“Is that why she was crying? Just ’cause her father beats her?”
“Oh, no. She gets beaten up all the time. She wouldn’t cry at school about that.”
“Then what was she crying for?” “Well—” Lord, Leslie was loving this.
She’d string him out forever.Well, today she was so mad at her father
that she told her so-called friends Wilma and Bobby Sue about it.”
“Yeah?” “And those two—two—” She looked for a word vile enough to describe Janice Avery’s friends and found none.
“Those two girls blabbed it all over the seventh grade.” Pity for Janice Avery swept across him.
“Even the teacher knows about it.” “Boy.” The word came out like a sigh.
There was a rule at Lark Creek, more important than anything Mr. Turner made up and fussed about.
That was the rule that you never mixed up troubles at home with life at school.
When parents were poor or ignorant or mean, or even just didn’t believe in having a TV set, it was up to their kids to protect them.
By tomorrow every kid and teacher in Lark Creek Elementary would be talking in half snickers about Janice Avery’s daddy.
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