The Dear One Read Free Page A

I nearly whispered.
    â€œWell, it’s in my face, Feni. Again.”
    Gathering my books together, I took one last look at her before I climbed out of the car.
    â€œHave a happy birthday today,” she said, looking straight ahead as I turned to slam the door.

Two
    ROPER ACADEMY WAS FOUNDED BY QUAKERS AND IS private but not snobby private. We don’t have to wear uniforms or remember the biography of some ancient-looking founder. And because it’s in the middle of town, we aren’t secluded from other kids who aren’t students here. It starts at kindergarten and goes to twelfth grade, so we’re all supposed to be super close by the time we graduate. Caesar is my only friend.
    In the warm crowded halls, students clumped together like oatmeal, wearing wool and flannel. Each outfit looked like it took a lifetime to put together.
    I stood against the wall, waiting for Caesar, watching kids stuff rubber boots into their bright red lockers and put on leather shoes. The girls were giggly. The boys passing walked with their shoulders thrown back, their eyes hooded. Some kids screamed out, “Hey, Feni,” and “Happy birthday, Feni Beanie.” A few kids looked at me and smiled. I smiled back and tried not to look inviting.
    â€œYou think too much,” Bernadette says to me sometimes. “You’re like me in that way,” she adds, smiling. She was my teacher in the fifth grade. She and Marion have been together for a long time. Now they’re like aunts to me. Sometimes Bernadette and I stare at each other for a long time without saying anything. And when Ma or Marion asks us why we stare like that, Bernadette smirks, saying, “We’re the same person somewhere inside. We have souls that are small, dark, and quiet as nuns.”
    At the sound of the first bell, groups scurried like birds and disappeared behind dark wooden doors. I stood at my locker and took out the picture of Grandma. She looked up at me and smiled.
    â€œAfeni,” Caesar called, standing at the classroom door, “I’ve been waiting for you in the classroom.”
    â€œWe’re supposed to meet by the lockers,” I yelled down the hall, just as the late bell rang.
    Caesar crossed her eyes at me. “Birthday pinch,” she whispered, pinching my arm as I slid past her.
    â€œHave to tell you something. You’re going to die!” I said.
    â€œWhat?” Caesar whispered. “Tell me now.”
    â€œLater,” I mouthed, taking my seat.
    In class Caesar passed me a note that said, Happy Birthday, Feni. Write me a note and tell me what you have to tell me. There was a stick of Doublemint gum wrapped in the paper.
    I took the gum out and wrote at the bottom of the paper, Later. It’s too much to tell in one note. Thanks for the gum.
    When Caesar read the note, she turned around, raised her eyebrows, and rubbed her hands together.
    â€œTurn to page fifty-one in Our World, ” Ms. Temple, our history teacher, said. Books slammed onto desks. Pages flipped noisily. On page fifty-one a pilgrim gave a Native American a turkey. They smiled at each other. The drawing was done in watercolors and the Native American had soft, sad eyes.
    When Ms. Temple began reading out loud, Caesar turned to me and crossed her eyes. We both knew that pilgrims had given Native Americans blankets with small-pox on them. Caesar is part Native American and part black. We knew not to call Native Americans “Indians.” Ms. Temple read and we didn’t listen. In history we knew to hold on to what Ms. Temple said only until we were tested. After that we threw it away.
    I doodled in the margin of my notebook, drawing blankets with little dots on them and Native Americans dying. My stomach dipped when I remembered Rebecca coming to our house.
    The wind whistled past the windows. Ms. Temple said, “Do the questions at the end of the chapter, quietly. I’ll collect your work and mark