Page 78

Alice put down her pencil. “Do you think?”

Hope nodded.

With a sigh, Alice got down off her chair and went to get her school bag. “I like insects,” she said.

“I know,” said Hope, relieved more than anything that she didn’t need to fight with Alice.

“I don’t understand though,” Alice said as she struggled into her coat. “Insects have hard outsides.”

“Called?” prompted Hope, getting her own jacket.

“Carapaces,” Alice said dutifully. “They’re all hard so that their squishy insides are safe. But then, insects get squished anyway, don’t they?”

Hope picked up her handbag. “I suppose.”

“So why do they have hard outsides then?” pressed Alice.

“I really don’t know,” said Hope, catching a glance of the time again. “You can ask Ms. Stanford, maybe she’ll know.”

“I think it’s just to make them feel better. So they don’t think so much about being squished,” Alice said as Hope ushered her toward the door. “Like when I fall over and you kiss me better.”

“What?” Hope asked, distracted now at the thought of not only being late but also having to see Ava again.

“It doesn’t work,” Alice clarified. “I know that your kisses aren’t magic. I’m six now. I’m not a baby. But they make me feel better anyway. Just in my head.”

“Right.” She found her house keys.

“So the insects have hard outsides, carapaces, to make them feel better even if they don’t work in the end.” Alice sighed. “It’s still silly though, isn’t it? I’m glad people don’t have shells.”

“You are?” Hope asked, practically pushing her out of the front door.

“Yes,” said Alice. “They’d be difficult to cuddle, wouldn’t they?”

Hope took a deep breath of cool morning air and wondered if it was too early for a drink. “I suppose,” she said. “Are we ready to go?”

Alice nodded.

Hope narrowed her eyes, then turned to open the front door again, grabbing Alice’s backpack from inside, closing the door, and handing the bag to her child. “Now you’re ready.”

Alice danced off, pulling her bag on as she went and Hope followed.

A hard shell like an insect. Well, at least it would stop Ava cuddling her, she supposed. Though, if what Alice said was true, she’d end up getting squished anyway. So maybe, in the end, it was better that Ava was going away. That way she wouldn’t have to worry about being squished. That way she could keep her hard shell intact.

Chapter Thirty

It helped, Ava found, if she didn’t look at Hope. Which was easier than one might imagine, given that twelve six-year-olds demanded pretty much constant supervision.

That didn’t mean that she never looked at Hope. Of course she did. During the course of the day she hadn’t been able to help it. Like picking at a scab or pushing at a wobbly tooth. It was a bitter-sweet pain that she was in danger of becoming addicted to.

The sight of Hope bent over a child’s desk, the sight of her cross-legged on the reading carpet, the sight of her smiling at her daughter.

Looking wasn’t the problem. Looking hurt, but she could deal with that.

More of a problem was the fact that she couldn’t touch Hope. Couldn’t brush a hand against her leg, couldn’t pat her arm. It was more of a problem that she had to be there, act normal. The kids were like sharks, they’d scent something wrong a mile away.

At least Alice had kept things quiet. Or Ava assumed she had, since there hadn’t been a classroom revolution yet.

“Take the football back to the football area,” she barked as she rounded the corner of the playground and almost tripped over the ball.