Queen Move

“Um, n-n-no, ma’am.” I clamp my lips together and swallow hard, closing my eyes and breathing deeply like my speech therapist suggested. “No, I don’t want t-t-to t-t-talk. I’m sorry. I—”

“It was not a request, Miss Allen.” She leans against the chalkboard, apparently uncaring that she’s probably getting chalk dust all over her beige cardigan. “Read the passage.”

“Um, o-okay.” I gulp my fear down and study the board. “Which one exactly should I—”

“The one we’ve been discussing.” Mrs. Clay huffs a long sigh. “The opening lines of the book, please.”

I glance at the book on my desk, A Tale of Two Cities, and open it to the first page. Thirty pairs of eyes wait on me. The room is so quiet, I hear them breathing, hear my own shallow, panicky breaths. My dry lips will barely part to let the words out. I lick them and try.

“I-i-t was the best of times,” I manage, my voice a croak. “It was the—”

“Louder so we can hear you. And please stand. You know the drill by now.”

A drill I’ve avoided as much as possible the whole school year. I’m all sass and confidence in every other class and every other area of my life, but this one? Reading out loud? In front of everyone? Risking the disdain of the smartest kids in our school when my tongue lets me down? I’m terrified.

Picking up the book, I stand. “I-i-it was the best of times—”

Snickers break out behind me. I pause at my classmates’ amusement, drawing a deep breath and starting again.

“I-it was the best of times—”

Whispers. Chuckles. Gasps from behind stop me again. I look around, glance over my shoulder and find Mona’s eyes. They are wide, shocked. Her mouth hangs open and she covers it with one hand.

Before I can process the amused and surprised expressions all around me, Ezra stands and ties his windbreaker around my waist.

“What are you doing?” I ask him. “What’s—”

He grabs my hand and fast-walks me down the row of desks and out the door without speaking. I look back, expecting Mrs. Clay’s fury, but her face has softened. When her eyes meet mine, they’re compassionate.

“All right, class,” she says, her curt tone back in place. “That’s enough. Let’s get back to it. Darlene, would you read the passage?”

Ezra pulls me out the door and starts down the hall. I tug at my hand, trying to free it.

“What are you doing? Where are we going?”

He doesn’t answer, but just keeps walking. I jerk my hand away and stop in the middle of the hall.

“Ezra, I know you’ve used your, like, twelve words for the day,” I say, hands planted on my hips, “but you better tell me what’s going on right now.”

He stops, too, running a hand through his hair.

“Kimba, I…you…” He groans and closes his eyes.

“Just spit it out. What in the world? You tie this jacket around my…” I trail off, my brain finally catching up to wonder why he did that.

“There’s a stain on the back of your pants,” he mumbles, his eyes glued to the floor as he drags the words past his lips.

“A stain?”

Fire ignites beneath the surface of my cheeks. My fingertips go cold. My stomach lurches. I got my period for the first time two months ago. Kayla told me horror stories about this happening at school, and I’ve tried to be so careful. But today, I wore white shoes and white pants. I sit close to the front of Mrs. Clay’s class, so all those students sitting behind me saw…

“Oh, God.”

I take off running down the hall toward the bathroom, tightening the sleeves of Ezra’s windbreaker around my waist. Ezra’s footsteps behind me only urge me faster. I need to get away even from him.

“Tru!” he calls, but I keep moving. He catches up to me and takes my arm. “You okay?”

“Besides being dead from embarrassment?” I mumble, avoiding his eyes. “Yeah. Peachy.”