Seventh Heaven by Alice; Hoffman Page B

followed his mother across the street. Nora’s high heels made a clicking sound as they walked toward the principal’s office. She had James hoisted over her shoulder, and the baby reached out his arms toward Billy and shouted, “Baba,” his voice echoing down the hall. Billy hung back, so that he wouldn’t be seen with them; he held his lunch bag tightly.
    â€œWhat are you, a slowpoke?” Nora called over her shoulder. She should have made Billy bacon and eggs for breakfast to give him extra energy. She used to make that for Roger before he went out to perform, until she found out he was performing with his girlfriends more often than he was onstage. The morning he left her, Nora had given him a mixture of henna and onions and eggs, and that had fixed his wagon. When Roger finally called from Las Vegas he confided that he’d had diarrhea for over two thousand miles. As if she cared! As if he expected free medical advice!
    â€œWell, great,” Nora had told him. “That just proves what a shit you are.”
    When they reached the principal’s office, Nora had to search through her pocketbook for Billy’s medical files and the report from his previous school. She dumped everything out; tubes of lipstick and mentholated cigarettes rolled across the principal’s desk.
    â€œI know they’re in here,” Nora said brightly. She set the baby on the floor; Cheerios fell out of the pockets of his corduroy pants. Billy Silk sat in a cushioned chair and looked up at the acoustical tile in the ceiling. James pulled himself up to stand by holding on to Billy’s leg, and Billy casually swung his leg back and forth until the baby collapsed on the floor.
    â€œHe’s very advanced,” Nora told the principal when she handed over the files.
    â€œWe’ll put him in third grade today,” the principal said, “but then we’ll have to test him to see if he’s ready.”
    â€œGo ahead, test him,” Nora said. “But let me tell you he can practically read your mind before your thoughts are fully formed.”
    â€œHe’s had his polio shots?” the principal asked.
    â€œOh, yes,” Nora said. Without turning to Billy, she whispered, “Your hair.”
    Billy stopped pulling on his hair. Nora leaned down and gathered up stray Cheerios.
    â€œI love this school,” Nora said, as the principal guided them out to the hallway. “It’s so cheerful.”
    Billy studied the pale gray walls; he was certain they were the exact shade of gray used to paint prison cells.
    â€œThird grade is two doors past the gym,” the principal said. “Do you think you can find your way, Billy?”
    Billy looked up at the principal for the first time.
    â€œHe’s in Las Vegas,” Billy said.
    â€œWho’s that?” the principal said, flustered.
    â€œMy father,” Billy said.
    The principal turned to Nora. “There wasn’t any mention of your husband in Billy’s files.”
    â€œLas Vegas,” Nora said. “Nevada,” she added as she shoved Billy in front of her and guided him toward the gym. “Stop listening in to people,” Nora told him.
    â€œI can find the room by myself,” Billy said.
    â€œI mean it,” Nora said. “People don’t like being eavesdropped on.”
    They stopped outside the door to the third-grade classroom. Billy could see an American flag hanging from a wooden pole above the windows.
    â€œAll right,” Billy told his mother, although he didn’t know whether or not it was in his power to keep his promise. It might be like his vow not to eat. “I’ll stop.”
    â€œGood,” Nora said. “Do you have everything? Looseleaf? Pencils?”
    Billy nodded.
    â€œGee whiz,” Nora said. “You’re so pale.”
    She touched Billy’s forehead to feel for a fever. They could hear the teacher inside asking someone to