Mama doesn't like me listening at doors. But she never catches me anymore. I've gotten too good at it.
Yesterday the man came again, the one who's going to take me away. Mama waited for him in the big room. I put my ear to the door just as the doorbell rang, and I heard her feet fly to answer it.
They didn't say anything important for a while. Then Mama cleared her throat.
“I've decided,” she said. “I want it to be your school. She'll be ready to leave tomorrow.”
“Hmph,” went the man. “You're quite sure something closer wouldn't be better?”
“I've known you a long time, Benjamin. I'm sure your school is the best place for her. And it should be out of town, in any case. She can't stay here. She... doesn't get along.”
“Very well,” said the man, and then they were standing up, so I tiptoed away before they opened the door.
This morning, I went to my apple tree and climbed to the very top. It's nice up here. The birds are talking to each other, and the breeze is in my hair, and the apples taste like autumn.
I think Mama's looking for me.
But she hasn't told me, yet, that she for-sure decided I was going away. And if I stay up here, she can't find me to tell me.
And if she doesn't tell me, maybe I won't have to go.