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.
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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.
MacKenzie Isabelle Evans stood in the middle of the lawn. She put two fingers into her mouth and whistled a long, piercing whistle.
Standing at his window, he could see the beautiful red stable that housed his family’s Arabian horses, with its perfect fenced riding ring. He could also see, through the trees, part of the Farmers’ old barn and house next door.
Michael Arthur Patterson carefully wrapped silver tissue paper around the 12 red roses in the long white box. He couldn’t see the red or the silver or the white, but he could smell the roses, feel the crinkly texture of the paper, and feel the weight of the box as he carefully handed it to the customer.
At lunch recess, Kenya played kickball with the older kids. She was having a lot of fun until she saw three sad little faces on the sidelines. “Time out!” she called and went to talk to Solly, who was pitching.
Susannah watched the woman for a moment. Her face was red, and she was sweating. Still holding the boys’ hands, Susannah went over to the bench and asked, “Are you all right, ma’am?”
