Livvie Owen Lived Here by Sarah Dooley Page A

if asked, and I scooted away from him, frustrated by his presence. G ventured closeragain and offered me her Velcro strip. I didn’t take it because I didn’t want to listen right now, but I did see the words she had chosen. A picture of G, smiling, from earlier this year—she liked new pictures a lot—and a picture of a right fist being lifted by a left hand—the sign for “help.”
    â€œHow?” I demanded.
    â€œOh, Georgia has offered to help? Fantastic.” Mrs. Rhodes smiled at G gratefully. “You’ll know the schedule well enough to help me, won’t you?”
    G nodded and handed Mrs. Rhodes her own picture schedule, which G was organized enough to be in charge of. Hers was always in the proper order, neatly arranged. She did it first thing when she got to school in the mornings. Sometimes I wished I could be like G.
    Working my fingers into my hair, I nonetheless did not pull. G looked at me disapprovingly and my insides felt like I had swallowed snakes. She and Mrs. Rhodes sat down calmly at my desk and began preparing my schedule to look like G’s.
    After several deep breaths, I realized that the pressure had started to diminish again.
    â€œLivvie, tell them you’re sorry,” I said quietly after a minute. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get mad. I got scared.”
    â€œFear makes a person act angry sometimes whenthey really feel scared,” Mrs. Rhodes said matter-of-factly without looking up. “Now, Livvie, you’ve got half-eaten yogurt in the kitchen and you’ve got this fabulous friend here who’s willing to help you fix your schedule, so really, I think that all is not lost.”
    I rocked and hummed for a moment, then replied, “I think you’re right.” And although neither of us particularly liked them, I gave G a quick hug in thanks.
    Velcro ripped and she pressed the strip into my hand.
    I knew the pictures well. They meant
You’re silly
.
    Mrs. Rhodes finished with my schedule and gave G’s back to her. Standing, she cupped my cheek in her hand for a moment. Her hands were hot and papery and I didn’t like the touch, but it would have been rude to draw away and I had been rude enough for one morning before the bell.
    â€œYou really quite remind me of Otis Andrews,” she said with a soft sort of smile.
    â€œDoes Otis Andrews get mad like Livvie?” I asked.
    â€œSometimes, dear. But remember what we figured out? I think mostly he just gets afraid.”
    I nodded wearily and at last couldn’t keep myself from drawing away from her touch.
    â€œI’ll finish my yogurt and wash the bowl,” I said. “That’s what you do when you finish, you wash the bowl.” I blushed a little. She was in her sixties and probably knew what to do when you finish with a bowl.
    â€œThat sounds like a lovely idea, my dear,” Mrs. Rhodes said, and with a smile for G and a softer one for me, she headed back to the kitchen.

Chapter 8
    I worked on my real estate notebook for almost fifteen minutes before lunch. I accepted Mr. Raldy’s real estate pages even though there was a Neighbor-with-an-E section in it. This portion, I separated carefully with my scissors and folded into seven tiny squares before I threw it in the trash can.
    Nabor-with-an-A’s rental section usually got ignored, since it was the sale houses I was interested in, but it occurred to me this was the section the Sun House was most likely to appear in. The problem was that the words were too hard, and this part didn’t have any pictures. Instead each ad began with a bold-print number and some letters, followed by a lot of letters that didn’t look like actual words.
    Difficult enough even for a reader. I knew becauseI made Bristol try once and she never got past the bold print.

    It never occurred to me to ask a teacher before, but Mrs. Rhodes was different from most teachers, so I followed her