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Ms. Minifred.
    Rebel had a bookcase in the basement filled with books. Lalo had seen it once when he went down to borrow a screwdriver.
    “All poetry,” Lalo had said, impressed.
    “That’s because Rebel is anguished,” said Portia. “All anguished people read poetry. He has a lost love somewhere. Eunice, you know. Ms. Minifred is helping him through the power of wondrous words.”
    Ozzie snorted.
    “He has lots of loves,” he scoffed. “I’ve seen him around town with girls on the back of his Harley.”
    “They are only temporary,” said Portia, her jeweled glasses gleaming in the darkened room, “until Wild Eunice returns.”
    Today Rebel stood at the back, listening to Portia, his tool chest at his feet, his arms folded so we could see Wild Eunice on his arm; red letters with green ivy surrounding them in a violent sort of way. He had never stayed in class before. Hehad always come to work, then disappeared back into his room in the basement. I thought suddenly of the day that Griffey’s goat had jumped his fence and walked through town and into the school, a strange sight in the schoolroom, interrupting the familiar rhythm of the class. Somehow Rebel seemed too big for the room, filling it up with leather and spiked hair.
    Rebel saw me watching him, and he mouthed the words
How’s Sophie?
    Fine
, I mouthed back.
Walking
.
    Rebel smiled broadly.
    “Also,” Portia went on, “it would be quite excellent to have clean air, clean water, and clean houses. In conclusion,” said Portia, stopping to take a breath, “cleanliness is next to godliness.”
    Portia looked at the class. “My mother says so,” she added.
    A snort from the back.
    “Thank you, Portia,” said Ms. Minifred.
    “There’s redundancy there,” said Rebel.
    Everyone turned to look at Rebel, who never spoke up when he was in the room.
    “Yes, most assuredly there is,” said Ms.Minifred. “You don’t need to say ‘quite excellent,’ Portia.
Excellent
is its own definition. It stands alone.”
    “Yep,” said Rebel, picking up his toolbox and pausing at the door to look at Ms. Minifred. “It doesn’t get any better than excellent.”
    There was what Ms. Minifred called a “pulsing silence” as Rebel went out the door. Then Ms. Minifred spoke.
    “Yep, indeed,” said Ms. Minifred, her face flushed. “Wondrous words spoken by Rebel. It doesn’t get any better than excellent.”
    Lalo and I looked at each other. It was, of course, the
yep
that did it. In that moment, the room so damp that my hair had begun to curl on its own, Lalo and I knew that there was more than words between Rebel and Ms. Minifred.
    Lalo leaned over to whisper.
    “So. Do you think anyone else noticed?”
    I shook my head. Everyone else was rustling papers.
    “Poor Ms. Minifred if Wild Eunice ever finds out,” I whispered back.
    Lalo grinned suddenly at me, then at Ms. Minifred.
    “I think Ms. Minifred can take care of herself,” he said softly.
    And then, Ms. Minifred looked up suddenly and smiled at us. A real smile, with teeth.
    “Tomorrow is poetry,” she said. Her smile grew wider. “All the world can be found in poetry. All you need to see and hear. All the moments, good and bad, joyous and sad.”
    Lalo leaned close to me.
    “Rebel will be back,” he whispered.

    All the world
.
    Lalo and I walked home through town, the wind pushing us along, our feet wet even though we wore rubber boots. The harbor was black, waves topped with gray. We passed the newspaper building, and I looked in and saw Papa reading at his desk, his reading lamp shining on the wood. We passed the hardware store and the drugstore and
food mart
with the D missing so it read FOO MART .
    I pulled my slicker around me and held my rain hat on to keep it from blowing away.
    All you need to see and hear
.
    Lalo tugged at my arm.
    “What?”
    “Home,” said Lalo.
    I looked up and saw the inn, the porch all wet and windswept. Lalo pulled me up the steps, and we took off our hats,