9
Those words lifted the paper chain from the tops of the windows and threatened to send it slithering to the floor.
Drums beat in Willow’s head, her hand burned, and still Sister Dominic Agnes pulled, jerking her out of her seat and dragging her up the aisle past girls who cried and Mary who only stared. Derrick Crat, the oldest boy in the class, stood beside his desk, his mouth contorted in mock sobs, his hands fisted, feigning the motion of rubbing his eyes. “Whaa, whaa.” When he had the attention of those nearest, he pulled his right hand up into the sleeve of his sweater and waved the empty cuff.
“This is nothing compared to what you deserve,” Sister Dominic Agnes said, both hands on Willow’s shoulders, turning her into the tight corner. “Stand here until I say.”
Willow’s head dro
