Civic Responsibility
Mrs. Bell said there was no such thing as a stupid question, but I was beginning to think she didn’t actually believe that. Every time I raised my hand during our Civic Responsibility lessons, she made a face like she’d just bitten into something sour. Sometimes she pretended not to see me at all, which was silly because I sat in the second row, directly in front of her desk.
“Now, class, who can tell me the three rules of Rotation?” she asked, turning away from the blackboard.
Nearly every hand in the room went up, including mine. This was one of the easier questions, and I was quite good at remembering things. Mama said I had a memory like an elephant, although I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. I’d only seen an elephant once, in a picture at the library, and it hadn’t looked particularly smart.
“Thomas?”
Thomas Fletcher stood beside his desk and straightened his shirt. He always did that when Mrs. Bell called on him, which I thought was ridiculous since he was usually the one who had untucked it in the first place.
“Keep moving, remain upright, and don’t interfere,” he recited.
“Very good, Thomas. You may sit down.”
Thomas sat, looking rather pleased with himself. I lowered my hand and opened my handbook to page fourteen.
Across the top, in large black letters, were the words ROTATION AND YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. Underneath was a picture of a smiling family standing in front of Civic Correction Center. The mother and father wore their skates while two children stood beside them, waving. I wondered why the children were waving when there was nobody in the picture to wave at.
“Every citizen begins Rotation upon reaching sixteen years of age,” Mrs. Bell continued. “You will receive an assigned day and reporting time each month, during which you are required to complete six hours of Rotation. This responsibility continues until your seventy-fifth birthday, unless you have received an approved exemption.”
She turned toward the blackboard and wrote the number forty-five.
“Now, can anyone tell me what this number represents?”
“Minutes!” Sarah Miller called from the back of the room.
“Yes, Sarah, but forty-five minutes of what?”
“Rotation!”
“Exactly. Rotation is completed in forty-five-minute intervals. After each interval, you earn a ten-minute rest period, except, of course, when you have completed your final interval. During your breaks, you may sit, drink water, use the facilities, or receive assistance with your equipment. However, you must return to the grounds promptly when your break ends. Your rest periods do not count toward your required six hours.”
I copied the numbers into my notebook, although I already knew most of this. Daddy sometimes complained that the ten minutes passed much faster than the forty-five, which didn’t make sense to me because ten minutes was always ten minutes, no matter what you were doing.
“Now, it’s important to remember that not everyone begins Rotation at the same time,” Mrs. Bell said. “Some citizens report early in the morning, while others may not be scheduled until the afternoon or evening. Your reporting time will be listed on your monthly assignment, and you must arrive before that time to check in. Just because your neighbor begins at eight o’clock does not mean you should arrive at eight o’clock.”
“My daddy goes at three!” Thomas announced.
“That’s wonderful, Thomas.”
“Mine goes at eight,” I added.
Mrs. Bell gave me a small smile. “And that’s exactly why we have individual schedules, Eleanor. If everyone arrived at once, there wouldn’t be enough room for everybody to participate safely.”
Calvin leaned toward me. “My dad says the afternoon ones are worse.”
“Why?” I whispered.
“Because the ground gets hot.”
“Calvin, Eleanor, is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”
“No, ma’am,” we answered together.
Mrs. Bell gave us both a warning look before returning to the board.
“During your assigned intervals, you must remain in motion at all times. You may not stop, sit, or leave the designated grounds until an attendant has authorized your next rest period. Any citizen who falls or otherwise fails to meet the requirements of their Rotation will be classified as Incomplete.”
I wrote the word Incomplete in my notebook, carefully making the capital I taller than the other letters. Beside it, I drew a question mark.
“Mrs. Bell?”
She continued writing.
“Mrs. Bell?”
“Eleanor, please raise your hand.”
I looked at my hand, which was already in the air. “I did.”
A few children giggled. Mrs. Bell turned around, holding her chalk between two fingers.
“Yes, Eleanor?”
“What happens when somebody is Incomplete?”
“That information is provided in your handbook.”
“I know, but it doesn’t say what happens.”
“It explains that Incomplete citizens are transferred to government facilities.”
“But what happens when they get there?”
Mrs. Bell placed her chalk on the ledge beneath the blackboard. I didn’t like when she did that. It usually meant somebody was about to lose recess.
“They receive the appropriate attention, Eleanor. Now, if you’ll please allow me to continue.”
I looked down at my handbook. There was a picture of a large building beside the paragraph about Incomplete citizens. It had six windows, a set of double doors, and a flag hanging outside. It looked a little like our school, except there weren’t any trees.
“Do they get to come home afterward?”
Mrs. Bell closed her eyes, and someone behind me snickered. “Eleanor James, I will not remind you again about interrupting.”
My cheeks grew hot. I hadn’t meant to interrupt. I just wanted to know whether the people got to come home. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to ask, especially since she was the one teaching us about it.
Beside me, Calvin Ward leaned back in his chair until only two legs touched the floor.
“Maybe they just don’t want to come home,” he whispered.
I turned toward him. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“Maybe their families are annoying.”
“That’s stupid.”
“You’re stupid.”
“Calvin Edward!”
“Eleanor!” Mrs. Bell snapped.
Calvin dropped his chair back onto all four legs, grinning as I turned around. I could feel my face getting hotter. It wasn’t fair that I was always the one who got caught talking when Calvin was usually the one who started it.
“Since you seem so interested in the subject, Eleanor, perhaps you’d like to tell the class why Rotation is important.”
I knew this answer, too. We’d spent nearly two weeks learning it.
“Because everybody has to do their part to keep our community strong.”
“Very good.”
“But how does going around in circles make our community strong?”
Mrs. Bell stared at me. Calvin made a noise beside me that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but he quickly covered it with a cough.
“That’s enough, Eleanor. One more interruption and you’ll spend recess indoors.”
I sank into my chair, folding my hands in my lap. I didn’t understand why she was angry. If asking questions was how we learned things, like she always said, then it seemed to me that she ought to be pleased I was trying so hard.
For the rest of the lesson, I kept my hand down.
When the bell finally rang, everyone hurried to put their books away. Calvin slammed his handbook shut and shoved it into his bag without bothering to straighten the pages. He was always ruining his schoolbooks, and then he’d complain when his mother made him pay for replacements.
“You’re going to get us both in trouble one of these days,” he said.
“Me? You’re the one who called me stupid.”
“You called me stupid first.”
“Because you said something stupid.”
He considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, you ask too many questions.”
“Somebody has to.”
“No, they don’t.”
I stuck my tongue out at him, and he returned the gesture before swinging his bag over one shoulder and heading for the door.
Calvin was my best friend, although Mama said she couldn’t understand why sometimes. He was mean to nearly everybody, and he had a terrible habit of saying exactly what he thought, even when nobody wanted to hear it. Last week, he’d told Thomas Fletcher that his new haircut made him look like a peeled potato. Thomas had cried, and Calvin had spent the afternoon standing outside the headmaster’s office.
I’d told Calvin he should apologize, but he’d said he wasn’t sorry because Thomas really did look like a potato. I thought he was wrong for making Thomas cry. I also thought Thomas looked a little like a potato.
By the time I got outside, Calvin was waiting by the front gate, kicking loose stones into the road.
“Took you long enough,” he said.
“I had to put my things away.”
“You take forever.”
“You didn’t have to wait.”
“I know.”
He kicked another stone. It bounced off the curb and rolled beneath a parked bicycle.
“Then why did you?”
He gave me a look. “Are we going or not?”
I smiled and hurried to catch up.
Our houses were only three streets away from the school, and Mama let me walk home as long as Calvin came with me. She said there was safety in numbers, which I didn’t understand because there were only two of us, and Calvin wasn’t particularly good at keeping himself out of trouble.
We passed the bakery first, then the little grocery shop where Mama bought our bread when she had enough money left over from the week’s shopping. Mr. Hollis was sweeping the pavement outside, and he waved when he saw us.
“Afternoon, you two! How was school?”
“Fine,” I answered.
“Awful,” Calvin said at the same time.
Mr. Hollis laughed. “Well, that’s education for you.”
At the end of the next street, the Rotation grounds came into view.
The rink sat in the middle of town, surrounded by a tall metal fence. It was enormous, much bigger than our schoolyard, and its smooth gray surface stretched almost the entire length of the square. A wide path circled the outside, where people waited for their sessions to begin or rested afterward. There were benches, drinking fountains, and several small buildings where citizens checked in and collected their assignments.
Above the entrance hung a large white sign with blue lettering.
YOUR ROTATION. OUR FUTURE.
I could hear the wheels before I could see the people. Hundreds of them moved around the rink in the same direction, their skates making a constant rattling sound against the concrete. Some moved quickly while others seemed barely able to keep going. A woman near the fence had her arms stretched out for balance, and an older man behind her kept his eyes fixed on the ground.
I knew better than to stop and stare. Mama said it was rude to bother people during Rotation, especially when they were tired. But I liked watching, mostly because I liked trying to recognize people.
“There’s Mrs. Turner,” I said, pointing through the fence.
Calvin looked. “Where?”
“Over there. The lady with the yellow shirt.”
“That’s not Mrs. Turner.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Mrs. Turner has brown hair.”
“She colored it.”
“Why?”
“How should I know?”
Calvin squinted at the rink. “Huh. Guess it is her.”
Near the entrance, two women were talking while one adjusted the straps on her skates. The other held a little paper cup of water.
“I thought you were scheduled for Tuesday,” the woman with the cup said.
“I was. Had to move it. Dentist appointment.”
“Oh, that’s right. How’d that go?”
“Fine, except he says I need another filling.”
They continued talking as though they were waiting for a bus. I wondered whether the woman would still be able to talk so much after her six hours were finished. Daddy usually didn’t say much immediately after his Rotation, although that never lasted very long. He said his mouth didn’t know how to stay closed for more than ten minutes.
An attendant near the fence called out several names, and a handful of skaters began making their way toward the benches. They’d earned their next break. One woman bent over with her hands on her knees the moment she stepped off the rink, while a man beside her hurried toward the drinking fountain. At the same time, several people who’d been resting stood and made their way back toward the entrance, checking their watches as they went.
I liked watching the changeovers. With everyone beginning at different times, there were always people arriving, leaving, or taking breaks. Mama said it was a good system because it kept the grounds from getting too crowded. I thought they were always crowded anyway.
Calvin stopped beside one of the benches, where a man sat with his head tipped backward and his eyes closed. His shirt was soaked through, and there was a damp towel across his knees.
“That’ll be us one day,” Calvin said.
I watched the man breathe. His chest rose and fell so quickly that I wondered if he might be sick.
“Not for eight more years.”
“Still.”
“Isaac only has four.”
Calvin nodded. “My brother says the first time is the worst.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve never done it before, obviously.”
I frowned at him. “Well, that doesn’t mean it’s the worst.”
“That’s what he said.”
I turned back toward the rink. There was a boy near the far end who looked much younger than the others. He was moving carefully, his arms stiff at his sides. Every few moments, he glanced down at his feet.
“Do you think people really get taken away when they fall?” I asked.
“Course they do.”
“But where?”
Calvin shrugged.
“Nobody ever says.” I said wiping my windblown hair from my face.
“Then stop asking.”
I looked at him. “Don’t you want to know?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared through the fence.
“Not really.”
I didn’t believe him, but I didn’t say so.
By the time we reached our street, the afternoon sun had begun slipping behind the houses. Calvin lived two doors down from us in a narrow brick house with green shutters. His front steps were cracked, and there was a crooked wooden fence around the little patch of grass his mother insisted was a garden.
Our house wasn’t much bigger, but Daddy had painted the front door yellow the summer before because Mama said she was tired of everything looking so dreary. I liked our yellow door. It made our house easier to find.
“See you tomorrow,” Calvin said, turning toward his yard.
“Calvin?”
He stopped. “What?”
“Do you think you’ll be scared when you have to do Rotation?”
He looked offended. “No.”
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
I studied his face. Calvin had a way of pressing his lips together when he was lying. He was doing it now.
“Well, I think I will be.”
“Then don’t fall.”
He said it like that was the easiest thing in the world.
“Thanks. That’s very helpful.”
“You’re welcome.”
He grinned and ran up his steps before I could say anything else. I watched him disappear inside, then headed home.
Mama was in the kitchen when I came through the door, standing at the stove with Lilli beside her on a little wooden stool.
“Hands, Nellie,” Mama called without looking around.
“I haven’t touched anything!”
“Your hands, sweetheart.”
I sighed and went to the sink.
Lilli was helping Mama stir something in a pot, although most of her attention seemed to be on the wooden spoon. She kept lifting it out of the pot and watching the sauce drip back down.
“You’re getting that everywhere,” I told her.
“No, I’m not.”
There was a large brown spot on the front of her dress.
“What’s that, then?”
She looked down. “That’s from before.”
Mama laughed softly and took the spoon from her.
“All right, my little helper. Why don’t you go set the table?”
Lilli hopped down from the stool and hurried toward the cupboard, dragging it behind her with a terrible scraping noise.
“Lift it, darling,” Mama reminded her.
Lilli stopped, picked up the stool with both hands, and carried it the rest of the way.
Mama turned to me. “How was school?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Mrs. Bell got mad at me again.”
Mama raised her eyebrows. “What happened?”
“I asked a question.”
“Was it a question you were supposed to be asking?”
“She said we could ask questions.”
Mama smiled a little. “That wasn’t exactly what I asked.”
I climbed onto one of the kitchen chairs and began picking at a loose thread on my sleeve.
“We were learning about Rotation, and she said Incomplete people get sent to facilities, but she wouldn’t tell us what happens after that.”
Mama’s hand stopped moving. Only for a moment, but I noticed.
“What did you ask her?”
“If they ever get to come home.”
Mama turned down the heat beneath the pot and set the spoon on the counter.
“Nellie, some things aren’t meant for children to worry about.”
“But she was teaching it to us.”
“I understand, sweetheart.”
“Then why wouldn’t she answer?”
Mama came over and crouched beside my chair. She brushed a loose strand of hair away from my face and tucked it behind my ear.
“Because sometimes there are things you aren’t old enough to understand yet. And that’s all right. You don’t have to understand everything right now.”
“But I want to.”
“I know you do.”
She kissed my forehead and stood.
“Now, go put your school things away before supper.”
I wanted to ask her another question, but I could tell she didn’t want me to. Mama was usually very good at answering my questions. She could explain why the moon changed shapes and why bread rose in the oven, and once she’d spent nearly an hour helping me understand how a baby could grow inside somebody’s stomach without getting squashed. But whenever I asked about Incomplete people, everybody suddenly had something else to do.
I went upstairs to my room, which I shared with Lilli, and dropped my schoolbag beside the bed. Isaac was sitting cross-legged on the floor near the window, trying to fix a little wooden airplane he’d made the week before. One of its wings had broken off, and he’d been trying to glue it back together for three days.
“You’re in my room,” I said.
“Really? I thought this was the kitchen.”
“Isaac.”
“Nellie.”
“Get out.”
He looked up at me, pretending to be surprised. “Well, that’s no way to speak to your favorite brother.”
“You’re my only brother.”
“Which makes me your favorite. Glad we agree.”
I threw my sweater at him. He caught it and tossed it onto my bed.
“How was school, squirt?”
“Fine.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“Because it was fine.”
He set the airplane down and leaned back against the bed frame.
“Calvin get into trouble again?”
“No.”
“That’s a first.”
“I got in trouble.”
Isaac laughed. “What’d you do?”
“Asked a question.”
“How dare you.”
I crossed my arms, and he grinned at me before reaching over to tug gently on one of my braids.
“What’d you ask?”
“Where Incomplete people go.”
His smile faded a little. I sat on the edge of my bed, waiting for him to answer, but he only looked down at the broken airplane in his hands.
“Do you know?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“Have you ever asked?”
“Sure.”
“What’d they tell you?”
“Same thing they tell everybody, I guess.”
“Which is?”
He shrugged. “That it’s government business.”
I thought about that.
“But aren’t we the government?”
Isaac laughed again. “No, Nellie. We’re the people.”
“Well, aren’t they supposed to work for us?”
He looked at me for a moment, then shook his head.
“You’re going to drive everybody crazy when you get older.”
“Everybody already says that.”
“Then I guess maybe you’re off to a good start.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little wrapped sweet, tossing it toward me. I caught it against my chest.
“Don’t tell Lilli.”
I smiled and immediately unwrapped it. Isaac went back to fixing his airplane, and for a while neither of us spoke.
I liked being around Isaac. He always acted like I was bothering him, but he never actually made me leave. Sometimes he’d let me sit in his room while he worked on things, and once he’d even let me help him build a little wooden box for Mama’s birthday. I’d painted flowers on the lid, although he’d complained that they looked more like spiders.
“Isaac?”
He sighed dramatically. “What now?”
“Are you scared to start Rotation?”
He kept his eyes on the airplane.
“Not really.”
“Calvin says he isn’t either.”
“Well, Calvin’s an idiot.”
I gasped. “Isaac!”
“What? He is.”
I tried not to laugh.
Isaac finally looked up at me.
“Listen, squirt. It’s six hours, with breaks. Once a month. Everybody does it. Daddy does it. Mama does it. I’ll do it, and then you’ll do it. That’s just how things work.”
“But what if you fall?”
He smiled.
“Then I guess it'd be best not to fall.” he chuckled
I didn’t like that answer any more than I’d liked Calvin’s. Before I could ask anything else, Daddy’s voice came booming from downstairs.
“ATTENTION, RESIDENTS OF THE JAMES ESTATE!”
Isaac rolled his eyes.
“Oh, here we go.”
“The king has returned from his extremely important business, and he demands immediate payment in the form of supper!”
Lilli shrieked with laughter from the kitchen. Isaac got to his feet, shaking his head.
“He’s an embarrassment.”
I followed him downstairs, where Daddy stood in the doorway with his arms stretched wide and his workbag hanging from one hand. He was wearing his good boots, although one of the laces had come undone, and there was a long dark smudge across his cheek. His hair stuck up in the back, the way it always did after a long day.
“Ah! My beautiful daughters!” he declared when he spotted us. “And Isaac.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Isaac said.
Daddy clapped him on the shoulder.
“Just making sure you stay humble, son.”
Lilli ran toward him, and he scooped her into his arms, pretending she was so heavy that his knees nearly buckled.
“Good heavens! Hadassah, what have you been feeding this child? Bricks?”
“Potatoes!” Lilli announced proudly.
“That explains it. I knew I should’ve checked her pockets.”
Mama stood by the stove, smiling as Daddy carried Lilli across the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek.
“You’re late,” she said.
“I was delayed by a very important meeting.”
“With whom?”
“A pigeon.”
“A pigeon?”
“Terrible fellow. Wouldn’t stop talking.”
Mama laughed, and Daddy leaned down to kiss her before setting Lilli back on the floor. I loved when Mama laughed at Daddy’s jokes. She always acted like she thought he was ridiculous, but she never seemed to mind very much.
Daddy looked around the kitchen.
“Now, somebody tell me what’s for supper before I perish from starvation.”
“Stew,” Mama answered.
“Again?”
“Nathaniel.”
“Wonderful! My favorite!”
Isaac snorted, and Daddy winked at him.
We ate supper crowded around our little kitchen table, with Lilli sitting on a cushion because she complained that she couldn’t see over her plate. Daddy told us about a man at work who’d accidentally nailed his own sleeve to a wooden board, and Isaac laughed so hard he nearly spilled his water.
Mama told Daddy he was going to choke if he kept talking with his mouth full, and Daddy informed her that he’d survived far worse things than a mouthful of potatoes.
I laughed until my stomach hurt.
After supper, Mama washed the dishes while Daddy dried them, singing a song he’d made up about a man who fell in love with a turnip. Lilli insisted on singing along, even though she didn’t know the words, and Isaac kept correcting the tune from the table. I was putting away the silverware when Mama glanced at the calendar hanging beside the pantry.
“Nathaniel, don’t forget you’ve got Rotation on Thursday.”
Daddy stopped singing. Only for a second.
“Already?” he asked.
“It’s the eighteenth. Your report time is eight, so you’ll need to leave early.”
He looked at the calendar, then sighed.
“Well, would you look at that. Thursday it is.”
“I checked your skates this morning. The left wheel is wearing down again.”
“I’ll have a look at it tonight.”
“You said that last month.”
“And I meant it last month, too.”
Mama gave him a look. Daddy grinned and kissed the top of her head.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I watched him take the dish towel from his shoulder and return to drying the plates.
Thursday was two days away.
I knew Daddy’s Rotation day, just like I knew Mama’s was the fourth of every month. Sometimes their dates changed if they had an appointment or an important reason to reschedule, but most of the time they stayed the same. Daddy usually went early in the morning, which meant he could be home by late afternoon if everything went according to schedule. Mama preferred the afternoon, although she complained about having to come home after dark.
I also knew that Daddy came home very tired afterward. Mama always made sure supper was ready, and she didn’t let us bother him too much until he’d had a chance to rest. Sometimes he fell asleep in his chair before supper was even finished, and Isaac would make faces at us until one of us laughed and woke him.
But Daddy always came home.
So did Mama.
Sometimes the people in town didn’t, but I didn’t personally know any of them, and nobody ever explained why. I imagined they were probably still at the facilities Mrs. Bell talked about. Maybe the government made them practice until they could finish all six hours properly.
It didn’t seem fair to keep somebody away from home just because they’d fallen down. I’d fallen off my bicycle plenty of times, and Mama had never done anything worse than tell me to be more careful.
Later that evening, after Lilli had fallen asleep and Isaac had gone to his room, I sat by our bedroom window looking out at the street. Calvin was sitting on his front steps, tossing a little ball into the air and catching it.
I opened the window.
“Calvin!”
He looked up.
“What?”
“Come here!”
“No!”
“Please?”
He sighed loudly enough for me to hear from two houses away, then stood and crossed the street. I hurried downstairs and slipped out the front door before Mama could tell me it was too late to play outside. Calvin stopped at the bottom of our steps.
“What do you want?”
I sat down on the porch.
“Nothing.”
He frowned.
“You made me come all the way over here for nothing?”
“You were only two houses away.”
“Still.”
He sat beside me anyway.
For a little while, we watched Mr. Hollis’s cat creep along the fence across the street. Calvin picked at a loose splinter in the porch step, pulling it free and rolling it between his fingers.
“Do you think Rotation is stupid?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“You’re still talking about that?”
“Just answer.”
He leaned back on his hands.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Then why does everybody do it?”
“Because they have to.”
“But why?”
“Because it’s the law, Nellie.”
“Well, who made the law?”
“The government.”
“The government..." I mumbled back "Then why can’t they change it?”
He stared at me as though I’d asked him whether the sky was made of cheese.
“How should I know?”
I pulled my knees up against my chest.
“I don’t think I want to do it.”
“Nobody wants to do it.”
“No, I mean I really don’t want to.”
Calvin picked up a pebble and threw it into the street.
“Too bad.”
I looked at him.
“What if I just said no?”
He turned toward me.
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’ll make you.”
“Well, I won’t let them.”
He laughed.
“You’re going to fight the whole government?”
“If I have to.”
“You’re a kid.”
“So are you.”
"Right, and I’m not stupid.”
I shoved his shoulder, and he shoved mine back.
For a moment, neither of us said anything. Calvin tossed another pebble into the road, watching it bounce across the pavement before looking toward the end of the street, where the distant lights of the town square glowed above the rooftops.
“My dad says people who don’t follow the rules get taken away,” he said quietly.
I watched him.
“Where?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“Do you think they’re Incomplete, too?”
“Maybe.”
I thought about the little building in my handbook, the one with the six windows and the flag out front. Maybe that’s where they took people. Maybe it was somewhere else entirely.
“Well, I’m not going,” I decided.
Calvin scoffed.
“Sure you aren’t.”
“I’m serious.”
“Okay.”
“And you shouldn’t either.”
He turned his head.
“What?”
“When we turn sixteen. We should both say no way.”
He laughed again, but I didn’t.
“I’m serious, Calvin.”
His smile disappeared.
“You’ll get in trouble.”
“Then we’ll both get in trouble.”
“That doesn’t sound very smart.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“Are you scared?”
“No.”
“Then why won’t you?”
He frowned, staring down at the pebble in his hand.
Calvin hated being called scared. Once, when an older boy had dared him to climb the tallest tree behind the school, he’d climbed almost all the way to the top before realizing he didn’t know how to get down. He’d stayed there for nearly an hour rather than admit he needed help.
Finally, he threw the pebble into the street.
“Fine.”
“Fine what?”
“Fine. We won’t do it.”
I smiled.
“Promise?”
He rolled his eyes.
“Yes, Nellie. I promise.”
I held out my little finger. Calvin stared at it.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“That’s for babies.”
“Then I guess you’re a baby.”
He glared at me, but after a moment he hooked his little finger around mine.
“There,” he said. “Happy?”
“Very.”
We sat like that for another second before he pulled his hand away. From inside the house, Mama called my name.
“Nellie! Time for bed, sweetheart!”
I got to my feet and brushed the dirt from my dress.
“See you tomorrow, Calvin.”
“Yeah.”
I climbed the steps, then turned around.
“And don’t forget.”
He was already halfway down the path.
“Forget what?”
“Our promise!”
He turned to face me, walking backward.
“I won’t, Eleanor Elisabeth!”
I made a face at him. He laughed and ran home.
Inside, Daddy was sitting in his chair, pretending to read the newspaper upside down while Lilli slept curled against his chest. Mama stood beside him, gently removing Lilli’s shoes so he could carry her upstairs without waking her.
Daddy looked up when I entered.
“Ah, there she is. Our resident troublemaker.”
“I’m not a troublemaker.”
“That’s exactly what a troublemaker would say.”
Mama smiled and held out her hand.
“Come on, darling. Let’s get you ready for bed.”
I followed her upstairs, feeling rather pleased with myself.
Calvin and I had made a promise, and Calvin never broke promises. Not important ones, anyway. I wasn’t worried about turning sixteen anymore. Eight years was a long time, and I was certain that by then we’d have figured out how to make everybody else stop, too.
