I missed the first two weeks of school, being in the hospital instead, but then my parents took me up to meet the teacher. She was ten feet tall and smelled like gardenias. I swayed, queasy, her paisley dress clashing against jungle green linoleum. She patted her lap and when I leaned away, she pulled me up into it so I closed my eyes and turned into a turtle. My parents did not rescue me. You missed the beginning of reading, Miss Maxwell told me, pulling out a red booklet and opening to page one of On Cherry Street, and I am sure it was two hours before she let me down. This is all I remember of first grade except the day Jeremy Jones giggled so hard he peed a yellow puddle in his wooden chair and they called his mother to come get him. Every time I think of that, I wonder if he remembers.

Bio: Joanna White