that the bad thing happened.
At that hour, shortly before the start of school, the cloakroom was filled with chattering kids struggling out of heavy coats and boots and galoshes. Although snow hadn’t been falling this morning, the weather forecast called for precipitation by mid- afternoon, and everyone was dressed accordingly.
Snow! The first snow of the year. Even though city kids didn’t have fields and country hills and woods in which to enjoy winter’s games, the first snow of the season was nevertheless a magic event. Anticipation of the storm put an edge on the usual morning excitement. There was much giggling, name-calling, teasing, talk about television shows and homework, joke-telling, riddle-making, exaggerations about just how much snow they were supposed to be in for, and whispered conspiracy, the rustle of coats being shed, the slap of books on benches, the clank and rattle of metal lunchboxes.
Standing with her back to the whirl of activity, stripping off her gloves and then pulling off her long woolen scarf, Penny noticed that the door of her tall, narrow, metal locker was dented at the bottom and bent out slightly along one edge, as if someone had been prying at it. On closer inspection, she saw the combination lock was broken, too.
Frowning, she opened the door-and jumped back in surprise as an avalanche of paper spilled out at her feet. She had left the contents of her locker in a neat, orderly arrangement. Now, everything was jumbled together in one big mess. Worse than that, every one of her books had been torn apart, the pages ripped free of the bindings; some pages were shredded, too, and some were crumpled. Her yellow, lined tablet had been reduced to a pile of confetti. Her pencils had been broken into small pieces.
Her pocket calculator was smashed.
Several other kids were near enough to see what had tumbled out of her locker. The sight of all that destruction startled and silenced them.
Numb, Penny crouched, reached into the lower section of the locker, pulled out some of the rubbish, until she uncovered her clarinet case. She hadn’t taken the instrument home last night because she’d had a long report to write and hadn’t had time to practice. The latches on the black case were busted.
She was afraid to look inside.
Sally Wrather, Penny’s best friend, stooped beside her. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t do it?”
“Of course not. I I’m afraid my clarinet’s broken.”
“Who’d do something like that? That’s downright mean .”
Chris Howe, a sixth-grade boy who was always clowning around and who could, at times, be childish and obnoxious and utterly impossible- but who could also be cute because he looked a little like Scott Baio- crouched next to Penny. He didn’t seem to be aware that something was wrong. He said, “Jeez, Dawson, I never knew you were such a slob .”
Sally said, “She didn’t-”
But Chris said, “I’ll bet you got a family of big, grody cockroaches in there, Dawson.”
And Sally said, “Oh, blow it out your ears, Chris.”
He gaped at her in surprise because Sally was a petite, almost fragile-looking redhead who was usually very soft-spoken. When it came to standing up for her friends, however, Sally could be a tiger. Chris blinked at her and said, “Huh? What did you say?”
“Go stick your head in the toilet and flush twice,” Sally said. “We don’t need your stupid jokes. Somebody trashed Penny’s locker. It isn’t funny.”
Chris looked at the rubble more closely. “Oh. Hey, I didn’t realize. Sorry, Penny.”
Reluctantly, Penny opened the damaged clarinet case. The silver keys had been snapped off. The instrument had also been broken in two.
Sally put a hand on Penny’s shoulder.
“Who did it?” Chris asked.
“We don’t know,” Sally said.
Penny stared at the clarinet, wanting to cry, not because it was broken (although that was bad enough), but because she wondered if someone had
At that hour, shortly before the start of school, the cloakroom was filled with chattering kids struggling out of heavy coats and boots and galoshes. Although snow hadn’t been falling this morning, the weather forecast called for precipitation by mid- afternoon, and everyone was dressed accordingly.
Snow! The first snow of the year. Even though city kids didn’t have fields and country hills and woods in which to enjoy winter’s games, the first snow of the season was nevertheless a magic event. Anticipation of the storm put an edge on the usual morning excitement. There was much giggling, name-calling, teasing, talk about television shows and homework, joke-telling, riddle-making, exaggerations about just how much snow they were supposed to be in for, and whispered conspiracy, the rustle of coats being shed, the slap of books on benches, the clank and rattle of metal lunchboxes.
Standing with her back to the whirl of activity, stripping off her gloves and then pulling off her long woolen scarf, Penny noticed that the door of her tall, narrow, metal locker was dented at the bottom and bent out slightly along one edge, as if someone had been prying at it. On closer inspection, she saw the combination lock was broken, too.
Frowning, she opened the door-and jumped back in surprise as an avalanche of paper spilled out at her feet. She had left the contents of her locker in a neat, orderly arrangement. Now, everything was jumbled together in one big mess. Worse than that, every one of her books had been torn apart, the pages ripped free of the bindings; some pages were shredded, too, and some were crumpled. Her yellow, lined tablet had been reduced to a pile of confetti. Her pencils had been broken into small pieces.
Her pocket calculator was smashed.
Several other kids were near enough to see what had tumbled out of her locker. The sight of all that destruction startled and silenced them.
Numb, Penny crouched, reached into the lower section of the locker, pulled out some of the rubbish, until she uncovered her clarinet case. She hadn’t taken the instrument home last night because she’d had a long report to write and hadn’t had time to practice. The latches on the black case were busted.
She was afraid to look inside.
Sally Wrather, Penny’s best friend, stooped beside her. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t do it?”
“Of course not. I I’m afraid my clarinet’s broken.”
“Who’d do something like that? That’s downright mean .”
Chris Howe, a sixth-grade boy who was always clowning around and who could, at times, be childish and obnoxious and utterly impossible- but who could also be cute because he looked a little like Scott Baio- crouched next to Penny. He didn’t seem to be aware that something was wrong. He said, “Jeez, Dawson, I never knew you were such a slob .”
Sally said, “She didn’t-”
But Chris said, “I’ll bet you got a family of big, grody cockroaches in there, Dawson.”
And Sally said, “Oh, blow it out your ears, Chris.”
He gaped at her in surprise because Sally was a petite, almost fragile-looking redhead who was usually very soft-spoken. When it came to standing up for her friends, however, Sally could be a tiger. Chris blinked at her and said, “Huh? What did you say?”
“Go stick your head in the toilet and flush twice,” Sally said. “We don’t need your stupid jokes. Somebody trashed Penny’s locker. It isn’t funny.”
Chris looked at the rubble more closely. “Oh. Hey, I didn’t realize. Sorry, Penny.”
Reluctantly, Penny opened the damaged clarinet case. The silver keys had been snapped off. The instrument had also been broken in two.
Sally put a hand on Penny’s shoulder.
“Who did it?” Chris asked.
“We don’t know,” Sally said.
Penny stared at the clarinet, wanting to cry, not because it was broken (although that was bad enough), but because she wondered if someone had
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