Donutheart by Sue Stauffacher Page B

little longer.” Sarah’s mouth was full, so she pressed the back of her hand against it to keep in the food while she laughed.
    “If you’re trying to cover up for the fact that you’ve started eating without me, it’s not working,” I told my mother, before excusing myself to use the facilities.
    “Don’t be sore, Franklin,” Sarah said as I rounded the corner. “We got you the no-salt chips.”
    At least Sarah seemed in better spirits, I thought, as I hummed my way through three leisurely verses.
    But she’d told my mother nothing. For we dropped Sarah off at her house as usual, and my mother acted like this was just an ordinary day.
    “I wonder where her dad is,” I mused, looking out the window as we drove away.
    “He’s working late this week. Sarah told me.”
    I bet she did.
    What, then, should I do? I was sworn to secrecy. I wanted to confide in someone, but who? Gloria? After a restless night, I resolved to call her before school and casually ask about the legality of leaving minors unattended. Not for the day, but for days! Two to be exact. Maybe even three. But when I called her at approximately 6:40 a.m. eastern standard time, I got her message machine. Ever since Gloria installed caller ID, I noticed that her machine picked up a lot more often, especially in the morning.
    There was nothing left to do but go to school. I distracted myself by thinking about Glynnis. Even before seven, the thought of her hair pulled into a neat ponytail, and the starched collar that encircled her neck, gave me hope that my world might someday return to its previously tidy and ordered state.
    At 6:57 a.m., I rang Bernie’s doorbell. Mrs. Lepner opened the door. She was wearing her chenille bathrobe and had not yet brushed her teeth. I kept the small talk to a minimum as she bundled Bernie into a goose-down coat to ward off the chill morning air. Kissing his forehead, she positioned his shoulders parallel to the door frame and launched him onto the front stoop.
    After the slightest pause to ensure the weight of my backpack was evenly distributed, I said: “Bernie, I need to confide in you. A rather delicate matter of the heart.”
    Now, Bernie Lepner is not what I’d consider an expert in matters of the heart. In fact, the only thing Bernie is well-versed enough in to be considered an expert is
The Encyclopedia of Mythical Beasts.
But he was my friend, and so I felt he should be willing to stretch a little.
    “Bernie?” I grabbed the back of his jacket to detour him around a jogger who had stopped to tie his shoe.
    “Okay, Franklin.”
    “You may have noticed that last year I spoke rather enthusiastically about Glynnis Powell. I think I even mused in your presence about what literature she might read. This should give you some indication of the depth of my feelings toward her.”
    “I like Glynnis, too. She’s my tutor.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “My tutor. She helps me with stuff.”
    “You have regular contact with Glynnis Powell and you never told me?”
    “Are you okay, Franklin? You almost stepped into the street on a flashing hand.”
    It took me a moment to return to myself. Of course. I had yet to confide my tender feelings, so Bernie would have no way of knowing how deeply this information would affect me.
    “What sort of
stuff
does she help you with?”
    “Oh, I have trouble being organized. I forget to write things down. Sometimes I don’t turn in my assignments. Glynnis helps me with all that.”
    “That’s what I do for Sarah, Bernie.”
    “My mom said that, too. But you complain a lot about it, so I figured you weren’t interested. Miss Rhonda set me up with Glynnis. She gets community-service hours for helping me.”
    We walked along in silence as I digested this. Glynnis and I had even more in common than I realized. I didn’t know you could get community-service hours for helping out a fellow student. This tutoring thing made even more sense in my case, as Sarah Kervick’s considerable