Tomato Girl by Jayne Pupek Page A

matter how mad I felt at Daddy, or how much I hated Tess, my chick was small and helpless. New tears wet my eyes.
    Miss Wilder guided me to a chair at the table where Lotus-shaped candles floated in a bowl of water. She handed me a box of Kleenex from the top of her refrigerator, then brushed my bangs away from my face. “Would you like some warm milk?”
    Miss Wilder knows just what a person needs when they feel low. At school, when I stand at the blackboard and get the equations wrong, she touches my shoulder and makes me forget how stupid I feel. Once, when Mary Roberts tripped on the wet steps in front of the school, Miss Wilder brushed the dirt off Mary’s dress. She checked and rechecked all the bones Mary swore she’d broken.
    â€œYes, milk would taste good.”
    Miss Wilder stood at the stove and heated a pan of milk, then stirred in nutmeg and honey before testing the temperature with her finger. After pouring the milk into a bright blue bowl, she handed it to me.
    â€œIn Europe, the people drink coffee in bowls, not cups. Did you know that?” she asked.
    I shook my head and managed to smile.
    â€œDrink this,” she said. “It will make you feel better.”
    I sipped the warm, sweet milk. It soothed my throat and filled the sad place in my belly.
    Miss Franklin went into another room and returned a fewminutes later with a drawing tablet and a box of colored pencils. “When I feel really down, it helps me to sketch pictures. The colors make me feel better again. Maybe you’d like to draw for awhile?”
    I opened the drawing tablet. At first I made only a few random marks, but after a little while, pictures moved across my mind and I put them on the paper. Soon, three pages were filled. I drew Belle and my blue bowl. I drew my house on Grace Street with its wide front porch and shuttered windows, then a picture of Jellybean peeking from his oatmeal box.
    I didn’t draw Mama, Daddy, or Tess.
    â€œYou know, Ellie, I have to call your father and let him know you’re here. I’m sure he’s very worried about you,” Miss Wilder said.
    â€œNo, he’s not.”
    â€œWhy do you say that?” Miss Wilder wrinkled her forehead.
    â€œI just know.” I drank the last of my milk, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Can I stay here?”
    â€œYes, I suppose. I mean, I’d love to have you spend the night, but I do have to ask your father, Ellie. Is that a deal?”
    I thought for a moment. Teachers want permission slips for everything. Field trips and tardiness, even trips to the bathroom. She wouldn’t understand that runaway girls don’t bring notes from their fathers. I didn’t want her to call Daddy, but knew she had to. I gave Miss Wilder my phone number.
    She walked into the next room and called. Her voice was so low, I couldn’t make out what she said. A few moments later, she stepped around the corner, the black receiver in her hand. “Ellie, here. Your father wants to speak to you.”
    I held the receiver.
    â€œEllie?” My father’s voice sounded sharp and hollow like an ax against wood. This was a voice I’d heard him use at other people, but never at me.
    â€œYes.” I stood in the living room and tightened my hand around the phone.
    â€œI know you’re upset with me, Ellie.” His voice softened a little as he continued. “There are things you’re too young to understand, things I don’t know how to explain to you.”
    â€œI know what I saw, Daddy. You kissed Tess. I saw you.” I tried not to speak so loudly Miss Wilder would hear.
    Daddy sighed. I pictured him running his hand through his thick, dark hair. He’d have his glasses off; he’d pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger, trying to find the words he wanted. “Ellie, I’m coming to get you. We’ll go to Joe’s, have an ice cream float and talk,