Storms 01 - Family Storms

Mrs. Caro’s home-baked rolls, and a tray of jams.
    “Mrs. Caro’s preparing your scrambled eggs just the way you like them,” she told me. I had mentioned once that I liked them with cheese, and she often made them for me that way. “Mrs. Caro says a good breakfast is the best way to start at a new school,” Mrs. Duval added.
    “I agree. I’m sure Kiera and her friends won’t have half as good a breakfast as you will,” Mrs. March said.
    I started to drink my juice. “Is Mr. March back?”
    “No,” she said. “He had to stay over an extra day.”
    I thought she was angry about it, but then she smiled. “That’s okay,” she said. “I’m busy today with charity committee meetings, a lunch at the golf club, and then some quick shopping at Saks in Beverly Hills before I rush hometo hear about your first day. Here,” she said, reaching down to take something out of her purse. It was a cell phone. “This is yours. My number is right here already,” she explained, showing me. “You simply press one, and it calls me. So, if you need anything, don’t hesitate.”
    “Thank you,” I said, taking it.
    “That’s a very sophisticated cell phone. It takes pictures, but I’m sure you know all about those things.”
    “No. We never had one,” I said, looking at it.
    “Oh. Here’s the booklet for it,” she said, and gave it to me. “But for now, all you need to know is how to call me if you need me.”
    “This is the surprise you promised?”
    “No. That’s waiting in the limousine,” she said.
    Now I was really curious.
    Mrs. Duval brought in my scrambled eggs and stood back to watch me gobble them up. My nervousness made me hungry. Afterward, when I went out to get into the limousine, I saw that Mrs. Duval and Mrs. Caro had joined Mrs. March to watch me go. Grover opened the door for me, and I looked back at them.
    “Good luck, dearie,” Mrs. Caro called.
    “Yes, good luck,” Mrs. Duval said.
    Mrs. March stood, smiling but looking like someone who was smiling through tears.
    I got into the limousine. All alone in the big automobile, I felt even smaller and more helpless than ever. Grover got in, looked back at me, winked, and then drove us away.
    Then I turned and saw the gift on the seat. Slowly, I unwrapped it.
    Mrs. March had bought me a leather book bag, which she had filled with pens and pencils, pads, paper clips, almost anything any student would need. On the outside of the bag, embossed in gold, she had my name, but because of the fictional biography, it read “Sasha March.”
    She had managed to justify changing my last name. Now I wondered if she would find a way to change my first name.

17
School
    N o one seemed to pay any particular attention to me when I stepped out of the limousine, even with a uniformed driver holding my door. Perhaps to the students at that school, it was nothing out of the ordinary to see one of them dropped off in a limousine. From the looks on their faces as they hurried into the building, shouted to each other, embraced, shook hands, and even kissed, I could see that most of the students knew one another. Except for the ones coming into seventh grade from elementary school, I wondered how many new students like me there were.
    Since they didn’t take much notice of my limousine, I wondered if they would take much notice of my limp. Even though it had been a while, I was still quite conscious of it. I walked as if the bottom of my right foot was stepping on hot coals.
    When I entered, I saw the sign on the marble wall pointing to the principal’s office. Everything looked immaculate, from the polished tile floors to the gleaming windowsand the glittering desktops I could see through open classroom doors. It wasn’t a very big school lobby, so the chatter reverberated all around me. A small blond boy, probably a seventh-grader, bumped into me and then turned to flash an excited smile, apologizing. Before I could respond, he was gone. I walked slowly to the principal’s office.
    The front desk was already crowded with other students who had questions and problems and two young women, dressed almost as stylishly as Mrs. March, were answering questions and passing out papers. I stepped up behind the last student in line.
    The lady on the right saw me and whispered something to the other woman. Then she went around to the counter gate and beckoned. I wasn’t sure she was beckoning to me, but she kept doing it until I pointed to myself and she nodded.