Full Cicada Moon by Marilyn Hilton Page A

allowed to take shop,
    and we want to speak up about it.”
    Mr. MacDougall’s fingers do push-ups faster,
    and then he sits forward.
    â€œFirst of all, that’s silly. Secondly,
    there are other ways of changing what you don’t like.
    You take it to the school board.”
    â€œBut you have to say it’s okay first, don’t you,
    Mr. MacDougall?” I ask.
    â€œThat’s right. I do. And third,
    what if no other girls want to take shop?”
    â€œNo one has to do anything,
    sir,” Stacey says. “But the boys could take home ec
    if they want.”
    â€œShe wasn’t raised this way,” her mom says,
    and looks at Papa,
    who says, “I don’t understand what the girls did wrong.”
    â€œThey defied a teacher,” Mr. MacDougall says,
    â€œand the rules,” looking down at his desk.
    â€œWe can’t have students defying authority.
    It sets a bad example.”
    Then he looks at Stacey and me.
    â€œYou two will be suspended from school for two weeks.”
    He looks at Mrs. LaVoie, who has gone pale,
    and then at Papa,
    who says, “Isn’t that a bit harsh? Certainly,
    there are other ways to handle this.”
    â€œThat is my decision,” Mr. MacDougall says.
    â€œIt will give the girls time to reflect
    on what they’ve done
    and how to behave differently.”
    I knew we could be suspended,
    but I didn’t think we would. And now
    Stacey bursts out crying,
    but Mr. MacDougall talks over her.
    â€œBesides, what boy wants to take home ec?”

Suspended
    Staying home isn’t so bad.
    Timothy brings my schoolwork every night,
    and Papa takes it back to school the next morning,
    all done.
    I haven’t talked to Stacey in three days,
    ever since we got suspended.
    I miss her, and I hope she misses me.
    I hope she forgives me
    for getting her in trouble.
    Tonight, Timothy comes when I’m washing the dishes.
    He says, “Miss Whittaker said you can make three
balanced
meals
    at home—but no pizza or hot dogs. Then
    you’ll be caught up, except for some quizzes
    that you can take when you go back.”
    Then he picks up the dishcloth and washes a plate.
    â€œDid you know there’s a system for doing this?”
    he says, and hands me the plate to rinse.
    â€œNo—how does it go?”
    â€œYou wash the glasses first,
    then the silverware, then the plates.
    You do all the pots last.”
    â€œDid your uncle teach you that?” I ask.
    â€œI heard Miss Whittaker tell your class.
    It was like discovering a secret new world.”
    â€œSo that’s what I’m missing,” I say. “But
    what if you have a dishwasher?”
    â€œYou mean, like . . . yours?”
    We both look at the cinnamon-colored machine
    that Mama never uses
    and laugh.
    â€œMama likes to wash dishes by hand
    so she can think.”
    We finish the dishes without talking.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” he asks.
    I put the dishpan under the sink
    and hang the dishcloth on the cupboard door,
    and then ask, “Do you think what Stacey and I did
    was wrong?”
    â€œWrong? You’re kidding,
    right? Mimi, it was the coolest thing
    anyone ever did.
    And brave.
    What you did made me feel like I
    can do anything.”
    What he says makes me happy.
    â€œI’m not sorry I did it,
    but I am sorry that Stacey did.
    It’s my fault she’s been suspended.
    Her mom didn’t raise her like that.”
    â€œStacey’s smart
    and she can make up her own mind.
    But . . .”
    Now Timothy’s thinking,
    and I ask “What’s wrong?” with a little push.
    â€œNothing. I gotta go.”
    And two seconds later
    he’s gone.

Fine
    Timothy knocks on the door
    the next night, later than usual.
    â€œHomework,” he says,
    handing me my books.
    Then he pulls an envelope from his back pocket.
    â€œAnd letter.”
    I would recognize that stationery
    and pretty