Her Name in the Sky by Kelly Quindlen Page B

sits absolutely still on her wooden stool. Her eyes burn into Hannah’s until Hannah looks away and joins in with the laughter she created.
    The laughter dies when Ms. Carpenter stands up from her stool. Her sharp eyebrows draw together in anger. “This discussion is over,” she says, her voice tense. “Hannah, I will speak to you after class.” She purses her lips and clears her throat. “For now, we’re going to spend the rest of the hour on Their Eyes . Take out your books, and someone tell me: What is Hurston trying to do with the scenes of Janie beneath the pear tree?”
    There’s a flurry of activity as everyone digs their books out of their booksacks. Ellie Thomas raises her hand to answer the question, and Marty Carothers speaks after that, and within minutes, the classroom has returned to its normal, relaxed state. But Hannah sits with her shoulders hunched and her throat full of bile, and to her left, Baker spreads her fingers over her book as if she can draw strength from its leaves.
     
    Ms. Carpenter meets Hannah’s eyes when the bell rings for lunch. “My desk,” she says, pointing to the back of the room.
    Baker casts Hannah a quick look before she leaves with the rest of the class, but Hannah cannot discern what her look means.
    “I’m sorry,” Hannah says before Ms. Carpenter can sit down.
    “I’m not interested in hearing an apology,” Ms. Carpenter says. She settles herself in her desk chair and burns Hannah with her eyes. “I’d rather hear what prompted you to say those things.”
    They sit in silence while Hannah tries to articulate in her head. “I just…don’t like Father Simon.”
    “Liking and respecting are two different things.”
    “Well, I don’t respect him, either. Him or his religion or his faith. Any of it. It’s all just a huge fabrication that’s been used to oppress people for ages.”
    “Cynicism doesn’t look good on you, Hannah.”
    “I’m not being cynical, I’m being truthful.”
    Ms. Carpenter gives her a knowing look. “Whatever you are being, it’s not truthful.”
    Hannah inhales from her stomach.
    “I don’t know what’s bothering you,” Ms. Carpenter says, “and I don’t need you to tell me. But I do need you to understand that words mean something, and the words you used just now were very damaging.”
    Hannah’s heart hammers in her chest. “I wasn’t being damaging , I was just speculating. Besides, so what if I’m right about him? How is that damaging? Because he’s not supposed to be that way?”
    Ms. Carpenter’s eyes rest steadily on Hannah’s. Her sharp, dark eyebrows crease inward again. “Damaging because you insinuated it would be a bad thing.”
    “No, I didn’t.”
    “You weren’t going for the laugh? You weren’t trying to wound? Your words were meant to hurt. Not just Father Simon, but anyone who could have been listening. What if one of the boys sitting around you yearns to be with a ‘dude,’ and you just made it clear to him that that option is repulsive?”
    “But—but that’s not what I—”
    “Just answer this question: What was the purpose behind what you said? Was it to wound? Was it to hurt? Did your words come from a place of hatred?”
    To Hannah’s horror, her eyes start to sting with tears. Her face and neck heat with blood.
    “I wasn’t—” she croaks. “I wasn’t trying to—”
    “I know,” Ms. Carpenter says. “And I know you weren’t acting like yourself. I’ve known you for four years and I’ve never heard you say anything like that. But Hannah—we have to take ownership for our words. Words are powerful. They can be devastating. If your words carry hate—if they shame others, if they make them doubt that they are loved—Hannah, you don’t want to own words like that.”
    Ms. Carpenter pauses to watch her for a moment. She offers Hannah the box of tissues on the corner of her desk. Hannah does not take one. She looks away from Ms. Carpenter and swallows down the bad