Free R My Name Is Rachel by Patricia Reilly Giff Page A

have milk!
    Goat’s milk, which I’ve never tasted, but still …
    Joey is way ahead of us, because Cassie and I are bouncing a ball, playing that game. It’s my turn: “W my name is Wilma and my husband’s name is Woodrow—”
    “The cat’s name,” Cassie says.
    “What are you talking about? Woodrow Wilson was a president.”
    “It’s the cat’s name,” she says firmly.
    I miss and the ball bounces away from me. It’s impossible to have a friendship with Cassie. Now she’s naming my cat.
    “Clarence,” I say, and catch my breath, because Joey’s reached a bridge over the river.
    Before I can stop him, he climbs up and begins to walk along the outside of the railing. He teeters, then balances himself, one arm out; one foot edges in front of the other.
    My hand goes to my mouth. I want to yell at him to get down, but I’m afraid if I do, he’ll fall. Next to me, Cassie is frozen.
    A moment later, Joey sails off at the end. Safe!
    I let out my breath. Joey, always doing something dangerous.
    I do yell now. “What’s the matter with you? Have you lost your mind?”
    But he just grins at me.
    A few steps, and Cassie and I stand at the bridge to look down: a terrifying drop. “Don’t ever do that again,” I call after him, but I could be talking to the air. Already he’s way ahead of us again.
    We pass the school, with its faded drawings on the windows. My throat tightens. I just have to hope that no one saw me that day. I’ve spent every free minute reading
Anne of Green Gables
, but with every page, I know I shouldn’t have taken those books.
    Cassie gives the ball a bounce. “X my name is—” she begins, and breaks off. “It’s the best luck in the world that the school is closed.”
    I know she’s buying time so she can think of a name that begins with
X
, but still it reminds me that there isn’t one thing we agree on.
    Ahead of us, Joey stops at the gate with the sign: GET YOUR GOAT .
    We walk up the path and angle back toward the barn. The goat lady sits on the ground, her legs stretched out in front of her. Next to her is a gray goat with pale green eyes and two small horns next to her ears.
    The goat lady looks up and smiles. “We’ve been waiting for a buyer,” she says. “Xenia and I.”
    “Is that with an X?” Cassie asks.
    The goat lady nods. “She’s my twenty-fourth goat. I’m going right through the alphabet. Maybe because I’m a teacher.” She smiles at us. “Mrs. Collins.”
    Cassie and I look at each other. X my name is Xenia. Then I stare at Mrs. Collins. “A teacher?”
    She’s still patting Xenia. “The school is closed.” She leans forward. “Do you know that schools have been closed in twenty-four states?”
    “Because of the Depression?” I say.
    “Exactly.”
    I shake my head, but Cassie puts her arms around the goat’s neck. She looks thrilled for the kids in twenty-four states, especially herself.
    “In the meantime,” Mrs. Collins says, “someone broke into my school.…” She looks as if she’s going to cry.
    I feel heat creeping up my neck.
    She tries to smile. “But you’re new.” She closes her eyes. “Let me guess. You live on the farm with the stained-glass window.”
    “Yes.” I hope she doesn’t see that my face is red. I want to blurt out,
I wasn’t the one, I would never—
    “You walked a long way,” she says. She begins to tell us how to take care of the goat. What to feed her. How to keep her warm and happy. That goats like to eat strange things.
    I can hardly listen. If only I could tell her I’d give anything to go back to school, to learn new words, to write … write letters, write poetry, write anything.
    She must see that I want to say something. She stops talking, one hand in the air. Her eyes have lines around them. She squints and the lines become deeper, almost like rays of the sun.
    “It’s just …” I shake my head.
    She smiles, waiting.
    But I never say any of it, because I see a flash of something