““Mrs. Byrne fixes me with a steady eye, and my voice falters. “School has been in session for more than a month,” she says. “You are impossibly behind, with no chance of catching up this year. And Lord knows what your schooling was like in the slum.” My skin prickles. Even Mr. Byrne is startled by this. “Now, now, Lois,” he says under his breath. “I wasn’t in a—slum.” I choke out the word. And then, because she hasn’t asked, because neither of them has asked, I add, “I was in the fourth grade. My teacher was Miss Uhrig. I was in the Chorus, and we performed an operetta, ‘Polished Pebbles.’” They both look at me. “I like school,” I say.””
