Storms 01 - Family Storms

said, and left. Mrs. Kepler opened her briefcase and began to take out some papers. “Come closer,” she told me, and I wheeled myself right up to the table. “Are you comfortable?”
    “Yes.”
    “All right. You were in what grade before you left school?”
    “Seventh.”
    “So you’ve basically missed the entire eighth-grade year?”
    “I guess so.”
    “Either you did or you didn’t. Did you attend any school after you left the seventh grade?”
    “No.”
    “Then you missed a whole year, which would have been your eighth-grade year. I like to start with reading skills,” she said. “Everything we do requires a good foundation in reading.”
    “I still read a lot even though I wasn’t in school.”
    She looked at me long enough for me to feel she was finally seeing me. “What did you read?”
    “Books other people on the street gave me from time to time. Sometimes we went into the library to get out of the rain, and I read there.”
    “What people gave you books?”
    “Street people,” I said, and she widened her eyes.
    “I can just imagine what sort of things to read that was,” she said.
    “No, you can’t,” I replied sharply. She raised her eyebrows. “Unless you’ve been there,” I added. “Not everyone was a bum. There were college graduates and people who had good jobs once. Someone gave me a copy of
Huckleberry Finn,
and someone else gave me a copy of
A Tale of Two Cities.
”
    “Really?”
    “Yes, really. I have no reason to lie about it. Not all street people are thieves and liars. Many try to keep themselves clean and have clean clothes, too.”
    I felt the heat in my face. I had never spoken to any of my teachers like that, but in my mind, any criticism of the street people was criticism of Mama, and I wouldn’t permit it.
    For a moment, I thought she was going to shove her paperwork back into her briefcase, shut it, and walk out, but she surprised me by finally smiling. “Well, you’re not easily intimidated. Do you know what
intimidated
means?”
    “Yes. Pushed around, made to give up or give in to someone or something,” I recited.
    “Okay, then. Maybe I’ll be happily surprised. Let’s get started.”
    She began explaining the tests she wanted me to take. We worked for hours. When Mrs. Duval stopped by to see if she wanted anything to drink, she had barely opened her mouth before Mrs. Kepler snapped, “Nothing, not now.” She wouldn’t tolerate the slightest interruption. I thought she would even make me work through lunch, but she agreed to stop so we could eat.
    Mrs. Duval came up with the cart. Mrs. Caro had prepared chicken salad for us. I was afraid there would be a duplication of yesterday’s mammoth lunch, but apparently the order had been put in earlier. We cleared the table, and Mrs. Duval served from the cart. It was when we began to eat our lunch that Mrs. Kepler stopped being the school-teacher and spoke with warmth and concern. She wanted to know where I had lived and gone to school. I didn’t know how much Mrs. March had told her about me and why I was there, but from the questions she asked and the way she spoke about Mrs. March, I was convinced that nothing had been said about Kiera.
    “I’m sure this is all overwhelming for you,” she said. Then she smiled and added, “It certainly is for me. I heard about this house, but until now, I had never set foot in it. I bet you feel a bit like Cinderella.”
    “Except there’s no prince,” I told her, and she laughed.
    “No, I imagine not. There’s not even a pumpkin.”
    Now we both laughed, and I finally relaxed. I hadn’t thought I would, but I liked her. Even after lunch, she was different, warmer and more complimentary.
    Mrs. March tiptoed into the room at about three o’clock. We were just finishing, and Mrs. Kepler was putting papers back into her briefcase.
    “How is it going?” Mrs. March asked. Mrs. Kepler sat back and was silent for a long moment. I could see that Mrs. March was expecting bad news.
    “I’m afraid I’m not going to earn very much money here, Mrs. March.”
    “Oh. Why not?”
    “She’s not as far behind as one would expect. Her reading skills are better than those of most of the students going into the ninth grade, I’m sure. She certainly has a very good vocabulary, and she picked up very quickly on the math, too. There are some weak areas with history and science, but most of that she’s going to strengthen with her own reading.”
    “That’s