Our guests clap. I notice Miranda’s dad is holding a bunch of flowers. Reds and purples and whites.
“We would like to thank the Heathmonts for donating the materials for our banners and artwork, and the Andersons for providing the trestle tables. And to everyone who brought along cakes and cookies today.”
I grin at Mom. She brought red velvet cupcakes with creamy vanilla icing—I can see them on the table, stacked up into a triangle. Mom’s red velvet cupcakes are the best.
“Soon we’re going to start the dancing, but first, I thought you might like to hear some singing. We’ve been practicing very hard, haven’t we, class?”
Last year we sang a song, too. I can’t remember what it was. But I remember looking out at Daddy in the crowd. The other parents were whispering and nudging and taking videos on their phones, but Daddy just watched. Afterwards, he said he didn’t need to record it on his phone, because it was already recorded in his memory forever.
This year we sing “Firework” by Katy Perry. When we’re finished it’s time to dance with our special person. Freya’s dad picks her up and she wraps her legs around his waist. Miranda’s dad spins her around in circles so her skirt floats all around her. Legs stands on her dad’s feet. I put my arms around Mom’s waist and we sway a little.
“Sorry,” Mom says. “I’m not a very good dancer.”
Afterwards, Mom talks to Harry’s mom, and Harry and I eat red velvet cupcakes and Harry gets vanilla icing on his nose.
“Harry!” I say, giggling. “You’ve got—” I’m laughing too hard to finish.
Harry laughs, too, even though he doesn’t know what’s so funny. “What?”
“Your nose!”
“Oh!” He wipes his nose, but only gets a little bit of icing off. The rest is still there. We laugh so hard that Harry’s face goes bright red.
Then Miranda and Freya come over with their dads. The dads shake hands and smile at Harry’s mom. They look at my mom, but they don’t shake her hand or smile.
“Our dads don’t like your mom,” Miranda whispers. She’s standing beside me, helping herself to a red velvet cupcake.
“Yes, they do,” I say.
“They don’t,” Freya says. She also has one of Mom’s cupcakes and she takes a bite. “They really don’t.”
I look over at Mom. Harry’s mom has started talking to someone else, and my mom is standing by herself. I remember her standing by herself at the school gates.
“Why don’t they like her?” I ask.
“Because she is dith-spicable,” Miranda says. “That’s what my dad said.”
“Dith-spicable,” Freya repeats. “Just like your daddy.”
Harry frowns. I start to feel hot. I don’t know what “dith-spicable” is. But they are standing really close, and I want them to go away.
“She isn’t.”
“She is,” Miranda says.
Mom looks over at me. At first her eyes are happy; then she starts to frown. Maybe she sees my face getting hot? She takes a step toward us.
“She isn’t dithpicable,” I say to Miranda. “You’re dithpicable!”
And I start hitting and scratching at Miranda and I don’t stop until I’m crying and strong hands are pulling me away.
24
“I think a few days at home would be the best thing,” Ms. Donnelly says. “Not as a punishment, just for her … well-being. So she can have a little one-on-one time with Mom.”
Ms. Donnelly is the principal of the whole school and we are in her office. She’s not pretty like Miss Weber—she has short gray hair and big black glasses and she wears brown skirts. Miss Weber is here in her office, too, and so is Mom. After I finished hitting Miranda, Miss Weber quickly brought us in here, away from the shouting and the crying.
“Of course,” Mom says. “I mean, I’m working at the moment, but I’ll figure something out.”
“Just for a few days,” Ms. Donnelly says. “We don’t want to disrupt Clementine’s routine. We understand that she has been through a lot these past few months.”
I look at my fingernails. There is dried blood under some of them.
“So,” Ms. Donnelly says. She opens a folder, and I see it has my name on it. CLEMENTINE BENNETT. As she looks down at it, her glasses slip down her nose. “You’re living … on Forest Hills Drive? Number 82?” Ms. Donnelly looks up.
“Yes, that’s right,” Mom says.
Mom’s cheeks go pink and Mrs. Donnelly frowns. No one says anything for a few seconds.
“I see,” Ms. Donnelly says finally, closing the folder again. “Well, as for this incident, I’ve spoken with Miranda’s parents. Mrs. Heathmont was quite upset, which is understandable, considering Miranda received quite a few scratches. But she and her husband have agreed that they will not take any further action so long as Clementine apologizes to Miranda.”
I look up. Mom, Ms. Donnelly, and Miss Weber are all staring at me.
“Clem?” Mom says. “Did you hear what Ms. Donnelly said?”
I frown. “What does ‘dith-spicable’ mean?”
*