I got to the end of the first word. I wanted to use my finger to put a finger space between this word and the next one, but Bertie was standing too close to me. It’s easy to do a finger space without anyone noticing you’re doing a finger space, but not if someone is standing too close to you.

“But when I got to the store”—Bertie was still talking—“I didn’t have any money. I mean, not in real life. This was still in the morning message….”

I copied an i. I copied an s.

I tried to imagine another finger space, but I had drawn that little s so neat and curvy, it looked like a tiny snake. I could almost hear it hissing up at me.

“The storekeeper said she would gladly take homework as payment, but only if it was math homework and only if it was one hundred percent correct.”

Bertie’s voice sounded like the radio in my mom’s car when the station doesn’t come in clear and she has to smack the speaker with her hand to stop it from buzzing. I was starting to get all messed up with the finger spaces and the check marks and the letters that were maybe supposed to be capitals and that very bad baby snake, hissing, ssssstupid Ausssstin.

“I remember because Ms. G. left out the percent sign.” Bertie was still talking. “So it didn’t make any sense. That morning message was one hundred percent—”

“Would you be quiet?” The words were out before I could stop them.

Bertie pulled her chin back quick. Her eyes got a little shiny. Then she tipped her head to the side and looked at me like she was seeing me different, like maybe she had gotten me wrong. Golden-sticker kids don’t tell other golden-sticker kids to be quiet.

She was at her own desk before I could say I was sorry or I wasn’t even talking to her. Or maybe I was. I don’t know. Or maybe she just thought I’d gotten the hang of the morning message and I didn’t need her to be my helper anymore.

I ignored the bad feeling bubbling in my stomach and squeezed my fist down on the s. I told it to shut up.

I copied a t. I copied a u.

The point of my pencil was getting all squashed and rough. My letters got bigger and scragglier. I rubbed my forehead.

“Everything okay, Austin?” Ms. G. asked as she passed my desk, checking homework.

I nodded. I did it a lot of times to look like I meant it.

“Oh, careful there,” she said, and she pointed to the last little t on my paper. “Did Bertie explain about the edits?”

“Supposed to be a capital?” I guessed.

“Good job, Austin,” she said. She smiled at me. Then she moved on to Charlene.