Jesse ate the first oyster himself and said it was a demonstration. He opened another one and asked again who wanted to try. He held up the lemon slices. He had brought a little bowl of them.

I ate that second oyster, with lemon juice. Mr. Home ate the third one.

“Who else?” Jesse asked, smiling away.

No one did anything. Carolyn had a face like she was smelling something.

Lizette leaned over and whispered to me, “I’m allergic to shellfish, or I would. I swear, Bea.”

Jesse just sat there looking hopeful. I could barely stand it.

That’s when Angus stood up.

He walked to the front, and Jesse handed him the half shell with the oyster in it. Angus carefully squeezed a lemon slice over it. When he had it loaded up with juice, I still wasn’t sure he could do it. But he ate that oyster. And then he shrugged and said, “Not as good as a brownie. But not bad.”

Audrey stood up, saying she’d had oysters lots of times before. She ate one. So did Dennis Mason and a few other kids. Then Mr. Home invited the parents to join us, and those oysters were gone as fast as Jesse could open them.

I’m pretty sure the colonists didn’t have lemon juice on their oysters, but Mr. Home didn’t say a word.

The April Spelling Party

Dear Sonia,

Our colonial breakfast was great. The butter was good. Your dad came and opened oysters for everyone. Angus ate an oyster!

Carolyn Shattuck is sitting next to me, acting like nothing happened, but she was a jerk at the colonial breakfast. This morning when I saw her jacket in the coat closet, I took it off the hook and dropped it on the floor.

Carolyn poked me on the shoulder with two fingers. “What are you always writing?”

“Don’t touch me,” I said.

“Another letter, right? Who do you write the letters to?”

“I’m writing to my sister.” The words gave me a happy shudder.

“You don’t have a sister!” she said.

I ignored her and wrote, I hope Carolyn Shattuck goes to a different school next year.

“Seriously. What sister?” Carolyn had opened a bag of chips.

“When my dad gets married next month,” I said slowly, “I’ll have a sister. Okay?”

She laughed. “Oh, that kind of sister. Not a real one.”

What a feeling feels like: When I get mad, I feel cold. I don’t feel huge, like when I’m happy. It’s more like I’m filling up with something that runs over my edges and rises up behind me like a gigantic pair of bat wings.

“Carolyn,” I said. “Want to see a trick?”

I’d read about it in a book.

She pulled her chip bag close. “What kind of trick?”

“Hold out your hand.”

“Why?” But she did it.