New teacher, different kids in her class, the feeling of being a year older, which was somehow a lot stronger when she went into a new grade than it was on her birthday. She had a new white blouse with a darling round collar. And after weeks of begging, she had finally persuaded Mom to cut bangs into her hair. She couldn't pass a mirror or a window without pausing to look at her reflection; the bangs really did make her look older. Besides that, Treecie was back from Long Island, and they had so much to talk about. They talked as fast as they could every second on the way to school and at recess and when they saw each other on the weekends, and still it seemed as if they would never get caught up. But Maggie had hardly anything new to tell Treecie about Jim—because she hadn't received a letter from him in ages. Mr. Armstrong didn't call out to her anymore on Saturday mornings; he just shook his head as soon as he came around the corner. One evening at bedtime, Maggie opened the lid of the shoebox where she kept Jim's letters.
