Mrs. Kepler nodded, fixing her hazel eyes on me as intently as a doctor. She was a full-figured woman with dark-brown hair that showed gray roots. Nevertheless, she looked as if she had just come from a beauty salon. Her hair was nicely styled about her ears, with trimmed bangs. She stood about two inches shorter than Mrs. March but held herself stiffly erect. The weakness in her face was her far too thin lips, which looked in danger of disappearing entirely if she stretched them.
“What do you think of our little sitting area, Mrs. Kepler? It’s quiet up here.”
She studied the room for a moment as if it really mattered. It occurred to me that in her mind, she was being tested as much as I was and knew it. She was trying too hard to be a perfect schoolteacher.
“Yes, this will be fine,” she said.
“I could have a blackboard brought up.”
“No, that’s not going to be necessary. There’s just the two of us.”
“I did try to make sure there were enough pens and pencils, paper, and such. Of course, the computer is there if you need it.”
“I don’t teach on a computer. Everything I need for now is right here,” she said, patting her black leather briefcase. She walked into the sitting area to place it on the table. Then she looked around again and nodded. “Would it be all right if I opened these drapes to get more light?”
“Oh, of course. Let me help you,” Mrs. March said, rushing to open the drapes.
“Why don’t you come to the table, Sasha?” Mrs. Kepler said. She turned to Mrs. March. “I’ll test her to see what levels she’s at in math, science, reading, and history, and from there we’ll know just how much we have to do to bring her up to speed.”
“Yes, good idea. Would you like tea, coffee, a soft drink?”
“Not right now, thank you.”
“Okay. Well, then, I’ll have Mrs. Duval check back in an hour or so?”
“That would be fine,” Mrs. Kepler said.
I noticed that after she said something, she pressed her lower lip tightly against her upper one, crinkling her chin. It was a small gesture, but one I thought she had used on her students in her classroom, because it made whatever she said sound like words chipped in cement. Arguing or challenging her was out of the question.
“All right. Good luck, Sasha,”
Mrs. March said, and left. Mrs. Kepler opened her briefcase and began to take out some papers. “Come closer,” she told me, and I wheeled myself right up to the table. “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“All right. You were in what grade before you left school?”
“Seventh.”
“So you’ve basically missed the entire eighth-grade year?”
“I guess so.”
“Either you did or you didn’t. Did you attend any school after you left the seventh grade?”
“No.”
“Then you missed a whole year, which would have been your eighth-grade year. I like to start with reading skills,” she said. “Everything we do requires a good foundation in reading.”
“I still read a lot even though I wasn’t in school.”
She looked at me long enough for me to feel she was finally seeing me. “What did you read?”
“Books other people on the street gave me from time to time. Sometimes we went into the library to get out of the rain, and I read there.”
“What people gave you books?”
“Street people,” I said, and she widened her eyes.