Uncovering Sadie's Secrets Read Online Free PDF

our lunches, I caught sight of Sadie. She was coming into the lunchroom late and she looked as if she had been crying. That had to mean she was detained by a teacher or called into the office for something.
    In addition to her binder and books, she held a note in her hand. It must have been an office visit, with the principal or assistant principal or guidance counselor. Her nose ring and earrings were gone, and she had pulled her hair back into a stubby pony tail at the nape of her neck. When she saw me, she smiled and I remembered Connie’s admonition to make friends with her. Given that I was on an information-hunt, it seemed like a good idea.
    “Sadie! Come on down to our table,” I said to her, and she accepted the invitation with the same enthusiasm as a lost traveler in the desert taking an offered glass of water. As she passed Doug’s table, he called out a cheery hello and I forced myself not to think of where it fell on the scale.
    If Kerrie was surprised when I showed up at our table with Sadie in tow, she didn’t show it. She just scooted her books out of the way so Sadie could sit down, and went back to finishing her cream of chicken soup.
    “I better hurry,” Sadie said to us before heading off to the food line. We only had fifteen minutes of our lunch period left. As soon as she took off, I looked longingly at the books she had left behind. There, smack on top, was the piece of paper she had been carrying, folded over. I couldn’t just unfold it and read it. That would be outright nosiness.
    So I accidentally bumped her books close to the edge while moving my stuff around to make room, and before I knew it, her things were on the floor.
    “Bianca, you’re such an oaf!” Kerrie chided me.
    “I’ll get it, don’t worry,” I said, bending over to pick up the fallen items. Quickly, before raising my head above the table, I scanned the note. It wasn’t a detention or disciplinary letter at all. It was a short typed note from the principal, Mrs. Weston, to “Amy Sinclair” notifying her that her daughter Sadie was showing exceptional progress in math and computer skills and that her teachers were recommending she be advanced to the next level.
    “We have been unable to reach you to schedule an appointment to discuss this matter, so would you please call us at your earliest convenience,” the letter ended. Hardly the stuff of moping looks and tear-stained cheeks.
    I stacked the books neatly on top of the table, being careful to place the note in its folded position exactly where I had found it.
    A few moments later, Sadie returned with a tray full of food. She had opted for the hot lunch, a full meal of roasted chicken breast, mashed potatoes, lima beans, applesauce, a brownie, and both a milk and a bottle of iced tea. It looked like she was stocking up for a rainy day. As soon as Sadie sat down, Carmen turned to her and wasted no time finding out what we all wanted to know.
    “You’re from California, aren’t you?” she asked brightly. “Dale Levy said you were.”
    “Uh-huh, that’s right. San Jose,” Sadie said between bites. She ate like it was her first hot meal in a week.
    “Why’d you move east?” Carmen continued. It was amazing how much information you could get through direct questions.
    “My mother has some family here. A cousin,” Sadie said. “And she wanted to be closer. . .”
    Carmen nodded. “Must have been hard leaving California.”
    “Not really,” Sadie said, finishing up the mashed potatoes and opening up the brownie wrapper. “I like it here.”
    “How about your friends? Wasn’t it tough to leave? I mean, after freshman year?” Nicole asked.
    This was great. My friends were doing the interrogating and all I had to do was sit back, listen, and finish my peanut butter sandwich.
    “No. This school is much nicer. And. . . I can write to my friends. . . or call,” she said, but it was such a half-hearted claim that I doubted she had spoken with even