Lou-Anne stayed after school with a couple of other kids to help her American History teacher put together a bulletin board, so I walked Molly home. I still hadn’t mentioned anything to her or Mother when Lou-Anne burst through the door an hour later.

“Guess what, Mommy?” she said, her eyes shining. “Eddie’s gonna be the editor of the school paper!”

Mother stared at me open-mouthed.

“Oh, Brad!” she said. “How wonderful! I’m so proud. When did this happen?”

“Today.”

She looked at me archly.

“And when were you going to get around to telling us about it?”

I shrugged.

“Turns out I didn’t need to.”

She took me by the shoulders, smiling.

“One week in town, and you’re given this much responsibility,” she said. “Your teacher and your classmates obviously have a lot of confidence in you already.”

“The other kids probably don’t want all the extra work.”

“Hush. I’m sure it’s more than that.” She shook her head, still smiling. “My, this is a big change from the way you started at Masonville, isn’t it?”

“That was different,” I said. I realized how much I sounded like Dad when he knew he was losing an argument. “I mean, this is a way smaller school and everything.” I turned to Lou-Anne. “How did you find out so fast?”

“Sarah told Val-Jean and me while we were working on the bulletin board. They both think it’s great, ’cuz you’re so smart.”

“Has your teacher given you any idea of what your first job is?” Mother asked.

“A couple, but I also came up with one of my own. There are two black kids in the class, Isaac and Shireen. They’ve been really quiet so far, and they kind of get ignored by the others. I don’t think it’s prejudice, exactly, they just don’t know each other. Maybe I can get Miss Cox to make one of them some kind of editor, so they’ll feel more included.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Mother said again, but Lou-Anne sighed.

“Oh, for heavens’ sakes, Eddie. Why are you so concerned about the colored kids all of a sudden? I never saw you caring about them much at Masonville. Now suddenly the snails have fallen from your eyes.”

“Scales,” I said.

“Whatever.”

“Until last April nobody had killed Martin Luther King,” I said. “Besides, everything here feels -- I don’t know -- closer, somehow.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’re just feeling guilty ’cuz you never worried about it before.”

I didn’t say anything, because she was right.

“Goodness, Lou-Anne,” Mother said, “don’t you think it’s a good idea for one of the colored children to be an editor?”

She sighed again.

“It’s fine, Mommy, but you know how he gets. We’ve been here a week, and already he’s figured out how to fix everything if people will just pay attention to him. I care for the colored kids, I really do, but he’s, he’s – ” she struggled for the word – “Abscessed.”

“Obsessed, dear?”

“Yes. That’s exactly it.”