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    Pickles grimaced. She couldn ’ t help it.
    â€œ Pickles, ” Miranda said without hesitation. “ Her name is Pickles. ”
    â€œ Pickles? ” Mrs. Barnaby asked, raising her eyebrow at Miranda. “ Her name is truly Pickles? ”
    â€œ Yes. ” Miranda smiled. “ Unusual, isn ’ t it? I think it ’ s nice, though. ”
    â€œ Right. ” Mrs. Barnaby ’ s smile did not light up her eyes in the way it had before. “ I ’ ll go get Mrs. Turner . I swear I ’ ve never seen a principal who spends more time online . I ’ ll be right back. I ’ m sure s he ’ ll be happy to meet with the two of you. ”
    After giving Pickles one last fleeting look, as if being a girl named Pickles was a dangerous thing, Mrs. Barnaby turned around then headed out of sight. She reappeared with a plump, kind faced woman with auburn hair which stuck straight out of her head. Pickles stared. She had no idea why Mrs. Barnaby appeared so shocked at the name Pickles when the principle looked like she had just gotten into a wild fight with a hedgehog and lost.
    Mrs. Turner smiled at them and relief warmed Pickles ’ heart . As crazy as the principal ’ s hair was, she also appeared to be nice. Mrs. Turner offered her hand and Miranda shook it. She then offered her hand to Pickles, as if she was an adult. With a sense of pride, Pickles shook her hand. Mrs. Turner didn ’ t treat her like a little kid like some adults did. She liked that. At t he last school she had attended, they had metal detectors . She hadn ’ t even been allowed to go to the bathroom without a lot of hassle.
    â€œ Hello, Mrs. Harris , it ’ s nice to meet you in person . I am Mrs. Turner, the principal here at St. Anne ’ s Middle School . I was told this young woman is … um… Pickles Bartley ? ” She blinked twice. “ I s this correct? ”
    â€œ Yes, ” Miranda said, “ she has never attended a private school before, so she ’ s a little nervous. ”
    With a smile, Mrs. Turner gazed kindly down at Pickles.
    â€œ Well, she looks like a together young woman. ” Mrs. Turner beamed at her. “ She ’ s got all the correct elements of her uniform, her transcripts show she has no bad record , and she ’ s had high marks in all of her classes, particularly in English. ”
    â€œ I ’ m going to get my article published in a magazine, ” Pickles said, feeling her heart swell with pride .
    â€œ Are you , now? ” Mrs. Turner beamed at Miranda, who smiled and nodded . “ Well, that ’ s just great. We like to nurture creative talent here. When you get the article, why don ’ t you bring it in here and I ’ ll make a copy to hang up so everybody can see it. ”
    Her heart warmed. She couldn ’ t believe it. She had never felt more proud of anything in her entire life. Was this truly happening? She half expected to blink and be back in her bunk in the dorm room . Maybe she had hit her head and was living in one of her stories.
    â€œ I would like that very much, ” Pickles said, grinning broadly .
    â€œ Good, ” Mrs. Turner said. “ Well, Miranda, you have two choices here. You can stay with Pickles while I give her a tour of the school and bring her to her classroom, or you can head home. Whatever would make Pickles more comfortable. ”
    A worried look crossed Miranda ’ s face . She discretely checked her watch. Pickles knew Miranda worked at home on her laptop. She wasn ’ t sure what Miranda did, but she knew her new foster mom wanted to get back home.
    â€œ It ’ s okay, Miranda, ” Pickles said. “ I ’ ll be fine here. I ’ ll see you at three-thirty, when school is over. ”
    Miranda ’ s eyes widened in shock. “ You sure you ’ ll be okay? Because I can stay. I can. ”
    Forcing a smile, Pickles nodded.
    â€œ Okay.