“Because it’s the rule,” Margaret said. Which she always says.
“Why?” I said.
“Because you can’t touch my stuff,” she said.
And then I pointed out the window. Which wasn’t exactly lying, because I didn’t say there was something out there.
While Margaret was looking out the window, I accidentally touched her mask.
Twice. Okay, fine.
Then I got busy working on my project so I wouldn’t have to hear any “Clementine-pay-attention!”s.
Except I did anyway. Which was unfair because each time, I was the only person in the whole art room who was paying attention. Which is why I could tell everyone right in the middle of the Pledge of Allegiance that the lunchroom lady was sitting in the janitor’s car and they were kissing. Again. No one else saw this disgusting scene, because no one else was paying attention out the window!
And after that, when it was my turn to pass around the stapler, I could tell everyone that the art teacher’s scarf had an egg stain on it that looked—if you squinted—exactly like a pelican, which nobody else had noticed.
“Clementine, you need to pay attention!” the art teacher said one more time. And just like the other times, I was paying attention.
I was paying attention to Margaret’s empty seat.
Margaret had been excused to go to the girls’ room, and when she left she had scrunched-up don’t-cry eyes and a pressed-down don’t-cry mouth. And she had been gone a really long time, even for Margaret, who washes her hands one finger at a time.
