“Did you remember to do your math homework?” she asked him, and the spell was broken. He shrugged out of his backpack, unzipped the opening, and looked inside, hoping that some overnight miracle had occurred. “You might have time before the first bell, if we hurry.” Looking back over her shoulder, she waved at Margaret and Diane watching from the window. He raised his hand, but they were already gone, the curtains closing like windblown ghosts. Norah pulled at his coat sleeve and they tramped off
In the winter woods, the bark of the trees thawed and crackled, and water trickled where the ice had thinned and melted. Rags of bare earth revealed the brown leaves and rot beneath the snow, and the bike path was little more than a worn depression, slick with packed footprints. They moved as quickly as they could manage over the ruts, speechless as they picked their way out of the forest and into the sunshine. She threw a shadow across the road, the shape bold in relief and bisecting the lines cast by tree trunks and networks of bare branches splintering like tributaries off a river. The morning light banked and bestowed its energy, and he soaked in the radiance, felt a vertiginous happiness at the heart's core compounded by her presence. Other children struggled on their way, the adventurous daring to parade in the plowed streets alongside the heaps of dirty snow, and the rest hewing to the familiar path through the slush and muck. She had hastened a few steps ahead, so he jogged to catch her. He asked, “Are you afraid of what might happen today?”
Norah stopped to address him. “Afraid? Is that how to start the day? I am not the least bit worried about what others might say. If you mean am I anxious about how people might treat me now that they know the truth, the answer is no.”
They walked on, and he labored to keep pace. More children joined the stream toward the building. “But why did you tell them that you are an angel?”
“Suppose you dip your big toe in a pool, there's no way to stop the ripple, or suppose you pluck a string on a guitar, the vibration has already begun. Everything is in motion.”
“But why did you come here? Why now?”
“Sean, if I knew where the motion will take us, my job would be done. Hurry up if you are going to finish your homework on time. You know how long it takes to multiply and divide.”
Judging by the stares and whispers, every child in every grade and every member of the faculty and staff at the Friendship School already knew of the incident in Mrs. Patterson's class on Valentine's Day. A few intrepid souls walked right up to them, said hello. One girl curtsied in a self-conscious way, cutting the gesture short. Their classmates stopped chattering when the pair entered the room, all eyes watching and waiting for another sign. Sharon Hopper looked for wings as Norah passed by her desk. Mark Bellagio snorted at Sean, wheeled around in his seat to sock him on the meaty part of his arm. Earlier that morning, Mrs. Patterson had taken down the cardboard hearts and cupids and lace, and in their place, flat cartoon drawings of Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, and Reagan stared down from the walls. Pretending not to notice the commotion, the teacher fiddled with her attendance roster, checked off their names, and tried to gauge the climate of the classroom. She surveyed her charges: the Fallon boy scratched at an equation with a pencil stub. A pair in the back row whispered intimately. Gail Watts mumbled to herself, a recitation or a prayer. The rest of the children were poised for the morning bell, anticipating the beginning of the day and what might be said about the prior afternoon's outburst.
Mrs. Patterson could feel Norah Quinn watching with a leopard's unrelenting stealth and had to fight an overwhelming urge to flee, to leap from her post and sprint through the halls to the teachers’ lounge and pour herself another coffee, smoke another cigarette. Muttering a curse beneath her breath, she began with her good mornings and the calling of the roll. “And I just want to say one thing about yesterday's episode after the Valentine's cards. There will be no more incidents, no more disruptions, and we will not be talking about angels or other matters inappropriate for classroom discussion. This is a public school. I have spoken with Mr. Taylor, and he has spoken with Mrs. Quinn, and we have all reached an understanding.”
Norah's arm rose like a flag. Snickers from a few desks threatened the whole day.
“And, just a minute, and we have work to do, and we need team spirit, and do you know that teams are only as strong as the teammates and our respect for one another and our differences—”
Norah waved her fingers. “Mrs. Patterson? Mrs. Patterson? I have something to say to everyone.”
“Not now, Norah. That's enough.”
“I feel I need to say—”
“No apologies are necessary. Your grandmother apologized for you. You've been under a lot of stress—”
“—to tell the truth—”
“—the difficulty of starting a new school, new friends, feeling like an outsider—”
“—not to say I'm sorry, but to let everyone know—”
“Norah, please. Be quiet.”