TREE asked. He had been waiting for Alfie. He was leaning against the lone schoolground tree, his foot propped on a root. He seemed part of the landscape. “Nothing,” Alfie said. A line of boys and girls were waiting to board the school bus. One of the boys called, “What’d she do to you, Alfie?” “Nothing.” He kept walking. All the grass had been worn off the schoolyard, and the dirt was packed as hard as concrete. Tree fell into step with Alfie. “What did she want?” “If you must know—” “I must.” “—she wanted to tell me I’m flunking Math.” “That’s supposed to be news?” “Also she wants a conference with my mom.” “She must not know your mom.” Alfie kept walking, watching his feet. “Nothing against your mom,” Tree went on. “I just can’t imagine anybody wanting to have a conference with her.” Alfie said nothing. He had made a terrible mistake in his talk with Mrs. Steinhart, one he regretted deeply. In the middle of the talk, he had abruptly decided to take her into his confidence and show her his comic strip about the dog.
