should read this book again.

  I think you might need Hatchet more than I do right now.

  Your student,

  Garrison

  PS I heard the homeless kid is Sam. Is that true?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Cole

  Wednesday, October 18

  Cole sat at one end of the two cafeteria tables they’d pushed together and checked to see if all the members of the class were here. Where was Stefan? Oh, okay, there he was, crammed between Carson and Ben. Ben was next to Bart and Bart was next to Ellie, who was next to Rogan who was next to Ariana who was across from Elizabeth and so on and so on. Everybody was present and accounted for, except for Petra (who was no longer a member of the class), Rosie, and Lila. Rosie, had sneered at the very idea of a class meeting.

  “Why would I eat lunch with you guys when I could eat with real people?” she’d replied when Ellie had asked her at the end of history to join the group. “Besides, I’d lose my appetite.”

  Now Cole drew a quick sketch in his sketchbook of Rosie standing in the cafeteria line, giving her a dragon’s long snout with flames coming through her nostrils.

  Ethan sat at the other end of the table from Cole. After everyone had gotten settled into their seats, he banged his lacrosse stick on the floor like a scepter and said, “Let’s bring this meeting to order.”

  Cole sketched Ethan wearing a jeweled crown and a robe with a fur collar.

  “As we all know, Mrs. H is in trouble,” Ethan began, “and if she’s not careful, she’s about to get in bigger trouble.”

  “Does someone have an extra straw?” Carson asked. “I forgot to grab one for my milk.”

  Ethan waited patiently as Elizabeth reached across the table and handed Carson a straw. “You’ve probably heard by now that Mrs. Herrera got in trouble last year for letting a student spend the day at the zoo so she could work on a research project,” he continued. “Mrs. H sent a note around to the other sixth-grade team teachers telling them that this girl”—he paused to glance at the notebook in front of him—“Lucy Yee, would be gone for the day. Lucy’s parents were aware of the situation; in fact, her mother was the one who drove her to the zoo.”

  Henry, who was sitting to Ethan’s left, leaned in so everyone could see him. “But the bureaucracy demands that paperwork be done!”

  “Yeah, it does,” Ethan agreed. “Mrs. H was supposed to submit forms to the administration, signed by herself and Lucy Yee’s parents, explaining why this absence was necessary and”—he looked at h
is notebook again—“beneficial to the student across the curriculum.”

  “At least ten days in advance,” Henry added.

  Ethan nodded. “That is correct. According to my mom, who’s on the PTA and good friends with the school secretary, Mrs. H failed to do so and received a disciplinary notice in her file. Then it was discovered that she had previously allowed another student to spend the day at the history museum, also for a class project, and an… an…”—Ethan looked at his notes again—“an addendum was added to the notice.”

  “Aka, she’s on thin ice,” Henry clarified.

  Cole drew Henry as a court jester. He put one of those funny hats on his head, the kind with three floppy, pointy things on top. Studying the sketch, Cole realized the hat was missing something and added little jingle bells to the end of each pointy thing. There. Much better.

  “I’m really afraid she’s going to get fired,” Ariana said. “I mean, she’s doing all these crazy things! Letting Sam Hawkins live in her classroom? He’s homeless! We can’t have a homeless kid living in our classroom, even a nice homeless kid!”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” said Matt, who was sitting to Ethan’s right. “First of all, Sam’s not living in our classroom. People have seen him leaving school in the afternoon. Second, who says he’s homeless?”

  Cole drew Matt as an aggressive gorilla in a football uniform, with the words Sometimes even I make a good point coming out of his mouth and floating toward Ariana, who Cole had drawn as a Chihuahua with a flowery backpack.

  Elizabeth, who was sitting next to Ariana, said in a quiet voice, “I saw him at the homeless shelter near the Hope Valley Shopping Center when Petra and I were dropping off clothes there this weekend. He wasn’t doing work like the people who volunteer there. And I volunteer there with my mom a lot, so I think I would have seen him before if he was a volunteer. When I saw him, he was eating lunch and reading a book, and this sad lady was sitting next to him. I think it was his mom.”