The Attic of Forgotten Things
The bell had rung twenty minutes ago, but Millhaven Green still smelled of chalk dust and the particular sourness of boys who'd spent all afternoon sweating through their shirts. Amelia Earhart stood at the edge of the schoolyard with her notebook pressed against her chest, watching the last stragglers scatter toward the dirt road that wound past the grain elevator and down into town.
She should have left already. She knew that. She'd learned, over three years of hard lessons, that lingering near the swing sets after school was an invitation, and invitations in Millhaven had a way of turning into ambushes. But Mrs. Calloway had kept her behind to discuss a composition on Amelia's favorite subject — flight, always flight — and the woman's praise had been so unexpected, so warm, that Amelia had let herself forget the time.
"Well, would you look at this."
Tommy Greene's voice arrived before Tommy Greene did, the way thunder sometimes beat the lightning to the ear. He came around the corner of the schoolhouse with Walt Higgins on one side and Ray Doyle on the other, the three of them moving with the loose, confident swagger of boys who had never once been made to feel small.…