Henrietta was standing in the corner, and she didn’t know exactly why.
Was it because she hadn’t wanted to share her construction paper with some of the other kids? Maybe.
Was it because she’d had a temper tantrum? Maybe.
Was it because she had stabbed Percival in the eye with a Laurentian crayon? Maybe.
Was it because when Ms. Welch had stopperd her from eating Percival’s face, it had made her so mad that she’d floated to the ceiling, spinning and throwing off lightning bolts that had turned some of the kids into multicoloured bullfrogs? Maybe.
“Teacher?” said Henrietta, making sure not to turn around. Although she didn’t need to turn around to “see” the teacher huddled behind the desk, with the rest of the still-snuffling, frightened class with her. “Are you made because I ate your sandwich out of the teacher’s lounge when no one was looking?”
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The teacher sounded scared, but she replied “Oh, was that you, Henrietta? Uh, no, I’m not mad about the sandwhich.”
Good, thought Henrietta, who knew that at least the shit she’d pulled this morning had covered up any punishment she’d get for the sandwich, which she actually felt guilty about. “Can I come out of the corner now?”
“Maybe… can you turn the frogs back into children?”
“No…” lied Henrietta. “I’m sorrrry…” she said, as huge sobs wracked her little body.
