The Secret Language of Girls by Frances O'Roark Dowell Page A

of something Kate didn’t recognize.
    “It’s a horse!” Courtney exclaimed proudly. “I think it looks really good, don’t you?”
    Kate nodded in a way she hoped would suggest to Courtney she was not in the mood for talking. But Courtney never picked up on Kate’s subtle hints.
    “I think I’m going to draw two hundred horses,” Courtney said, “and then hang them up in my bedroom like wallpaper. You couldhelp me, Kate. You draw the best horses.”
    Kate gave up. “Here, give me that,” she told Courtney, grabbing the piece of paper. “If you’re going to draw horses, you have to know how to do their noses right. This looks more like a dog than a horse.”
    “It’s a good horse,” Courtney said, pouting. “My mom said it’s the best horse she’s ever seen in her life.” She grabbed the paper from Kate. “Give me my horse!”
    “Fine,” Kate said. She turned her face to the window. From behind her came Flannery’s squawk of laughter.
    Courtney turned around in her seat. “Don’t laugh, Flannery, you squirrel butt! I bet Kate can draw horses a lot better than you can!”
    My hero, Kate thought.
    When she walked into her homeroom, Kate saw that Ms. Cahill had written her name along with Elinor Pritchard’s and Doug Brezinski’s on the board. Ms. Cahill’s Poetry Students was written above their names in the teacher’s flowery cursive.
    “I’ve chosen you three to do something special,” Ms. Cahill told Kate, Elinor, and Doug after she called them into the hallway. “Because you are my very good writers, you’re going to spend two mornings in the library with a visiting poet, along with the other very good writers from the other sixth-grade homerooms.”
    Kate had never met a poet before. She imagined a man with a white beard who wore a tweed jacket and smoked a pipe, and who would ask them to make a list of words that rhymed with “ocean.” Motion, Kate thought as she walked to the library. Lotion, notion, potion.
    To Kate’s surprise the visiting poet turned out to be a woman with wild red hair that fanned out from her head like a forest fire. Giant purple earrings in the shape of seashells dangled from her ears. They matched hergauzy purple skirt and her purple cowboy boots.
    “Hello. I’m Sara Catherine Toole,” she introduced herself to Kate, Elinor, and Doug. Sara Catherine Toole’s voice didn’t match her outfit at all. Her voice was serious and down-to-earth, as though she thought it was very important that the children knew her full name.
    The other very good writers from the sixth grade trickled into the library. Kate’s stomach jitterbugged when she saw Marylin. It was the first time in three days she and Marylin had been together in a room without Flannery standing by Marylin’s side and jabbing Marylin with her elbow practically every time Kate moved a muscle. Maybe this would be Kate’s opportunity to make Marylin talk to her. Maybe poetry would bring them back together.
    Not that Kate cared.
    As soon as Sara Catherine Toole askedeveryone to sit down, Kate grabbed the chair next to Marylin. Marylin looked around quickly, as if to see if there were another seat she could take, but it was too late. There were nine chairs for nine students, and all of them were filled.
    “This is going to be fun, don’t you think?” Kate asked Marylin, trying to sound like everything was normal between them.
    Marylin looked straight ahead. “I can’t talk to you,” she whispered.
    “Why not?” Kate asked. “Other kids are still talking.”
    “I mean I’m not allowed to talk to you. And I have to report everything you say, so just be quiet, okay?”
    Marylin didn’t sound like she was mad at Kate. She sounded like she was trying to protect Kate from something more powerful than the two of them put together.
    “Okay, everyone. We’re going to start out with some free writing to get your creativejuices flowing,” Sara Catherine Toole announced from the head of the table.