The only thing good about the second grade was that this year I had to stay as late as Jem, and we usually walked home together at three o’clock.
One afternoon when we were crossing the schoolyard toward home, Jem suddenly said: “There’s something I didn’t tell you.”
As this was his first complete sentence in several days, I encouraged him: “About what?” “About that night.”
“You’ve never told me anything about that night,” I said.
Jem waved my words away as if fanning gnats. He was silent for a while, then he said,
When I went back for my breechesthey were all in a tangle when I was gettin’ out of ’em, I couldn’t get ’em loose.
“When I went back—” Jem took a deep breath. “When I went back, they were folded across the fencelike they were expectin’ me.
Across—” “And something else—Jem’s voice was flat.Show you when we get home.
They’d been sewed up. Not like a lady sewed ’em, like somethin’ I’d try to do. All crooked. It’s almost like—”
—somebody knew you were comin’ back for ’em.” Jem shuddered.
Like somebody was readin’ my mind… like somebody could tell what I was gonna do.”
Can’t anybody tell what I’m gonna do lest they know me, can they, Scout?”
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