Breadcrumbs - Anne Ursu [32]
“Hazel?”
Hazel turned around. Mikaela was standing behind her, holding her tray. Her Jell-O cubes quivered uncertainly.
“Yes?” Hazel responded, in the way that you do.
“Um”—Mikaela looked around—“Jack’s not here today?”
Ah. Mikaela had not taken the time to observe the facts. This is the sort of thing that leads to stupid questions. “No, he’s not.”
She frowned. “I didn’t think so. Is he okay?”
Hazel frowned back. “I really don’t know,” she said. “I don’t have the information.”
“Oh,” said Mikaela. “Because it seemed like he really got hurt on Friday.”
“It did,” agreed Hazel.
“Well, um, I hope he’s okay.”
Hazel blinked. It occurred to her that Mikaela was being nice to her. She did not know how to react, for when your heart has been poisoned and someone picks a dandelion for you—because it is bright and yellow and you seem like you could use something like that—all you can do is contemplate the funny ways of weeds.
Mikaela glanced at the empty seat next to Hazel, then at Hazel. The Jell-O jiggled. “Can I sit with you?”
“Oh. Sure.”
Mikaela put her tray down and settled in next to her. She did not stick green beans in her nose as Jack would have done, but Hazel did not really expect her to.
“I guess they’re friends again,” she said, pointing to Molly and Susan.
“That’s what the facts seem to indicate,” Hazel said.
Mikaela blinked at her, and then looked back at the other table. “It’s hard to keep track sometimes.”
Hazel nodded, as if she knew what the girl meant.
Mikaela asked a few more questions about Jack and Hazel responded, as people do. There was a boyish yelping from a few tables away, and Mikaela’s eyes darted over there and then back. Hazel’s eyes followed. Mikaela saw and leaned into Hazel.
“You know Bobby’s a jerk, right?”
She looked like she wanted an answer, and so Hazel nodded. She did know. The facts indicated that, too.
“You shouldn’t listen to him. I mean, what he said yesterday. You know.”
Hazel knew.
“It’s funny. We used to play all the time together, like in kindergarten and stuff.”
“Oh,” said Hazel. “What happened?”
Mikaela tilted her head for a moment and then shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
Just then Susan’s voice called Mikaela’s name from the next table. Hazel watched as Mikaela looked up.
Susan beckoned. “Come eat with us!”
Mikaela blinked at her and looked at Hazel.
“It’s okay,” said Hazel. “I was just about finished.”
“Okay. ’Bye, Hazel.”
“Good-bye.”
Mikaela got up and moved over to join Susan and Molly. The two became three, and Hazel carefully studied the shift in gravity.
When she got back to her classroom, Mrs. Jacobs stopped her. “The counselor’s office sent up a note,” she said. “You have an appointment tomorrow morning, during recess.”
“Thank you very much,” said Hazel.
Mrs. Jacobs regarded her. “You’re very welcome, Hazel.”
They had art class that afternoon. The walls of the room were lined with galleries from each grade, and on the fifth-grade wall two of Jack’s pieces were at the very top. At one time, this had made Hazel very proud.
Their art teacher was named Ms. Blum, though in her head Hazel had always called her Mrs. Which, because she wore weird baggy clothes and seemed like the sort of person who might tesser in some dark and stormy night. It seemed now an odd thing to think.
Ms. Blum was introducing their new project, speaking, as she always did, with grand hand gestures that Hazel used to find dramatic but now made her fear for the jars of paint.
“I’ve noticed,” said Ms. Blum, her hands in the air, “that we’ve all been spending time making art about things we know. But you don’t have to just make a picture of something you know, something