Free November Blues by Sharon M. Draper Page A

her face was inches away from Arielle’s. As her face grew darker with fury, Arielle’s grew paler. Then she spoke, loudly and clearly. “I’m here to warn you. I never forget anything! Never. For now, just run, little salt shaker, run! Because if I hit you, I swear I will hurt you.”
    Arielle ran. She grabbed Logan’s hand and darted out a side door.
    Everybody in the cafeteria cheered as they left. November looked at Olivia with new respect. “Are you okay?” she asked.
    Olivia gathered her belongings and answered, “Just leave me alone.” She stormed out the cafeteria door and onto the sidewalk.
    â€œShould we go after her?” Dana asked.
    â€œNo. Leave her some dignity.”
    â€œI can’t believe Arielle did that,” said Dana with disbelief.
    â€œShe was dizzy before, but not mean. Logan sure brings out the worst in her.”
    By that time Mr. Price, who had first peeked in the door to make sure all was quiet, walked over to the area where bits of brown milk and red sauce remained on the floor. “Anybody see what happened?” he asked.
    â€œYeah, I saw it,” a boy replied. “One of the little ninth-grade boys spilled his lunch.”
    â€œThat’s right, man. Clumsy little kids,” another girl added.
    Mr. Price looked down at the food, then directed his question to November and Dana. “Was there a problem here, girls?”
    â€œNo, sir,” they answered together.
    â€œI think the boy ran into the bathroom over there,” November told the teacher.
    Mr. Price seemed to be relieved that he didn’t have to deal with a major altercation. He thanked November and hurried out into the hall to find the boy who would not be there.

CHAPTER 15
MONDAY, MAY 10
    INSTEAD OF ATTACKING THE PROBLEM head-on, November and her mother seemed to have developed a system of dealing with each other, and with November’s pregnancy, by talking in circles. November thought it was almost funny.
    â€œWould you like some extra eggs?” her mother would ask at breakfast. She would never suggest that November should eat more or eat healthier for the baby—only that November might be hungry.
    Or November would say, “I think I’ll wear my blue warm-up suit to school this morning.” She never mentioned that her jeans were getting too tight in the waist, and the warm-ups felt much more comfortable. November wondered how long they would continue to tiptoe around the situation.
    As far as November knew, her mother had told no one, not even her best friends. Probably especially not her best friends, November thought ruefully. Much too embarrassingto admit that the daughter you had boasted about to everyone had gotten herself knocked up.
    When her mother came home from work that day, she turned on her satellite radio to the blues station and cranked up the volume as high as she could. It was her daily relaxer. “Healthier than a glass of wine!” she’d always tell her daughter.
    November used to hate the guitar-belting, sorrow-singing blues wailers when she was younger, but lately she found herself sometimes moving to the deep rhythms or tapping her feet to the heartache spoken by the gravel-voiced singers. Actually, sometimes she found the gut-busting sorrow that exploded from the blues music oddly comforting, especially considering the mess she was now in.
    As a sultry-sounding woman sang, “My man is gone for good!” November helped her mother fix dinner—chock-full of healthy foods neither of them had bothered with a month ago. Enough lettuce to choke a rabbit. Fresh carrots, green beans with almonds, and baked chicken—never fried these days. November sighed. “I really miss junk food, Mom.”
    Her mother looked at her with her head tilted a bit. “You’re going to miss a lot more, you know,” she began.
    â€œYeah, I know. I know.” November didn’t want to hear any