For the rest of the day, she kept her head down so as not to meet anyone’s eyes; attended to her studies; made sure that her face stayed blank. By the time school let out, she was exhausted.

But the day was not over yet. Hanna hurried along Second Street, as if it were possible to leave the unpleasantness behind her by getting home as quickly as she could. Approaching the alley behind the buildings on Main Street, she drew up short at the sounds of scuffling and voices.

“Quit, leave’n alone!”

“—catch you one more time—”

Sam. The second voice, that was him.

Hanna stayed where she was, hidden by the row of stables and haystacks that lined the alley. Sam emerged, dragging another boy by the collar. It was one of the Heywood brothers, either Tommy or Jimmy, who were not the same age but were both in the Fourth Reader class and looked so alike that Hanna could not yet tell them apart. What was Sam doing?

Sam gave the boy a final shove. “Tommy, you—you just get on out of here!” he shouted.

Tommy almost lost his balance, but caught himself and scrambled away. Sam hurled something after him; whatever it was hit a hitching post and shattered. Sam watched until Tommy was out of sight, then continued on his way down Second Street.

Hanna’s heart was thumping hard. She stole into the street to pick up one of the shards of whatever Sam had thrown.

It was a piece of a slate. Written on it, smeared but still legible, were the words “I you.”

Friday. Never had Hanna so welcomed the end of the week. Only one more day to get through.

Miss Walters spent the afternoon assigning each pupil a speaking piece. In three weeks’ time, there would be an exhibition to celebrate the last day of the term.

“Those of you in the Fifth Reader class will be allowed to choose your own piece,” Miss Walters said, “with my approval. Please come to school on Monday prepared to discuss your choices. I would like each of you to make at least three selections and we will decide among them, so that we will not have pupils speaking the same piece. School is dismissed.”

Hanna had never recited a piece in front of an audience. She could tell that only a few of the other students truly liked the idea, but no one was surprised. It seemed that such exhibitions were expected as part of the school routine.

Hanna was both intrigued and daunted. To stand alone before what would surely be most of the town and recite a piece of poetry or prose! What if she forgot the words? What if she slipped and stumbled while saying them? What if she simply froze and could not get a single word out?