Chapter Seven - Homework and Hurt Feelings

CHAPTER SEVEN

Homework and Hurt Feelings

THE NEXT DAY in class,
Mrs. Wiffle handed out papers like pancakes.
Thick red circles.
Some stars.
A few question marks that looked confused themselves.

Bluster stared at his paper.
It had a frown drawn on it.
Not an A, not an F.
Just a face.

He didn’t even know you could get a grade like that.

Across the room, kids giggled.
Not at him, exactly.
But not not at him either.

Then came group work.

Ugh.

Mrs. Wiffle made the groups with popsicle sticks.
The kind with names on them.
Random. Cold. Final.

Bluster’s stick was paired with Maya.
The girl from the lunch tray incident.

The one who still had applesauce on her shoes.

They sat at the back table.
The "Don’t Talk to Me" table.
Usually reserved for sticky projects
and quiet time.

Maya didn’t speak.
Bluster poked the worksheet with a pencil.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Maya didn’t look up.

He tried again.
This time, softer:

“I really didn’t mean it.”

She still didn’t speak,
but she did slide the worksheet between them.
An invitation.
Or maybe a test.

Bluster wrote the first answer.

Maya didn’t smile.
But she didn’t erase it either.

And maybe that was something.

By the end of the worksheet,
Bluster had drawn a little rocket in the corner.
And Maya had drawn a tiny moon.

Two things that only worked when they moved closer.