that it got her out of having to work up a lesson plan.
Jennifer Lowen and Malone Dahl began to whisper to each other.
“Is this going to count towards our grade?” Jennifer asked as Catherine passed out the quiz sheets.
“Of course,” said Mrs. Trainer serenely.
“That’s not fair!” said a number of voices together.
“No? Why not?” Catherine had heard this before, a few thousand times. She handed quizzes to Jennifer and to Malone, and then to Lyndie. She noticed that Lyndie took hers with her left hand. The right wrist, lying across the paper to hold it still while Lyndie fished in her backpack for a pencil, looked swollen taut and twice normal size.
“Have you hurt yourself, Lyndie?” Mrs. Trainer asked gently.
Lyndie looked up at her a little like one who has been startled from sleep. She looked as if she was so clouded with pain that she had forgotten others could see her.
“A little,” she said.
“That looks awfully sore. Did you put ice on it?”
“No.” The rest of the class had now turned to look at Lyndie. Mrs.
Trainer briskly moved away, passing out the rest of the tests. “Read the questions over carefully first, and in a minute we’ll begin,” she said, and went back to Lyndie.
“Do you think you can write?” Catherine asked her.
“I think so.” Catherine looked doubtful. But she looked at her watch and said, “Class—ready? Please begin.”
Then she went back to her desk and sat over her attendance book, watching the room sharply, as she always did during tests. Bobbie Regan was sticking his pencil into the back of the girl in front of him.
Catherine told him to stop it. Malone Dahl was moving swiftly through the test. Jennifer Lowen, who daydreamed in class and only heard half of what Catherine said, was looking worried and not marking the paper. Lyndie, she saw, could not hold a pencil in her right hand.
Finally, she said, “Nicolette, will you be my proctor, please? Come to the front of the room.” Nicolette waddled up, bringing her pencil and test paper with her. Nicolette was bottom-heavy and beginning to get little breasts, but did not wear a bra. Her hair was Saying Grace / 75
in black ponytails. Mrs. Trainer installed her at the teacher’s desk.
“Please work until twenty past, and then bring your papers up to Nicolette. If I’m not back by then, begin to read chapter four in your geography reader. Lyndie, come with me.”
Once outside in the sunshine, Catherine asked permission to look at the arm. She probed it gently, and Lyndie nearly jumped out of her skin.
“I think this is broken, honey,” she said. “What happened? Did you fall?”
Lyndie nodded. She kept her head tucked down, as if the bright sun hurt her eyes.
“We better go see Mr. Dianda.” As they walked, Catherine asked,
“Did this happen while you were playing? Did you fall outside?”
Lyndie seemed to be thinking this over. “I fell off my bike,” she said.
“In the driveway.”
“In the driveway! That must have hurt! Did you skin your knees too?” Lyndie looked at the ground. Her legs were bare and bony, but not skinned.
“Was this yesterday afternoon? Where were your parents?”
Lyndie was silent. Catherine looked at her intently and decided to leave her mouth closed for a bit.
After a while Lyndie said, “I fell in the driveway but that’s not really when I hurt it.”
“I see.”
“Last night, well you haven’t seen my house, but there are these stairs? And I had a tray in my hands, I was bringing my TV dinner down to the kitchen. So I couldn’t see my feet when I got to the stairs, and I tripped and fell all the way down.”
“No wonder you’re all banged up! And it must have made quite a mess!”
Lyndie looked questioning.
“The tray. You must have had glasses and food and forks and things all over the place.”
“Oh, yeah. Oh it was a mess. The gravy got on the rug.”
“But didn’t your parents put ice on the wrist? Or think about taking you
Jennifer Lowen and Malone Dahl began to whisper to each other.
“Is this going to count towards our grade?” Jennifer asked as Catherine passed out the quiz sheets.
“Of course,” said Mrs. Trainer serenely.
“That’s not fair!” said a number of voices together.
“No? Why not?” Catherine had heard this before, a few thousand times. She handed quizzes to Jennifer and to Malone, and then to Lyndie. She noticed that Lyndie took hers with her left hand. The right wrist, lying across the paper to hold it still while Lyndie fished in her backpack for a pencil, looked swollen taut and twice normal size.
“Have you hurt yourself, Lyndie?” Mrs. Trainer asked gently.
Lyndie looked up at her a little like one who has been startled from sleep. She looked as if she was so clouded with pain that she had forgotten others could see her.
“A little,” she said.
“That looks awfully sore. Did you put ice on it?”
“No.” The rest of the class had now turned to look at Lyndie. Mrs.
Trainer briskly moved away, passing out the rest of the tests. “Read the questions over carefully first, and in a minute we’ll begin,” she said, and went back to Lyndie.
“Do you think you can write?” Catherine asked her.
“I think so.” Catherine looked doubtful. But she looked at her watch and said, “Class—ready? Please begin.”
Then she went back to her desk and sat over her attendance book, watching the room sharply, as she always did during tests. Bobbie Regan was sticking his pencil into the back of the girl in front of him.
Catherine told him to stop it. Malone Dahl was moving swiftly through the test. Jennifer Lowen, who daydreamed in class and only heard half of what Catherine said, was looking worried and not marking the paper. Lyndie, she saw, could not hold a pencil in her right hand.
Finally, she said, “Nicolette, will you be my proctor, please? Come to the front of the room.” Nicolette waddled up, bringing her pencil and test paper with her. Nicolette was bottom-heavy and beginning to get little breasts, but did not wear a bra. Her hair was Saying Grace / 75
in black ponytails. Mrs. Trainer installed her at the teacher’s desk.
“Please work until twenty past, and then bring your papers up to Nicolette. If I’m not back by then, begin to read chapter four in your geography reader. Lyndie, come with me.”
Once outside in the sunshine, Catherine asked permission to look at the arm. She probed it gently, and Lyndie nearly jumped out of her skin.
“I think this is broken, honey,” she said. “What happened? Did you fall?”
Lyndie nodded. She kept her head tucked down, as if the bright sun hurt her eyes.
“We better go see Mr. Dianda.” As they walked, Catherine asked,
“Did this happen while you were playing? Did you fall outside?”
Lyndie seemed to be thinking this over. “I fell off my bike,” she said.
“In the driveway.”
“In the driveway! That must have hurt! Did you skin your knees too?” Lyndie looked at the ground. Her legs were bare and bony, but not skinned.
“Was this yesterday afternoon? Where were your parents?”
Lyndie was silent. Catherine looked at her intently and decided to leave her mouth closed for a bit.
After a while Lyndie said, “I fell in the driveway but that’s not really when I hurt it.”
“I see.”
“Last night, well you haven’t seen my house, but there are these stairs? And I had a tray in my hands, I was bringing my TV dinner down to the kitchen. So I couldn’t see my feet when I got to the stairs, and I tripped and fell all the way down.”
“No wonder you’re all banged up! And it must have made quite a mess!”
Lyndie looked questioning.
“The tray. You must have had glasses and food and forks and things all over the place.”
“Oh, yeah. Oh it was a mess. The gravy got on the rug.”
“But didn’t your parents put ice on the wrist? Or think about taking you
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