MARIA

MARIA AND I had just settled into a corner of the classroom to work on our Civil War project when Mr. Sanchez told me I had a message from the front office.

OooOOOOoohs echoed around the room.

“OK, OK, pipe down, everyone,” said Mr. Sanchez.

I stood up shakily. I didn’t think I’d done anything bad. Unless you counted that time last week I’d run in the hallway. I couldn’t be called to the principal for that, could I?

Then I saw who had brought the message and knew I was safe—from the principal, at least. It was Brittany, her big brown eyes opened innocently wide. She waved a crumpled but official-looking paper at Mr. Sanchez. I knew that paper well, although I hadn’t seen it in a while. It was a message to come to the front office immediately that Brittany had gotten once. She’d kept it in her desk and used it sometimes to get out of things—like gym class or assembly.

When Mr. Sanchez turned around, she grabbed my arm and pulled me into the hallway. “I want my book back,” she hissed, from behind a tangled curtain of hair. “Right now.”

“But . . . we’re in the middle of class!” I said. “And anyway, you told me I could keep it!” Her dad had given her the book, which was about beetles. Brittany didn’t care