The Lesson by Suzanne Woods Fisher

a proper introduction, but we have definitely met.”
    She stopped abruptly and looked at him with a question on her face.
    “I’m the one you knocked into the ditch the other day.”
    She squinted her face as if she was trying to place him. Just how many people did she crash into on that scooter? Clearly, too many to remember.
    A frown pinched her face and she threw her arms in the air. “Join the long line of people who blame me for everything that goes wrong around here!” She started marching down the road.
    Chris clucked to the horse. “I’m not blaming you. Well, maybe a little. You were heading down a hill, on a scooter, with your eyes shut. Probably going ten miles an hour!”
    The young woman turned her face away, her jaw thrust out, and she picked up her pace.
    Samson seemed to know to keep up with her. “Look, maybe we can start over. I’m Chris Yoder.”
    She balled her fists on her hips. “Which way are you headed, Chris Yoder?”
    They were nearly at an intersection. Chris pointed straight ahead.
    “Then I’m going this way. Come on, Doozy.” She turned right at the intersection. As she swung to the right, something slipped out of her pocket. He tried to call out to her—a little awkward when you don’t know a person’s name: “Hey, you! You there!”—but she wasn’t going to pay him any mind.
    He jumped down to pick up the paper and unfolded it.A passport application. What? What was a Plain girl doing with a passport application? What kind of a girl was she?
    He watched her march down the lane, head held high, until she and her dog disappeared around the bend. He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. He still didn’t know her name . . . but he was going to find out.

    Jenny glanced at the clock on the kitchen counter. Was it already after two? Chris would be back soon. She had been completely absorbed in the book she was reading and simply had to find out if there was a happy ending. She loved happy endings. But now she needed to get this letter written and stick it in the mailbox before the postman came by. And before Chris returned from town. She took out one crumpled five-dollar bill from her pocket and tucked it into an envelope.
Dear Mom,
Chris and I are doing okay. I started school this week. There aren’t any girls in my grade, just boys. I feel sorry for the teacher. She’s not very bright and the big boys outsmart her. Mostly, she just sits at her desk and sifts through magazines. But at least it gives me a lot of free time to read my books. I miss you. Get better fast, okay? This is all the money I could get since my last letter.
Love you! Jenny
    For one long, painful moment, Jenny remembered how her mother looked right before everything fell apart again this last time. She was so skinny that Jenny could see two scapula bones in her back that stuck out like chicken wings. She hardly ate any food. She hardly slept. And she kept getting bloodynoses. Old Deborah had pulled Grace into the bathroom to stop the nosebleed.
    You’d think her mother would care about what drugs were doing to her body. But all Grace Mitchell wanted, all she wanted, no matter what, was more meth.
    That evening, Old Deborah talked and talked with her mom in the kitchen, long after Chris and Jenny had gone to bed. In the morning, when Jenny woke up, her mother was gone. Old Deborah told her that Grace had decided to enter the rehab center. Chris said he was pretty sure Old Deborah hadn’t given Grace a choice.
    Jenny had faith in her mom, though. This time would be different. Her mom would get better. She had cleaned up twice before. She could do it again. Absolutely. She licked the back of the envelope and ran out to the mailbox. Then she came back in to finish her story in the kitchen—the only guaranteed bat-free room in the house.
    The kitchen clock ticked loud in the silence.

    M.K. hadn’t intended to visit Erma today, but she did not want that flirtatious young man to continue to follow her, and