Drizzle by Kathleen Van Cleve Page A

of . . .”
    He waits. A pretty girl with thick blond hair and blue eyes raises her hand.
    “Yes, Marsha?”
    “It’s Margaret.”
    “Absolutely. Margaret. Continue. What does Miss Peabody have in common with Gregor Mendel?”
    “He studied pea plants?”
    “It isn’t a question.” Owen yells, “That’s the answer! Be confident! Yes! Gregor Mendel is the father of modern genetics!”
    Margaret smiles nervously.
    “Let me see.” Owen peers at his list. “Basford? Someone named Basford Von Trammel?”
    Basford looks uncomfortable.
    “Is he here? Mr. Basford Von Trammel? Or is he off running the State Department? Perhaps he’s an ambassador? Maybe a spy? Perhaps that’s why he’s so quiet?” Owen scans the room.
    Jongy stands up, pointing. “That’s him. I saw him on the news last night. He lives with the Peabodys.”
    Basford immediately casts his eyes down to the floor.
    “Hello, Mr. Von Trammel,” Owen says. “May I ask where you got your first name?”
    “It was the name of my father’s favorite teacher,” he says quietly.
    Owen’s face splits into an incredibly big, lopsided smile. “I love this story! If any of you want to name your child Owen or Dail, talk to me after class. We may be able to figure out an arrangement.”
    Owen turns back to Jongy. “And you, our public service student. Who are you?”
    Jongy’s eyes narrow. “You called on me already.”
    “I did?”
    “Yes. Ten seconds ago.”
    “Oh, yes. You’re Eve.”
    “Nope.”
    “Pia?”
    “No.”
    “Sylvie?”
    “Jennifer. Jennifer Jong.”
    “Right,” he says. “Do you know everyone in the class?”
    She looks around. “I’m new here. But I know some people.”
    “Like our ambassador, Mr. Von Trammel?”
    “Like Polly Peabody.”
    I close my eyes.
    “Wonderful,” Owen says.
    “I was actually hoping I could make an announcement to the class,” Jongy continues.
    “Go right ahead.”
    Jongy clears her throat. “I know I’m speaking for everyone when I tell Polly that we’re all so sorry for the Peabody family. It must be so hard to start a new school the day after you find out your farm is going to be ruined.”
    Everyone’s quiet. I stare at my hands. This is not how I wanted to be introduced.
    “You need to sit down,” I hear Owen say from across the room. “That was unkind.”
    I sneak a glance over to them. Jongy sits down slowly. As she does, she removes her lip gloss and starts to apply it, looking Owen straight in the eye as she does.
    “Excellent,” Owen says. “You are providing me with an excellent basis to begin our discussion, Miss Jong.”
    “What?”
    “Scientific inquiry. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. You seem like an uncannily aware young woman.”
    He starts to walk around the front of the classroom. “Let’s say you’re puzzled by something. Something happens and you want to be able to explain it.” He steps toward Charles Lafayette. “Like, let’s say Billy—”
    “Charlie.”
    “Charlie,” Owen continues. “Let’s say Charlie wonders why his hair is brown. Do you ever wonder why your hair is brown?”
    Charlie shakes his head. “Nope. My mother’s hair is brown. So is my dad’s. I’d wonder if my hair wasn’t brown.”
    “Excellent!” Owen grins. “You not only set up the ‘inquiry’—why does Charlie have brown hair—but you’ve come up with a ‘hypothesis’—that is, I have brown hair because my parents have brown hair. Then you test it—not literally, but instinctively—because you correctly assume that hair color is genetic, and you consider the color of your parents’ hair.” He snaps his fingers. “You have a fine mind, my friend!”
    He’s clearly someone Grandmom would call “excitable.” But it works; I think I’ll like him.
    “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy,” he says to the class. “Although someone did tell me once that the crazies were the only people worth knowing.” He pauses, biting his lip. “Except that he was crazy