Free How It Happened in Peach Hill by Marthe Jocelyn Page B

eyebrows.
    When I went to tenth grade I would be in the same room as Sammy Sloane for six hours a day. The anticipation was almost more than I could bear. But this was not the excuse I used to appease Mama. She was irked that we had come up with such a clever new character and I was being dragged off to waste my time at school.
    “It might be good for business,” I said. “It’s risky to depend on Peg for fresh gossip. Her sources are patchy, and she’s not reliable when it comes to details.”
    “My customers are not generally attending high school,” said Mama.
    “But who is more likely to reveal a dirty family secret than a sulky fifteen-year-old?” I asked.
    “I hope you do not include yourself in that description?” said Mama.
    Why answer that?
    “You may go on a trial basis,” she said. “As long as it does not interfere with my plans.”
    I didn’t remind her that Mrs. Newman had no interest in Mama’s plans. She obeyed the law.
    Peg made me an egg salad sandwich, wrapped carefully in waxed paper, and packed it with two pieces of shortbread and a bottle of milk.
    “If you want to carry it home and eat your lunch here with me, you’ll be welcome, of course,” she said. “But you might make yourself a friend. You’ll want to sit in the yard there at the school, like I used to do, for the noon recess. There will be girls with skipping ropes, boys with balls. You’ll see! A whole crop of new friends.”
    “Thank you, Peg.” I kissed her. It was kind of her, but so unlikely that I might have a friend to share cookies with after three hours of high school. I’d find a place to eat and make up stories for Peg.
    I wore her skirt again, with a fuzzy white sweater from Mama’s trunk. I dithered while I rearranged my hair—side part or center part? “Bump into” Sammy Sloane or walk alone? Would it be smart or dumb to show up on the first day with a boy? Would he even want to walk with me? Might be one thing in front of my house and quite another in front of all the kids at school.
    I chose side part and walk alone. But I’d forgotten about Mrs. Newman. She was waiting on our doorstep, wearing gloves and a scarf that morning, along with her flowery hat. She looked me up and down. She pursed her lips but did notcomment. Peg gave me a squeeze before I set out. My mother had chosen not to bid me good-bye.
    I trotted beside Mrs. Newman, scrambling to think of conversation. The weather? That would last one minute, perhaps. A humorous reference to wearing Peg’s skirt? Mrs. Newman might not like to hear me complain.
    Mrs. Newman thought of something first.
    “You may encounter suspicion, Annie,” she said. “Or teasing. But you may not respond as you did yesterday. I’m depending on you to behave in a mature and responsible manner.”
    “I’ll consider that, Mrs. Newman.”
    She actually laughed. Then she stopped me in the street and put her hands on my shoulders.
    “You’re a smart girl, Annie Grey. Perhaps not quite as smart as you think, but clever enough. I’m not sure what dubious deeds your mother has led you into, but it’s not actually my business. My business is to keep you in school. That’s the law. I’m paid to hunt down truants. If there’s another law you’re breaking, I may trip across it and be forced to make a report under some heading or other, but until then you need to be at school every day, no matter what. If the other students give you a thrashing and leave you bleeding on the pavement outside Bing’s, I’ll pay attention, but until then, you’re on your own, whatever the level of mockery might be. I’m sure you’re clever enough to think up a few names to call them back.”
    She clapped my shoulders briskly, bucking me up. We walked on a few paces.
    “Perhaps Gwendalen of Stone House could inspire you inthis,” she said. “Her father, Arne the Vast? Now, that is creative naming.” She didn’t look at me, but she chuckled.
    I smirked briefly, proud to have