Free Color the Sidewalk for Me by Brandilyn Collins Page B

Kevy needed our help.
    The boys in my class—Lyle, Randy, Kenneth, and especially Gerald, with his pudgy cheeks and know-it-all attitude—were looking at me askance, mouths twisted as they shared their viewpoints in low tones. Bobby was so jealous that he wouldn’t talk to me, knitting his thick eyebrows and staring woodenly at the floor when I walked by.
    By third hour it was hard to concentrate as Mr. Leam diagrammed sentences on the board. Doodling flower petals on my paper, I worried about Danny. If I was catching this much flak, what about him? Were teachers praising him with their mouths while their eyes accused, “Just why were you hangin’ around the river, watchin’ Celia Matthews?” When the bell finally rang, I hurried for the door, intent on talking to Danny even if it meant appearing obvious.
    My math teacher, Mr. Rose, stopped me in the hall, students chattering as they flowed around us. “Hey, Celia, I heard about Kevin. Hope he’s all right.”
    â€œThank you. He’ll be fine. Probably come home soon.”
    â€œThat’s good news.”
    I waited for the inevitable question, clasping my books and peering up at Mr. Rose, who was well over six feet. He had worked at the school as long as I could remember, his hair turning gray in the process. Amid the slamming of locker doors and thumping of feet, I flashed again to that playground scene five years ago when Gerald Henley’s blood sprayed across Danny’s white shirt. Mr. Rose had broken up the fight and was gunning for Danny when I heard myself protest, “It wasn’t all his fault; Gerald called his daddy a drunk.” Compassion had flicked across Mr. Rose’s face, and he’d hauled both boys into the office for three-day suspensions. My friends had been incensed at me.
    â€œIt’s only because of Danny,” I blurted now. “Kevy would’ve gone through the rapids if it hadn’t been for him.” My cheeks flushed as the defensive remark rang in my ears, and I knew Mr. Rose understood more than I’d uttered. But he only smiled.
    â€œGod used him. I’m glad he was there,” he said simply and was gone.
    It was too late to find Danny.

    I Carrying my lunch tray, I spied Danny across the cafeteria, watching me as he stood in line. I threw him an experimental smile and he smiled back. With the warm plastic in my fingers and the smell of meat loaf in the clatter-filled room, I felt a wash of relief. He seemed okay. For a moment I actually entertained the notion of inviting him to sit with me.
    â€œCelia,” Miss Hemington called as I passed her third-grade tables. “Tell Kevy we miss him and we hope he’s back soon.”
    Kevy’s best friend, Reid, gave me a rueful smile, nodding his agreement. “He’ll be okay,” I reassured him. I knew he and Kevy were two of Miss Hemington’s favorites, partially due to their good grades. Kevy’s studious attitude in school earned him as much fondness from teachers as his loyalty earned him friends. “Thanks,” I responded to Miss Hemington. “We hope this afternoon.”
    â€œThat’s wonderful.” Her lips spread wide beneath her upturned nose. “And how fortunate Danny appeared just in time.”
    Over her shoulder I could see Barbara Dawson, Shirley Clangerlee, and Melissa at our table gesturing at me, overflowing with more pesky questions. Melissa and Shirley were like David next to Goliath, Melissa’s dainty ballerina hands fluttering against Shirley’s meaty shoulder. The Clangerlees ran the town’s IGA grocery store, and Shirley’s entire family was big-boned and overweight. Gerald was mean enough to say that was because they ate half the produce on their shelves. Barbara appeared polished as always, her thick brown hair meticulously brushed, a crisp white blouse tucked smoothly into her pleated navy skirt. While Shirley beckoned with