Leslie Connor - Anybody Here Seen Frenchie?

To Carey,

Thanks for always looking out for the rest of us.

With my love,

LRPC

W hen our letters from the school come, we sit together on the deck at the A-frame to read them. Actually, Ill be doing all the reading.

Frenchie sits, spine straight, his freckled face tilted up. He works his fingers along the strap of the needlepoint purse he carries. In his other hand he holds his envelope. He squints and blinks at the breaks of the sun coming through the pines.

Any birds up there? I ask.

He doesnt answer. He never does. Not with words. But he arches his back a little.

I saw your pine warbler early this morning, I tell him. The mention of birds is my best shot at getting his attention. But it doesnt always work. Its possible I will never figure out why. But thats okay by me.

I tear into the envelope addressed to me: Aurora Pauline Petrequin.

I shake the folds out of my letter as fast as I can. Come on, Frenchie. Open yours too! I say. He might not get how important these letters are. But I know, our entire sixth-grade destinies are typed inside.

Okay... were about to find out who our next teacher is, I tell him. I drum the soles of my sneakers on the deck boards.

Can you feel that? Thats suspense, I say. Here we go! I take a huge breath and hold it while I scan the page. It takes forever to zero in, but then...

Ms. Beccia! I shout. Yes! Were in Ms. Beccias class! Whew! I fan myself with my letter, then go limp where I sit. Heres what I know: Ms. Beccia is brand-new. This is a small town and the only other sixth-grade teacher is Mrs. Hillsbeck. Shes been around forever, and shes spoken to me on the playground during recess a good number of times. Her reasons for that have all been unreasonable: dangerous climbing on the climber, running too close to others, handling dirt, clogging the drinking fountain with a pebble and turning it into a sprinkler, which everyone loved. Except Mrs. Hillsbeck. She got soaked trying to make it stop. She got angry too. Thats some pretty bad history. There was a better place for me to spend sixth grade.

Ms. Beccia. Yes! I sit upright again and turn toward Frenchie. Can I open yours now? He is holding his envelope so lightly its easy to take it from him.

I pick the paper triangle open. No need to drum my feet. The suspense is over. His letter will look like mine, right down to the Ms. Beccia part. Its so great getting the new teacher, I say. I love a fresh start.

I unfold the page which is addressed to Nathan French Livernois. Makes me snort because nobody ever calls him Nathan. I clear my throat.

Okay. I work my way down the page. What I see makes me quiet. (I am not a quiet girl.) I reread it. I look at Frenchie. Hes still staring up into the branches.

What the heck? I whisper. I let the letter fall into my lap. Then I yell, What the heck! Hows that going to work? I jump to my feet and run in through the open door of the A-frame calling, Mom! Pop! Gracia! Theres a mess-up of all mess-ups here! Frenchie and I got put in different classes!

M om and Pop are as surprised as I am about Frenchie being in one sixth-grade classroom and me being in the other. Pop even called the school to make sure the assignments are right. (They are.) They all tell me it will work out fine. Frenchie and I will still take the bus together. Well see each other at lunch and on the playground.

Mom says things like: Remember, Aurora, there was a time before Frenchie lived here and you survived just fine.

I say things like: Yeah! That was three years ago! Im not used to that anymore! And what about Frenchie? Can we agree that there is a little bit more to this than just two friends getting separated? Can we?

I remember the summer before Frenchie and Gracia came. That was the year I tried playing softball, which I only did because the coach came to our house to recruit me. And it was a chance to play something with other kids. I already knew I had a darn-good throwing arm. That comes from me being a rock hound.

I dont have much of a collection. Yet. I am particular. Im searching for tourmaline. Parts of Maine offer great gem hunting. Id give up sour pickles for a month to go digging for minerals over in Oxford or Androscoggin. Thats where the old mica mines are, and the really cool pegmatites. Those are veins of igneous rock, and thats where you find the good stuff like beryl, topaz, and tourmaline.

Around home, I pick up rocks all the time. Theyre mostly granite, and I have collected enough of that. I throw them far as I can so I dont refind them. Why let a rock disappoint you twice? Pop says the lack of tourmaline in our part of Maine (fact) could be my ticket to the majors (joke). He says my arm gets stronger every time I dont find a piece of the good stuff, which is, so far, all the time. I like choosing targets. Mostly boulders so I dont hurt the treesor anything else. Underhand, overhand, Ive got good aim, and I can put enough speed on a rock to make it zing.

Our town has a girls softball league, and Coach Jewell Laramie wants every girl in town to play. Thats why she came to see me. She thought we were new here because the A-frame was newly finished. The door was open because of the stinky new paint smell, and because Mom and Pop were bringing in the kitchen cupboards that day. Jewell called hello. Then she walked right in and thunked a hunk of something frozen all wrapped in plastic on our kitchen table.

Hey, neighbors! Im Jewell Laramie. She tipped her cap, which looked to be trapping a pouf of pale golden hair.

Im Aurora. Aurora Pauline Petrequin, I told her.

Ah! Just the girl Im looking for, said Jewell.

That was an even bigger surprise than seeing her sweep into our new house. I waited while Mom and Pop introduced themselvesRene and Edand pronounced our last name twice over.

Brought you folks some dinner! Jewell nodded toward the hunk in the bag. Venison tenderloin, she added.

Oh, we dont eat that, I said. Thats deer meat. Deer are mammals. We dont eat mammals.

Jewell looked at Mom and Pop. Oh. Tells it like it is, does she? She cocked her head in my direction.

She does, said Mom, and Pop nodded.

If it makes you feel any different, there was no suffering. I took this deer during bow season. Had a clean, double-lung shot. The only shot Ill take.

Clean, double-lung shot.

How can that not cause suffering? I looked at the package on our table and thought about pointing out that it was dead.

We appreciate the gesture, Pop said.

Doesnt offend me, Jewell said, and I hope I havent offended you.

You havent, and we dont mean to be ungracious, Pop explained.

But we still dont eat that, I repeated. Oh. That sounds ungracious, doesnt it?