“Do they still jump rope?” Lois asked.
Ms. Mayer nodded. “With the same rhymes we used when I was a girl.”
The women exchanged smiles.
“The important thing is to interact with the child,” the school counselor continued. “Get to know him or her and forge a friendship.”
“What about seeing the child outside school?” This question came from Maggie, who appeared to be in her early fifties.
“That’ll have to be approved by the child’s parent or guardian.”
Anne Marie couldn’t imagine seeing the child other than inside the protected walls of the school. She didn’t want to get emotionally attached. Besides, that wasn’t part of the deal. All that was required was to come in and have lunch with her young charge. If he or she wanted to show off school assignments, fine. But that was the limit of what Anne Marie could handle. She had enough to cope with; she didn’t need to add anything else to the mix. Any relationship with an at-risk child would have to remain casual. Nothing beyond the most basic obligations.
The orientation meeting took the full half hour. Several additional questions were asked, but Anne Marie only half listened. While the others chatted, she struggled, asking herself over and over if this was the right volunteer program. She couldn’t imagine why Elise seemed to think she’d be a perfect Lunch Buddy. Anne Marie didn’t feel perfect. What she felt was…nothing. Nothing at all. Zoned out. Emotionally dead. Disinterested.
Ms. Mayer handed out the assignments, leaving Anne Marie for last. She must have sensed her doubts because she asked, “Do you have any further questions?”
Anne Marie shook her head. “Not really. I’m just wondering if I’m really a good candidate for this.”
“Why not give it a try? I suspect you’ll enjoy it. Almost everyone does.”
The other woman’s reassurance warmed her. “Okay, I will.”
“The child I have in mind for you is named Ellen Falk,” she went on to say. “Ellen is eight years old and in second grade. Because of the Right to Privacy Laws, I’m not allowed to reveal any details about her home background. However, I can tell you that Ellen is currently living with her maternal grandmother.”
“Has she been in this school long?”
“Ellen’s been a student here for the past two years.”
“Okay.”
Before Anne Marie could ask why the school counselor had decided to pair her with this particular child, Helen Mayer continued.“ Ellen is an intense child. Very quiet. Shy. She doesn’t have a lot to say, but don’t let that discourage you.”
“Okay,” Anne Marie said again.
“Talk to her and be patient. She’ll speak to you when she’s ready.”
Oh, great. She’d have to carry the entire conversation for heaven only knew how many weeks. “Is there a reason you decided to match me up with this child?” she asked. Surely there was another one, another little girl who was more personable. Anne Marie wasn’t much of a talker herself these days, and she wasn’t sure that pairing her with an intense, reticent child would work.
“That’s an excellent question,” Helen Mayer said approvingly. “Ellen loves to read, and since you own Blossom Street Books…well, it seemed to be a good fit.”
“Oh.”
“Ellen is one of our top second-grade readers.”
Rather than suggest being paired with a different child, Anne Marie decided to go ahead with this arrangement. “I look forward to meeting her,” she said, wincing inwardly at the lie.
“Ellen has first lunch, which starts in a few minutes, so if you’ll come with me, I’ll introduce you.”
Anne Marie still wasn’t convinced she was ready for this. However, it was now or never. Once she walked out of Room 121, Anne Marie knew that unless she met the child immediately, she wouldn’t be back.
Ms. Mayer led her down the hallway to a row of classrooms, each door marked with the grade and the teacher’s name. Ellen was in Ms. Peterski’s class. Helen Mayer waited until a young woman—obviously Ms. Peterski—and twenty or so children had filed out, then walked inside, Anne Marie a few steps behind her.
The first thing Anne Marie noticed was how impossibly small the desks were. The second was the child sitting in the far corner all alone. Her head was lowered, and her stick-straight hair fell forward, hiding her eyes.
“Ellen,” the school counselor said, her voice full of enthusiasm. “I want you to meet your Lunch Buddy.”
The little girl, dressed in dirty tennis shoes, jeans and a red T-shirt, slid out of her chair and moved toward them, her gaze on the floor.
“Anne Marie, meet Ellen.”
“Hello, Ellen,” Anne Marie said dutifully. She kept her voice soft and modulated.
Ellen didn’t acknowledge the greeting.
After an awkward silence, Ms. Mayer spoke again. “Ellen, would you please escort your guest to the lunchroom?”
In response Ellen nodded and walked quickly out of the room. She stood outside the door until Anne Marie caught up.
“That’s a nice T-shirt you’re wearing,” Anne Marie said, testing the waters. “Red is one of my favorite colors.”
No response.
The noise from the cafeteria grew louder as they made their way down the hall. Ellen joined the other students in the lunch line and Anne Marie stood behind her.
“What’s for lunch today?” Anne Marie asked.
Ellen pointed to one of the students at a nearby table, spooning macaroni and cheese into her mouth. “That.”
At last! The eight-year-old actually had a voice.
The line started to move. “Macaroni and cheese used to be one of my favorite lunches,” Anne Marie said. “Do you like it, too?”
Ellen shrugged.
“What’s your favorite?”
She expected the universal response of pizza. Instead Ellen said, “Chili and corn bread.”
“I like that, too.” Well, she didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t one of Anne Marie’s favorites. Thus far they didn’t seem to have a lot in common.
Their lunch consisted of macaroni and cheese, a gelatin salad, carrot sticks, milk and an oatmeal cookie. Carrying her tray, Anne Marie followed the girl to a table near the back of the room. Ellen chose to sit at the far end, away from the other children.
Anne Marie set her tray across from Ellen, then pulled out her chair and sat down. Ellen bowed her head and folded her hands on her lap for a silent moment before she reached for her silverware. Apparently she was saying grace before eating her lunch.
Anne Marie took a sip of milk once Ellen had taken her first bite. “I understand you like to read,” she said conversationally.
Ellen nodded.
“I own a bookstore. Have you read any of the Harry Potter books?”
Ellen shook her head. “My grandma said they’re too advanced for me. She said I could read them in fourth grade.”
“Your grandmother’s probably right.”
Ellen crunched down on a carrot stick.
“Who’s your favorite author?” Anne Marie asked, encouraged