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the second row. My desk was next to last in the third row, made up of five girls. Three boys finished the count in the fourth row.
    My tummy grumbled. I wasn’t sure if it was from hunger or a bad case of the jitters. What if this bully behind me won’t leave me alone?
    Mrs. Martin interrupted my worrisome question when she asked everyone to line up in one big circle around the walls. “We’re having our weekly spelling bee,” she explained. “If you misspell a word, you will return to your desk and have a seat.”
    The first few words were simple. Cart. Porch. Tiger . Mrs. Martin picked up a different spelling book. I could see right off that the words were harder. Picnic. Mixture. Contest .
    My turn was next. Museum .
    â€œMuseum,” I said as I listened to the way it sounded. “M-U-S-E-U-M.” Whew, I spelled it.
    I didn’t realize the bully was standing next to me until she whispered, “Showoff.”
    â€œCorrect,” Mrs. Martin announced. “Vickie, spell spoken .”
    So that was the bully’s name. Vickie.
    â€œS-P-O-C-K-I-N,” Vickie called out the letters.
    â€œI’m sorry, Vickie,” Mrs. Martin said. “That is incorrect.”
    Vickie pulled a pencil out of her pocket and jabbed my arm with the just-sharpened tip as she left for her seat.
    I rubbed my pencil-poked arm and took a good look at Vickie before she sat down. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in two pigtails, each one tied off with orange yarn. Miss Bear Claws probably doubled my weight and shot up at least four inches taller.

    The next round I got bureau . I spelled it, but the words were getting harder. I was lucky with the last one. I had a bureau in my bedroom at Grandma’s, and she taught me how to spell the word.
    With so many kids back in their seats, my turn was coming around faster. “Grace, spell antique ,” Mrs. Martin said.
    â€œA-N-T-E-K-E.” I knew as soon as the letters trickled out of my mouth that I had misspelled the word.
    â€œI’m sorry, Grace,” Mrs. Martin announced. “That is incorrect.”
    I headed back to my seat. As I turned to sit, Vickie scooted her foot out and tripped me. I landed in my chair with a bounce.
    Vickie leaned toward me and whispered, “Showoff.”
    I spun around to ask Vickie why she tripped me. Before I could say anything, she flung her arm up, waved it hard enough to flag down a train and yelled out, “Mrs. Martin, I can’t hear the spelling words. Grace keeps bothering me.”
    I couldn’t believe that girl. After jabbing, tripping and calling me names, she now had Mrs. Martin believing that I was the troublemaker.
    Mrs. Martin said, “Grace, please face the front of the classroom.” I wanted to explain what had really happened, but Mrs. Martin called out, “Turbulence.”
    Turbulence wasn’t my word to spell, but it sure fit how I was feeling—agitated.
    Vickie whispered in my ear, “Don’t mess with me.”
    Vickie’s threat was no problem since messing with her was the last thing I wanted to do. Her bothersome attitude and snarly frown didn’t do much for her looks. Neither did her baggy pants that she had rolled up three or four cuffs. Nor her too-tight, dirty shirt. Or the black, lace-up cloth shoes that topped above her ankles, the kind that Johnny and Daddy wore.
    A girl named Maxine won the spelling bee. Mrs. Martin gave her a certificate with a blue star. As soon as Maxine sat down, Mrs. Martin said we were going to work in pairs on our arithmetic lesson. I teamed with a girl named Carolyn.
    Carolyn sat with me at my desk. Vickie moved back to work with someone else. As Vickie stood up, she jabbed me again with a pencil. This time, I’d had enough. I raised my hand to tell Mrs. Martin. Vickie saw me and whispered in my ear, “If you tell on me, you’ll be sorry. So will your snotty little brother.”
    Mrs.