Alice Parker

"Present," a chubby little boy in the third row with blond hair said.

"Andy."

"Present, ma'am!" A girl with a southern accent stood up and handed me an apple.

"Thank you." I mouthed to Andy.

"Amelia."

"Present," she said, and I noticed that she was the only student with such expensive things.  I placed a mental note at the back of my mind to keep an eye out for her.  She just might be a naughty child.

Name after name, I called them, and checked their names on the attendance sheet that had been handed out to all the teachers.  So far, as I was almost through the list, all the kids were present.

"Alice," I called the last name on the list, ready to mark it with a P for present just like the other names, but there was no answer.

"Alice," I said again.

"Alice Parker?" I called out for a third time, but there was still no answer, so I put an X mark beside her name for absent.

Suddenly, the door flew open, and a little girl stumbled into the classroom.  Unlike most of the children she wasn't as well-groomed nor was she in the best clothing.  She had a dirty face, uncombed hair, patch-worked clothes, and mud-stained shoes, but she was still pretty underneath it all.

"I—I’m s—sorry for being late, M—Ms," she stuttered, and wallowed across the room as the other children laughed at her.

"Children, it's not nice to laugh at someone," I chided them.  "Please say sorry to Alice."

"Sorry, Alice," they chorused, afraid of disappointing me again.

"Why don't you go and sit down on the empty seat over there, Alice?" I suggested, and she walked slowly toward her seat.

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That was the first time I met Alice, and the first time I ever met a girl like her—so different, but in a good way.  I gave my class a getting-to-know-you session that day.  I had them walk up to the front and say something about themselves.  Everyone did a good job, except for Alice, though.  She got stuck after her name and began to cry.  I had comforted her and had given her some tissue.  Every single one of my students had laughed again, and I scolded them once more. 

She didn't seem like the kind of child to want attention.  I wondered why or what had caused her to cry, but I had come up blank that day.  I had never occurred to me then that her troubles were big for her age and she had done a better job of handling them than a normal adult would.

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 "Class, it's time for recess.  You all may go out and play," I said.

The children ran out  to play, and I went with them.  They played tag, hide and seek, hopscotch, and other games that I didn't recognize.  I counted all the children on the playground—only nineteen out of twenty were there.  I searched for the little girl in tattered clothing, but she wasn't there.

"Alice?"  I called her name.

"Yes, Ms. Sarah?" I heard a reply from the classroom.

"Oh, there you are, sweetie," I said, walking back inside.  "Why aren't you outside with the others? Don't you want to play?" I asked.

"No.  I don't want to ruin my shoes.  I still have to walk home later.  Home is very far away," she said, and I felt a deep sadness and pity for her.