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my Facebook messages, and Rowena says Daisy is not answering
her phone. Rowena thinks Daisy’s parents confiscated her phone and are not letting
her use the home computer. “They’re crazy strict,” Rowena says. “They’re almost as
strict as my parents.”
    “You have strict parents?” Somehow that isn’t what I pictured.
    Rowena rolls her eyes. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer not to discuss my parents.”
    “Okay, fine. Do you think we should go over to Daisy’s?”
    “ We ? There’s no way I’m going there. The Fungs hate me. They think I’m a bad influence.”
    Which is how, that day after school, I end up on Daisy’s doorstep, mustering up the
courage to ring the doorbell.
    When I do, I hear footsteps and then I can feel someone peering at me through the
peephole.
    “Daisy?” I step a little closer. “Is that you?”
    “Who are you—and what do you want?” a woman’s voice asks. It must be Daisy’s mom.
    “Hello, Mrs. Fung,” I say. “My name is Eric. You met me and my mom a long time ago
at Reading Circle.” I figure it’s best not to mention Daisy straightaway.
    “Reading Circle?”
    “Yes, ma’am. At the library.”
    Mrs. Fung opens the door a crack. “Why are you here?” she asks.
    “I came to…uh…see how Daisy is.”
    “Daisy was suspended from her school.” Mrs. Fung’s voice drops when she says the
word suspended .
    “I know. That’s why I came to see her.”
    Mrs. Fung looks me up and down, trying to decide whether I am a bad influence like
Rowena.
    “I’m on the Student Life Committee.” That’s the only thing I can come up with.
    Mrs. Fung opens the door and gestures for me to come in. “Daisy!” she calls upstairs.
“Eric from Student Life Committee is here. You can come downstairs for a few minutes.”
    Daisy comes downstairs wearing pink flannel penguin pajamas. She has a sketchpad
with her.
    “Hey, Daisy.” I know I’m smiling. Daisy has that effect on me.
    I wish Mrs. Fung would go away and give me a chance to talk to Daisy in private,
but it is clear that that’s not going to happen.
    “Have you been sketching?” I ask Daisy.
    “Uh-huh.” She opens the sketchpad to a drawing of a girl wearing a ruffled dress—with
leggings.
    “Very nice,” I say. Because Mrs. Fung is supervising, I decide not to make a comment
about the leggings. “People at school are really upset about what happened to you,”
I say instead.
    Mrs. Fung shakes her head. “Daisy was not following the rules,” she says.
    Daisy bristles. “I hate when you talk about me as if I’m not standing right here!”
she hisses.
    “Daisy!” Mrs. Fung says—and Daisy hangs her head.
    I turn to Mrs. Fung. “Ma’am,” I tell her, “the rule Daisy got in trouble for—well,
it doesn’t make any sense.”
    Mrs. Fung raises one finger in the air. “It does not matter whether the rule makes
sense. What matters is that it is a rule. My husband and I are starting to think
Lajoie High School is not the right place for our Daisy. We think she needs a stricter
environment.”
    “Stricter?” Daisy wails. “You’ve got to be kidding, Mom.”
    “Mrs. Fung, I really think—”
    But Mrs. Fung is not listening to either of us. “Go upstairs,” she tells Daisy. Then
she turns back to me. “You’d better leave now. And it’s best if you don’t come back.”
    On my way into school the next morning, the strap on my backpack comes loose. I stop
to fix it in front of the painting of Marie Gérin-Lajoie. Miss Aubin is standing
there too—gazing into the eyes of her idol.
    “Why, Eric,” Miss Aubin says when she realizes I’m standing next to her.
    “I, uh…didn’t mean to interrupt you two.” Then, because I realize how weird that
sounds, I add, “Not that you were having a conversation or anything…”
    Miss Aubin smiles. “In a way we were. I start every workday by taking a moment to
communicate—in my own fashion—with Marie Gérin-Lajoie. She is my