Lolo's Light by Liz Garton Scanlon

Author:Liz Garton Scanlon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chronicle Books LLC

Chapter 17

Sam was one of the boys whose voice hadn’t changed yet. He had the voice he’d always had, for as long as Millie could remember. If she wanted to, she could stand in the middle of a crowded corridor that ran straight down the middle of a crowded school and hear that voice and know it was Sam—the same Sam she’d known forever, the same Sam who’d always known her.

The truth is, everyone knew that voice, because Sam was a little bit of a class clown. Sometimes a teacher would hush him by putting a finger up to pursed lips, or by saying, “All right, pipe down, Mr. Clark, pipe down.” Nobody ever actually got mad at him—including Millie—maybe because his dad was a teacher, so he had a get-out-of-jail-free card, or maybe because he really was only joking around.

Lately, Millie was just grateful when Sam talked so she didn’t have to, no matter the topic. But when Ms. Fritz, on egg day, said, “OK, quiet down for this next step, gang. Let’s carefully and quietly move these eggs into their incubators. Let’s stay completely focused,” Sam didn’t quiet down or focus. He went back to punning.

“You mean eggs-actly focused, Ms. Fritz?” Everyone laughed except Millie. Even Ms. Fritz was sort of laughing as she shook her head.

Somehow all the laughter pushed Sam to go further—like he was performing and the attention made him forget for a second that she wasn’t the old Millie, the funny, easy one he used to know. He said, “What’s the matter, Mills? Can’t you take a yolk? Don’t I crack you up? Eggs-cuse …”

And Millie, before she was even able to think the words to herself, wheeled around and said through clenched teeth, “No. You don’t. You don’t crack me up and it’s not funny and I can’t take a joke! Shut up, Sam!”

Sam shut up. So did everyone else. Millie’s face burned, but she didn’t take it back. She didn’t say sorry, because she wasn’t. She meant it. She wanted perfect silence. She wanted everyone to move softly and slowly, into the walk-in cooler and then back to class, holding the eggs out in front of them like a tray of something fragile—crystal goblets, maybe, or light bulbs. Or—duh—eggs. Yes, fragile, like the eggs they were! Why weren’t people taking this seriously? Why wasn’t Sam?

“OK, OK, everyone. No worries. All’s well,” said Ms. Fritz. “This is careful work, but exciting! Let’s enjoy this next phase of the project.”

And Millie, who was genuinely mad now, thought, You lost me at “enjoy.”

Each group was going to get six eggs. Eliza carried a great big container of twenty-four into the classroom, and Tristan carried the other twenty-four. Millie tiptoed along next to them as they moved through the room, even though she wasn’t technically one of the transporters.

“Remember,” Ms. Fritz said, “that when you shift your eggs into your brooding boxes, you’ll want to turn them because they’ve been in this position for a little

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