Falling In by Frances O'Roark Dowell

care to hear the witch’s name,” Hen snapped.
    “She’s not a witch—,” Isabelle started to protest, then stopped herself. “Fine. You and my grandmother. So that’s been nice. Nobody was ever very nice at my school. I tried to make friends, but I wasn’t very good at it. Now I think it’s because I’m a half changeling—”
    “Hush, miss!” Hen hissed from behind her. Isabelle,thinking that Hen was protesting that there was no such thing as a half changeling, and believing she could make a reasonable case that there was, turned to argue. But when she did, she saw that Hen was peering into the woods, one hand raised in Isabelle’s direction, as if to stop any words that might be about to tumble out of Isabelle’s mouth.
    Hen, still looking left and right, edged closer to Isabelle. “We’re being followed,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s that witch grandmother of yours either.”
    In a flash, Hen scooped up a rock from the ground and pitched it into the woods. “I see ya, ya old cow!”
    But the voice that yelped from behind the bushes was not that of an old cow or a young bull or any farmyard animal, and it was most certainly not that of Grete the Healer.
    No, from the sound of it, it was the voice of a boy.
    Wait a second.
    Make that two boys.



32
    Isabelle pointed at the redheaded boy as soon as he stepped out from behind a bush. “You’re Samuel. From Greenan.” She pointed at the other, taller boy. “And you’re the rat-faced boy, but I never heard your name.”
    The rat-faced boy sneered at her. “And you’re the witch’s girl.” He turned to Samuel. “I told you that’s what was going on back there. See how she knows who we are without even asking? Witchy indeed.”
    “She knows who I am,” Samuel corrected him. “She thinks you’re a rat.”
    Hen stepped forward. “If you’re from Greenan, what are you doing here?”
    “And how’s that your business?” Rat Face asked,reddening. “We’ve the right to be here, whether you think it or not.”
    Samuel ignored his friend. “We’ve been checking up on that one.” He waved his hand toward Isabelle. “Followed her when she left Greenan, tracked the both of you down Corrin way.”
    “We’ve had our eye on you, witch girl,” Rat Face added.
    “Just the first couple of days,” Samuel corrected. “Followed your tracks to Corrin, watched the goings-on for a bit, and came back. Not much to see, unless leaf gathering interests you. Doesn’t me, much. When we didn’t catch sight of the witch, we wondered if she hadn’t moved farther south and these woods were safe again for roaming. That’s why we’re out and about today. Our fishing gear’s in the bush over there.”
    Not much of a secret keeper, old Sam. Isabelle decided she liked that about him. In fact, she found him generally likeable. In fact, what if he came with her to the camp? If she liked him—she who liked very few boys, almost none she could think of,certainly not Rat Face over there—then anybody would. If Isabelle surrounded herself with likeable people, then the children would listen to her. They would trust her. They’d be less likely to stone her to death when she told them the news.
    “We’re on our way to the camp north of Greenan,” she said to Samuel. “I could use your help.”
    As Isabelle explained, she could see the interest on Samuel’s face. Oh, sure, it was interest mixed with disbelief, a half cup of fear, a dash of confusion, but definitely interest.
    Rat Face, on the other hand, laughed and rolled his eyes like yo-yos. “So you think your granny’s not a witch, then? She’s got you fooled, that one does.”
    Isabelle ignored him. “The sooner people know the truth, the sooner they can lead normal lives again,” she told Samuel. “They won’t have to be afraid of a witch anymore.”
    “
If
they believe you,” Samuel amended. “There’s no saying whether they will or won’t. But I suppose I believe