I was not to approach him with requests to enact a chapter of Tarzan and the Ant Men,
to embarrass him with references to his private life, or tag along behind him at recess and noon.
I was to stick with the first grade and he would stick with the fifth. In short, I was to leave him alone.
“You mean we can’t play any more?” I asked. “We’ll do like we always do at home,” he said,
“but you’ll see—school’s different.” It certainly was.
Before the first morning was over, Miss Caroline Fisher, our teacher,
hauled me up to the front of the room and patted the palm of my hand with a ruler,
then made me stand in the corner until noon. Miss Caroline was no more than twenty-one.
She had bright auburn hair, pink cheeks, and wore crimson fingernail polish.
She also wore high-heeled pumps and a red-and-white-striped dress.
She looked and smelled like a peppermint drop. She boarded across the street one door down from us
in Miss Maudie Atkinson’s upstairs front room, and when Miss Maudie introduced us to her, Jem was in a haze for days.
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