MacKenzie Isabelle Evans walked down the sidewalk pulling her old red wagon behind her. Which meant it must be Tuesday afternoon, because Tuesday afternoon was Mac’s going-to-the-market-for-Miss-Hazel-and-Miss-Minerva afternoon.
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The bedroom was dark, and cold, and quiet. She wondered if it were still night. She turned her head and looked at the clock that sat on the old desk near her bed. The green numbers read 5:31. The 1 on the end turned into a 2 as she watched.
Mac sighed. She loved going places, but sometimes she wished the getting there part could be quicker. Maybe someday she would be able to travel everywhere in an airplane. She was certain that every moment of an airplane ride must be absolutely fascinating.
“Mike? Where are you?” she called into the darkness. She hoped she didn’t sound nervous. There was only one thing she didn’t like about this place, and she’d always kept it a secret. “Turn the light on!”
Michael Arthur Patterson raised his hand. The Primary class was discussing their Christmas program, and he had an idea.
Solomon Nassim El-Charif wasn’t listening to the sermon. He usually liked Pastor Lewis’s sermons, but today Solly was thinking about the Sabbath School lesson. For some reason, the story felt very real to him.
Susannah May Farmer pulled out a poster and stretched on tiptoes to hold it against the telephone pole on the corner. Solly reached up and hammered a nail to hold the poster in place.
Michael Arthur Patterson rubbed his hands over the tombstone. It was rough and cold under his fingers, and he shivered a little. He ran his fingers down the front of the stone until he found the carved letters. ARTHUR.
Kenya Jayne Washington bent over and put her hands on the ground. Then she put the top of her head on the ground in between them. Ever so carefully, concentrating so hard she almost bit her tongue, she pushed her wobbly legs up into the air. There! She was standing on her head.
