That next morning before the school bell rang, the girls congregated in the yard as they always did, but this time instead of waiting until the last possible second to slink into the building, Rose boldly walked up to her nemesis and, with her heart in her mouth, held out her offering. “Hi,” she said, attempting to seem casual, “I thought you might like this.”

There was instant silence among Patty's acolytes as the large girl drew herself up to her full height and stared at Rose. For a second Rose thought she was going to reject the basket without even looking at it. If she did, Rose's life at St. Mary's would be over, officially and permanently. But then, oh miracle of miracles, and thank you, Blessed Mother, Patty reached out, took the basket, and opened it.

The applesauce cake was still slightly warm and as Patty's meaty hand pushed back the napkin, a mouthwatering aroma of cinnamon and raisins rose into the early-morning air. The cookies—chocolate chip and walnut—nestled invitingly around the cake. Nonna was a terrific baker, and Rose thought she heard a couple of sighs of appreciation from the crowd. She held her breath, and for the first time she allowed herself to hope that her years of schoolyard purgatory were over.

Then it happened. “Ooh!” Patty screamed, dropping the basket to the ground. “Cooties! The star's daughter has cooties in her cookies!” She began stomping on the basket. It took only a moment for everyone else to start chanting Patty's words. “Cooties in her cookies! Cooties in her cookies!” they brayed, and in seconds the basket was squashed, the baked goods were a mass of crumbs, and Nonna's beautiful white napkin was ground into the dirt. Mercifully, at that moment the school bell rang and Patty and her mob ran off. Rose grabbed Nonna's napkin and stuffed it into her pocket.

She didn't go to her homeroom. She'd be late for morning religious instruction, but for once she didn't care. God hadn't helped her, so what did she owe Him? Swallowing back tears, she headed for the girls’ room, where she began scrubbing Nonna's napkin.

“Here, try using this,” said a voice behind her. She whirled around to see one of the nuns, Sister Philomena, holding a bar of soap. Sister Phil, as the girls called her behind her back, was well liked. She was strict but fair, and known for not having favorites. Rose took the soap.

“I saw what happened from the window,” Sister Phil went on. “You know, the Patty O'Briens of the world are to be pitied. I'm afraid she'll never be very attractive, poor child, and she has neither the intelligence nor the personality to overcome that.”

“I don't care!” Rose managed to choke out.