Free With the Might of Angels by Andrea Davis Pinkney Page A

on my pogo stick falling into a patch of pricker bushes. Underneath she’d written, “Scratch off the black.”
    Quietly, I just kept repeating what Mama had taught me. “Sticks and stones … Sticks and stones …”
    I know the end of the rhyme says “names can never hurt you,” but that’s not true. Names
do
hurt. Hearing other kids yelling mean things was worse than a punch in the stomach. And it mademe want to holler back, but I’d promised Mama and Daddy I wouldn’t.
    More than anything, I wished I’d brought my baseball bat with me. Not to use it, but just to have it nearby. Just to grip it as tight as I could. To give my clenched fists something to hold on to.
    I was afraid my dress might rip. Not from not fitting me, but from holding in so much riled-up stuff at my insides.
    When I finally got to Prettyman’s front door, it looked so big. I knew that if I could just get inside, I’d be all right.
    The policemen pressed in closer on each side of me as we made our way up the steps and into the building.
    Prettyman sure lives up to its name. The wide hallways and tiled walls gleam under the morning sun that blesses them with her light. I was starting to see why the white part of town is called Ivoryton.
    The policemen took me to the second floor, to the principal’s office, where I sat and waited. And waited and sat. And had to use the bathroom, but didn’t dare ask.
    At least the Panic Monster had let up for now.
    I could see by the placard on his office doorthat the principal’s name was Mr. Lloyd.
    The phones rang all morning. Each time she answered, the school secretary spoke graciously. “Prettyman Coburn, may I help you?” And each time, she looked over the tops of her glasses at me.
    I stayed very still. Watching the clock. Wondering when I’d be meeting my teacher. Nobody talked to me. My lunch tin rested on my lap. At two o’clock, the school bell started to ring from outside. Its clang was muted by the thick windows. When I looked out, the police cars and barricades were still there. But this time a grown-up was ringing the bell, not the girl from the morning.
    Mr. Lloyd wouldn’t speak to me, or look at me even. He explained to his secretary and the policemen that most parents had taken their children home soon after I’d come into the building, and that there weren’t enough students at school for the teachers to teach. The bell was a signal to the teachers that the school day had ended. The principal pushed his chin in my direction. “This child’s done for today,” he told the policemen.
    My insides started to churn. Back came the Panic Monster.
    I didn’t want to face those angry people with their signs and spitting. Thankfully, Mr. Lloydtold the policemen, “Take her out the back.”
    We left the building at the place where I’d hoped to enter, through a set of steps alongside the gymnasium that led to Prettyman’s baseball field.
    Maybe it was seeing those bases and that green-green grass that put a hankering on my feet. Maybe it was the sky so big above me. Maybe it was the bullfinches, free in the trees, and still singing. It didn’t matter that home was two miles away. I took off my Vaselines. Held them tight by their straps. Hugged my lunch tin. Then I ran and ran and ran till I saw our house and Goober waiting for me inside the front fence. Mama was there, too, hanging laundry. She didn’t see me coming until Goober called out, “Dawnie!”
    Mama put both her arms around me and smoothed my rumpled hair. My muffin had lost its curl. My bow had flown off while I was whipping through the streets and avenues that led me home. Mama’s hands smelled like her lavender laundry starch. Their gentleness was a sure comfort. She kissed me twice on my forehead, then by my ear. She whispered, “Dawnie, Dawnie, sweet potato pie.”
    Something inside me tumbled open, and I cried.
Evening
    Pulled pork and fried pickles for supper. I tried, but couldn’t eat none of it. My stomach