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didn’t book this dump expecting a conference room with a broken microphone.”
    “I apologize, sir,” said Emma Zeisel.
    “Apologies won’t get us our friggin’ mike, will they?” the mime snarled.
    “Again, I am sorry.”
    “Well,
sorry
doesn’t cut it!” he yelled.
    “Please lower your voice,” Emma Zeisel said. “You are a mime, after all.”
    The observation rendered the man speechless. He stormed off in a (silent) huff.
    Emma Zeisel turned to her son. “As groupbookings go, Leon, the West Coast Mimes are, without a doubt,
the
worst.”
    “What about those rattlesnake ranchers we had last year? Remember them?”
    “At least they left me some antidote. Came in handy, too. Anyway, let’s forget about difficult guests, sweetie. Tell me about your day.”
    Leon needed little encouragement. He provided a blow-by-blow account of the goings-on in his classroom, up to and including the business of the panty hose.
    “Panty hose!”
said Emma Zeisel. “Why on earth would a teacher store her old stockings in school?”
    “I have
no
clue, Mom. All I can tell you is I need help with my threading and stitching. Plus I need a piece of cloth for tomorrow.”
    Emma Zeisel sighed. “You know my hours, sweetie. These double shifts are a killer. But I bet Maria can get you squared away. She’s a demon with a needle.”
    After Leon updated the signboard (VVelcome Peacock Breeders of VValla VValla, VVashington!!!!) he sought out Maria. He found her in Housekeeping, funneling bright green shampoo from a large jug into dozens of tiny bottles.
    “Hola, Leonito!” she said. “How you doing?”
    “Not good, Maria.”
    For a third time since leaving school, Leon described his new teacher’s behavior and the panty hose she kept in class.
    “Is she
crazy
or something?”
    “Very
crazy, Maria. She expects us to thread a needle and to learn her seven dumb stitches. Take a look.” Leon pulled the handout from his backpack.
    “You need Maria to help?” Maria asked.
    “Could you?”
    “No problem,” she said reassuringly.
    After completing the shampoo transfer, Maria cleared a table and brought out her sewing basket. She reached for a spool of cotton and bit off a length of thread.
    “Miss Hagmeyer doesn’t want us using our teeth,” said Leon.
    Maria shook her head. “What harm can a little spit do?”
    “Beats me,” said Leon.
    “Well, you show me what she taught you, this Miss Panty Hose,” Maria said suspiciously.
    Leon reached for the scissors and cut a length of thread. He tried poking the thread through the eye of the needle again and again but failed every time.
    “See?” he moaned. “I’ll
never
do it.”
    “Yes you will, Leonito,” Maria countered. She expertly repositioned Leon’s fingers on the scissors, like a baseball coach adjusting a batter’s grip. “Now cut the thread,” she said.
    Leon held the scissors at a steep angle and sliced another length of thread off the spool. When it cametime to thread the needle, he succeeded after just two pokes.
    “Awesome!” he exclaimed.
    “Sharp angle, sharp cut,” Maria said with a smile.
    “Gracias,”
said Leon. For the first time since school started, he felt a small measure of satisfaction.
    Threading became a breeze. Mastering the seven stitches of virtue, however, proved more challenging. Fortunately for Leon, Maria remained close at hand.
    “No, Leonito,” she corrected gently. “Watch me. For the hemming stitch you
slant
the needle.”
    Leon modified his grip and tried again. Eventually he hemmed three full inches of his practice cloth. “You’re a much better teacher than Miss Mushroom Ears,” he said.
    “I’ve got a good student,” Maria replied.
    Good but not perfect. Leon only succeeded in replicating six of the seven stitches of virtue. One stitch eluded him—the overcast. According to his handout, the overcast was the stitch used when finishing off a seam. No matter how much Leon practiced, he couldn’t get the needle to