“I hope so, too. Thank you.” She spoke in barely a whisper but with no hint of an Italian accent.
The boy at the next desk glanced in Francesca’s direction several times. Never had he seen such an unusual girl. His heart raced, and his palms moistened. He wiped them on his khakis and placed his hands back on the desk.
“Oliver Morgan,” Mrs. Donovan called out.
The boy froze.
“Oliver. Would you please share your history book with Francesca until I have time to gather her books after class?”
Oliver tried to speak but could not. He swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and after great effort spurted out, “Yes. Mrs. Donovan.”
The classroom erupted in laughter. Francesca smiled and pushed her desk closer to his.
“Settle down, Class. Oliver, is everything all right?”
Perspiration collected
