Golden Read Free Page A

well done!” the lad cried. “Now let’s show ‘em! Come on!”
    I joined the game, running for all I was worth, which turned out to be a great deal, for all that I wassmall. Like a minnow in a stream, I slipped in and out of places larger fish could not go. The catastrophe occurred in just this way, as I attempted to dive with the ball through the legs of the captain of the opposing team. He pulled his legs together, trapping me between them, then reached down to capture the ball.
    This, he missed, for I managed to give it a great push and send it flying. His fingers found my kerchief instead. With one hard yank, he pulled it off. The fact that I had tied the knots so carefully and tightly that morning made not one bit of difference.
    My head was exposed.
    The boy gave a great yelp and leaped back. Instantly the game stopped. So profound a silence fell over each and every child that the adults in the closest stalls noticed, stopped their work, and came to see what had caused the lack of commotion. Before I could so much as reach for my kerchief, I found myself completely surrounded by curious, hostile eyes.
    Eight years had changed some things about the top of my head. It was no longer white, but brown, from spending time in the sun. Its most significant feature, however, hadn’t changed a bit: It was still completely smooth, and I completely bald.
    I could feel a horrible flush spread up my neck and over my face, one that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I’d just been running hard. I sat as still as I possibly could, praying that the earthwould miraculously open up and swallow me whole.
    It didn’t, as I hardly need tell you. Instead, somebody stepped forward: the lad who had first encouraged me to join the game. He didn’t look so enthusiastic now. His eyes, which I suddenly noticed were the same color blue as the cloth around the ball, had gone wide. The expression on his face was flat and blank, as if he was trying to give away nothing of what he might be feeling, particularly if that thing was fear. This I instantly understood, for I knew that to show fear was to give your opponent an advantage you frequently could not afford.
    â€œWhy do you look that way?” he asked. “What did you do wrong?”
    â€œNothing,” I answered swiftly, responding to the second question and ignoring the first entirely.
    â€œYou must have done something,” he countered at once. “You must have. You don’t look right.”
    â€œNo one knows that better than I do,” I answered tartly. “I’m bald, not stupid or blind.”
    â€œPerhaps she is a changeling,” another voice suddenly spoke up, a grown-up’s this time. At these words, the entire crowd sucked in a single breath, after which many voices began to cry out, all at once.
    â€œStay away from her!”
    â€œDon’t touch her!”
    â€œPick her up and throw her in the well! That’ll show us what she’s made of. That’s the test for witches.”
    â€œEnough!”
    At the sound of this final voice, all others fell silent. I saw the crowd ripple, the way the rows of corn in our garden do when the wind strikes them. Then the crowd parted and through it stepped Melisande.
    The expression on her face was one I’d never seen before: grief and fury and regret so mixed together it was almost impossible to tell them apart. Without a word, she walked to my side and helped me to my feet. Then she stooped and retrieved my kerchief from the ground.
    â€œIt seems those knots weren’t quite as tight as we supposed,” she said, for my ears alone, as she worked them free and wrapped the kerchief around my head once more. Her face was set as she tied a new set of knots herself, but her fingers were as gentle as always.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
    â€œOf course you didn’t,” she replied.