The Class

by Frances O’Roark Dowell

  “Okay, homeless/not homeless. Either way, why’s he spending so much time over here?” Carson asked. “He’s supposed to be at another school. Dudes, he moved, remember?”

  “Is he here right now?” Stefan asked. “Because most people have seen him before or after school. Only Ellie has seen him during school. So maybe he’s just coming back to visit. Maybe the day Ellie saw him, his new school had a teacher workday.”

  Ben crumpled up his lunch bag and stood. “I’ll go look and see if he’s in the classroom now. Let’s agree that if he’s here, we have a problem. If he’s not, then Stefan’s probably right—he just likes coming around before or after school to see Mrs. Herrera. Maybe they bonded before he moved.”

  “You can’t go until recess,” Cammi, who was sitting next to Carson, pointed out. “You’re not allowed in the hallways.”

  “It’s me, okay?” Ben said. “As long as I stay in the sixth-grade wing, who’s going to stop me?”

  “Fair enough, dude,” Carson said, and Cole drew Carson and Cammi as two peas in a pod, except that that Carson was a pea and Cammi was a lima bean. The same, but different, he wrote underneath their picture.

  “Have you ever noticed that guys like Ben get away with a lot of stuff?” Rogan asked as everyone watched Ben walk out the cafeteria doors without one teacher asking him for a pass or wanting to know where he was going. “It’s like if you’re a genius and you stay pretty quiet, teachers don’t care what you do or where you go.”

  “It pays to have a brain,” Bart said. “Just ask Bill Gates, am I right?”

  “Shut it, dude,” Matt said. “Am I right?”

  “Why don’t you shut it?” Garrison asked Matt. “Bart didn’t say anything wrong.”

  Cole glanced around the table and then drew a sea of faces, eyes wide and mouths hanging open. One thing was for sure, he thought as he drew a picture of Superman. Only Garrison could get away with saying that.

  He gave Superman Garrison’s face.

  “So what’s the point of this meeting anyway?” Matt asked, a red flush edging above his collar. “Because it’s getting boring.”

  Ethan banged his stick again. “Okay, good question. Here’s another question: Who here wants to see Mrs. H get fired? Show of hands.”

  Nobody’s hand went up. “Me either,” Ethan said. “But if Sam’s really hanging out in her classroom during the day, whether he’s homeless or not, and she gets caught letting him hang out…” Ethan drew his finger across his neck. “That’s it. She’s out of here.”

  Aadita raised her hand. When Ethan pointed at her, she said, “If it is true she’s hiding Sam in her classroom, what I would like to know is why? I mean, why is she taking this risk?”

  “She’s too soft,” Garrison offered. “She lets people get to her too easily.”

  Becca, who was sitting next to Matt, harrumphed. “Don’t let Mrs. Herrera fool you.”

  “Have you talked to her yet?” Matt asked Becca in a low voice, and when Becca shook her head, he said, “Then maybe you don’t know what’s going on with her. Remember what I told you?”

  Becca nodded glumly. “I need to go talk to her.”

  Ben reappeared at the table. “He’s in there,” he said a little breathlessly. “And she is too—Mrs. Herrera. She’s sitting at her desk and he’s sitting in the back row, writing something in a notebook. I tried the door, but it’s locked.”

  “So can anybody explain this situation?” Ethan asked the group. “And then tell us what to do?”

  No one said anything for a minute. Elizabeth looked at Ariana, who shrugged, like Don’t look at me. Cammi looked at Carson, and Carson looked at Ben. Garrison glanced at Felicity, who blushed and looked down at her lap. Ellie looked at Cole, who drew a picture of Sam and Mrs. Herrera hiding out in a World War II–style bunker. Ethan raised an eyebrow at Bart, who tapped Stefan on the shoulder. “Come on, Stef. You’re good at this kind of thing. Explain why Mrs. Herrera would do this.”

  Stefan was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I mean, unless Sam’s really in our class again, he shouldn’t be here. Mrs. Herrera knows that. But maybe his new school sucks. Or maybe it’s like Elizabeth says, and he lives with his mom in a homeless shelter and is really unhappy. Maybe Mrs. Herrera is trying to figure out a plan, but she hasn’t yet. But I’m with everybody else—I don’t want her to get fired. So the next question is, what do we do?”

  Nobody said anything for a long time, and then Cole looked up from his sketchbook. “We form a human shield,” he said. He held up the picture he’d just drawn—an enormous shield held up by a big group of people. You couldn’t see the people’s faces, though, only their feet.

  “Explain,” said Ben, who was still standing next to Ethan.

  But before Cole could explain, Ellie jumped in. “We all stand in front of him, so that no one can see him.”

  “Sort of,” Cole said. “It’s more of a blending-in thing. If we all go sit at our desks right now, who’s going to notice Sam? He’s just another kid. We could probably take him out on the playground and play soccer. He looks like at least two other kids I can think of—James Falter, who’s in Mrs. Logan’s homeroom, and this other guy—”

  “George Chaggs,” Garrison interrupted, nodding with excitement. “You know, that kid in Mr. Lee’s class? He’s the second-string quarterback on my travel team.”

  “So if some teacher sees him from a distance, she just thinks it’s James or George,” Ellie said. “You’re a genius, Cole!”

  Cole bowed to Ellie. “Thank you,” he said. “It was about time one of you guys figured that out.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” Garrison said, standing. “Let’s go form a shield.”

  Ben pointed at the clock on the wall. “We need to wait two more minutes. We’ll draw more attention if we try to leave early, especially as a group. The point is not to draw attention to ourselves or to Sam.”

  “I hear you,” Garrison said. “Good point.”

  “But by all means, lead the way when it’s time,” Ben said, and Garrison nodded. It was like watching generals from two different armies join forces, Cole thought. He drew a picture of Ben and Garrison standing next to each other, each in military uniforms. Ben had a badge on his chest that read Geek Army. Garrison’s said Jock Brigade.

  “But we shouldn’t all walk together, like Ben said,” Felicity pointed out. “In fact, we should go in different directions and then circle back around. Try not to look suspicious.”

  Cole sketched Felicity dressed in a black trench coat with a black fedora pulled low on her forehead.

  The recess bell rang. “Okay, everybody,” Garrison said. “Break into groups, but be back in the classroom in two minutes.”

  “Two minutes, everyone!” Henry repeated. “Two minutes! That’s one-two-and-not-three minutes!”

  And to Cole’s amazement, nobody told him to shut up.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Felicity

  Wednesday, October 18

  As soon as the bell rang, Felicity, Rogan, and Cole exited the cafeteria, walked to the library, stopped, turned around, and headed for the classroom. When they got there, Mrs. Herrera was pacing at the front of the room, arms crossed, looking anxious. For the first time ever, she didn’t seem like she was in charge of the class, which made Felicity feel nervous. Mrs. Herrera might be nice and she might be reasonable and understanding, but she was always in charge.

  Garrison and Ben, who were both tall, were sitting at the desks in front of Sam, who was sitting in the middle of the back row. Ellie sat to Sam’s left, Ethan to his right.

  “You guys start filling in the desks around Sam,” Garrison instructed as Felicity’s group walked through the door. “Don’t worry about whose seat you’re sitting in.”

  “We’re doing this back to front,” Ben added. “Let’s focus on blocking Sam from view.”

  Felicity sat down in the desk next to Ellie. “Has Mrs. Herrera said anything yet?” she
whispered.

  “She just asked us why we wanted to come in during recess,” Ellie whispered back. “We told her we were having a class meeting and would explain after everyone got here.”

  More of the class filed in, Ethan followed by Stefan followed by Bart followed by Elizabeth followed by Adriana followed by Henry. Felicity felt a shiver of excitement as she watched people silently take their seats. Something was happening here. Something important. Until this week, she wouldn’t have been here to be a part of it. She would have been on the playground with Madeline and Anna.

  So maybe it was for the best that they were no longer friends.

  * * *

  Felicity had hated sixth grade from the minute she’d gotten her homeroom assignment. Everyone in Mrs. Herrera’s class was either a total dweeb or a total jerk, and the idea of having to travel from class to class with Henry Lloyd? Unbearable. Putting up with Becca Hobbes’s goody-goody routine for yet another year? Too irritating for words. Garrison was a snob, Matt was a bully, and Bart Weems was a geek and had zits. He’d had zits in fifth grade! Gross.

  Worst of all, Madeline and Anna weren’t there. No, worst of all, Madeline and Anna were together in Mr. Lee’s homeroom. Felicity wasn’t fooling herself: this was bad news. This was a big win for Anna. For the last two years, Anna and Felicity had been battling each other for the position of Madeline’s best friend, and this was the break Anna had been waiting for. Between school and travel soccer, Anna now had total Madeline domination.

  The problem was the inside joke, which was Anna’s specialty. They all might be eating lunch together in the cafeteria and talking about something they’d seen on TV the night before, when Anna would lean toward Madeline and say, “That reminds me—Josh McNabb candy!” Madeline would burst out laughing, and Anna would laugh like crazy, and Felicity would laugh like she was asking a question. So why is that funny exactly?

  “Inside joke!” Anna would say in between giggles. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Felicity had hung in there for the first two months of sixth grade. She had one advantage over Anna, and that was car pool. She and Madeline and the horrible Henry Lloyd carpooled to and from school every day, a blissful Anna-free fifteen minutes each way. They had to put up with Henry, but Henry was better in small groups, so he wasn’t always a pain, and in the mornings he was actually pretty quiet. Madeline was her old self in car pool, and she and Felicity talked about the things they always talked about—what they’d watched on TV the night before, what they’d seen on Pinterest or Instagram, who liked who, who was being a jerk, how much they hated PE.

  And then one day, just like that, Madeline had dropped out of car pool and Felicity finally gave up.

  Taking the bus in the morning, Madeline had texted the night before. My mom decided it’s time. Anna takes the bus, so I think it’s going to be okay.

  Felicity and Madeline had sworn they’d never take the bus to middle school. They’d heard the rumors about what happened on the bus, and so had their moms. It wasn’t just bra snapping or bad language, either. Madeline’s mom had heard that two kids had been caught—well, she wouldn’t give the details on what they’d been doing, but it hadn’t been good.

  Wow, Felicity had texted back. Just wow.

  I’m excited! Jason Weatherford rides the bus too!

  Okay, now it made sense. Madeline and Anna were both madly in love with Jason Weatherford, captain of the seventh-grade soccer team. As long as he was on the bus, Madeline would never carpool again.

  The next morning when they picked up Henry, Felicity had expected him to make a big deal about Madeline not being there—not because he cared, but because Henry was always looking for an excuse to make a big deal over something. To her surprise, he was quiet when he got into the car and didn’t say a word for the first ten minutes.

  As they got close to school, Henry had leaned forward and tapped Felicity on the shoulder. “Could you do me a favor?” he asked. “A very not-hard-to-do favor?”

  “What?” Felicity asked, wondering what Henry could possible want her help with.

  He passed a notebook to her. “Give this to Ellie. I accidentally picked it up yesterday, but if I give it back to her, she’ll think I stole it on purpose.”

  “It’s just a notebook,” Felicity pointed out. “Why would she think you would bother stealing a notebook?”

  “People are very suspicious of me no matter what I do or how much I proclaim my innocence,” Henry replied.

  Felicity had shoved the notebook in her backpack and promptly forgotten all about it. It wasn’t until that night when she was getting out her math book that she remembered. She didn’t know what made her open Ellie’s notebook and look inside, but once she did, she couldn’t stop reading.

  On the first page, all it said was The Class. On the second page, the notes began:

  It’s not just that Stefan is smart, it’s that he seems interested in everything. Unlike Ben, who’s also really smart but acts like he’d rather be somewhere else.

  I don’t think Petra and Rosie actually like each other. They’re like two powerful countries, and the only reason they’re friends is because they’re more powerful together.

  People say Garrison is stuck-up, and I can totally see that. But the other day I was talking to my mom, and when I said, “There’s this boy in our class who’s a really good football player and he’s cute and he acts stuck-up,” she said, “Maybe he’s shy.” And now when I look at Garrison, he really does seem shy.

  Today in math, I heard Ariana tell Elizabeth that Aadita’s mom is some kind of genius scientist. I wonder if Aadita is a genius too. Maybe that’s why she never talks—she’s got too many genius thoughts going on in her mind.

  In a way, I don’t think Carson makes a very good popular person. He’s not mean or mysterious. He’s really cute, and I guess he uses his looks to get stuff (he came over to me at lunch the other day and asked if he could have my cupcake, which is probably the first time he’s said anything to me all year!), but he acts pretty nice in general. I think if you’re a boy, being cute and a good athlete is enough to make you popular. If you’re a girl, you have to be able to make other people scared of you.

  Sometimes I wonder if boys are better at being friends than girls. Rogan and Ethan and Cole don’t seem like they’d ever fight or give each other the silent treatment.

  I wonder if Henry Lloyd is lonely.

  Who is Felicity Wallack? She hardly talks in class, although she’s got the answer whenever a teacher calls on her. But when I see her in the cafeteria with Madeline and Anna, she talks a lot. Sometimes she looks sort of desperate, though. Like if she stopped talking, she’d drown.

  When she read that, Felicity had to put the notebook down. Was that really how she looked around Madeline and Anna? Desperate? She had to admit it: that was how she felt. Like if she stopped talking, she’d disappear into thin air and Madeline and Anna wouldn’t even notice.

  After dinner, Felicity picked up the notebook again and read through the whole thing. She was hoping Ellie would say something about more about her, but her name didn’t come up again. Ellie spent a lot of time wondering about Becca and about Petra Wilde (who Ellie thought had cut her hair so she could stop being Petra Wilde, which Felicity had to admit made sense—Petra always seemed dissatisfied to her, like she was the girl who had everything, but she didn’t want everything, she wanted something else), and she was mildly fascinated by Bart Weems, of all people (Ellie wondered why no one ever seemed to notice that Bart actually had a very pleasant personality and a good sense of humor).

  Ellie’s notes struck Felicity as being true without being mean. It was true that Ariana’s niceness seemed like a costume she put on every morning (Felicity thought this was a perfect way to put it), and it was true that if Stefan’s outside matched his insides, he’d be the best-looking boy in their class, but life was totally unfair that way and so he looked like someone you’d only want to be friends with.

 
; Felicity wished she and Ellie were friends. Because here it was, nearly two months into the sixth grade, and Felicity Wallack could use a friend.

  It took her almost a week to return the notebook. She hadn’t planned on asking Ellie to eat lunch with her when she did, but as soon as she did, she felt a sense of relief washing over her. If they ate lunch together, Ellie would have something to write about her, and then Felicity wouldn’t be invisible anymore.

  * * *

  By the time everyone had gotten back to the classroom and taken a seat, it really was like there was a shield around Sam Hawkins. Felicity imagined Mrs. Whalen poking her head in the door to ask why the class was spending recess inside. She’d never notice Sam in a million years. For now at least, Sam was safe, and so was Mrs. Herrera.

  Now people were starting to look around at each other, like they were asking, What next? Finally Ellie cleared her throat and raised her hand. “Mrs. Herrera?”

  “Yes, Ellie?” said Mrs. Herrera, still pacing.

  “We’d like to ask some questions, if that’s okay,” Ellie said.

  Mrs. Herrera finally stopped moving. She nodded at Ellie.

  “Well, is it okay if we ask what Sam’s doing here? Because he moved, right?”

  It took Mrs. Herrera a moment to say anything. Finally she said, “Do you want to answer that, Sam?”

  Everyone turned around to look at Sam, who was looking down at his hands. He shook his head.

  “Is it okay if I answer it?”

  Sam nodded without looking up.

  Mrs. Herrera walked over to her desk and leaned against it. “Yes, Sam did move, but only a mile away—into another school district, but not another town. He’s been coming back to visit me while he’s making the transition to his new school.”

  Ellie raised her hand. “I saw him here during lunch period last week. Is Sam hiding out here?”