Lucy's Lane

By Laura Milligan

Ten-year-old Lucy Beacher grapples with anxiety and the challenges of a new town, compounded by the Covid-19 pandemic. As schools shut down, Lucy discovers an unexpected silver lining - friendship blossoming right in her neighborhood. Meet Cece, a wise widow with a passion for nature; Jade, a spunky Chinese-American girl; and Bea, an eleven-year

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Paper House
• Release date: May 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869315090

Book preview

Chapter One

The hands on the big clock in my classroom move too quickly.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I watch and I wait, nerves pounding as each tick brings recess closer.

"Now, friends, this is a review for us in the fourth grade, but it’s important that we never, ever, ever forget about that wonderful magic E! Mrs. Pepper clasps her hands in front of her chest and smiles. The magic E makes the letter say its name, remember?"

Of course I remember. I learned this so long ago.

"Lucy, can you think of a word that has a magic E?" Mrs. Pepper asks.

Wait. What? She looks right at me, unaware that her pink lipstick is smudged on her front teeth.

Even with her eyes on me, I can feel the clock hand moving. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I look down. Ah . . . Um, maybe ‘time’? I’m absolutely sure of my answer.

Mrs. Pepper loves to review. One thing I’ve noticed over the years is that it doesn’t matter how old you are or where you go to school, teachers like to repeat themselves a lot. I don’t really blame them. I know there are some kids who need to review, but I’m not one of them, especially when it comes to school stuff. I like to pay attention. I like to read, and I already know all my multiplication tables. All that makes the school part of school easy for me.

It’s the rest of the school stuff that’s tricky. Especially at my new school.

Righto, Lucy! Great work. Mrs. Pepper cheers for me. That’s another thing about teachers. They cheer for you.

I look back up at her, but the second her gaze leaves mine, I stare at the clock again.

Most kids in the fourth grade watch the clock hoping for the phonics lesson to end so that recess can begin. I watch the clock because I want to be sure to raise my hand exactly at 9:55—five minutes before phonics ends, and five minutes before recess begins. Every day at 9:55, I ask to go to the bathroom.

Mom actually came up with the idea. Take a bathroom break, she told me, even if you don’t actually have to go. When she gave me the idea, I’m pretty sure she didn’t think I would use the trick all the time, but I do. Every. Single. Day.

At 9:55 I go to the bathroom and count my breaths.

Breathe in and out. Count to ten, and you’ll feel better, Mom suggested. At least, she hopes. I know she wants me to love our new town, and she wants me to love fourth grade. Recess is a great place to make friends! she said. You know this, Luc. Kids play together, run around, do the monkey bars, all sorts of stuff. Mom makes it all sound easy and fun, but for me, recess is lonely and hard.

We moved to Seascape, Connecticut, from Ann Arbor, Michigan, in February, right after Presidents’ Day weekend because my Dad’s job changed. My Dad is a doctor for people’s hearts. He took a new job at a new hospital, all the way across the country. Mom says it’s a really good opportunity for him because now he’s the chief. I’m really happy for my Dad since I think that means he’s in charge, but things haven’t been going so well for me here.

I’ve been at my new school for exactly nineteen days, and I still feel like a new kid. Everything about this little New England town is different from my old city in the Midwest. For one thing, people smiled a lot more back home.

I check the clock. 9:57. It’s already past time! My hand shoots into the air.

Yes, Lucy? Mrs. Pepper says. She pretends she doesn’t know what I’m going to ask.

Can I go to the bathroom, please? I blurt out.

Sure thing! Mrs. Pepper says. She is so . . . She’s just so peppy. She’s probably the one person here who actually smiles a lot. I appreciate her peppiness, and I really wish that her smiles could make me feel better, but they don’t.

I stand up to leave. Just as I walk out of the classroom, I hear Sarah Snickerman whisper, What is wrong with that girl?

I want to run down the hall, but I’m careful to follow the no running inside rule. I push open the bathroom door and bend down to check under each stall, making sure no one else is there. The coast is clear, so I slide into the last stall.

I inhale. One. I release my breath. Two.

The bathroom door bursts open.

What are you even doing in there, Lucy?

Sarah Snickerman’s voice leads to that familiar panic that has been overwhelming me ever since I started school here. Her black booties inch toward my stall.

Yeah, Lucy, why do you go to the bathroom every single day at the exact same time? Avery Hollis asks. She follows Sarah’s lead in just about everything. It’s kinda weird.

Sarah laughs.

My fists tighten. Not now, I whisper to myself. Please not now. No matter how hard I clench my fists, I feel it coming.

I’ve never seen an actual tornado, but that’s the closest I can get to describing what this feels like. My heart, my breath, my body, and my thoughts swirl up into a windy, whipping circle like the tornadoes I’ve seen on the weather channel or in the National Geographic book Dad got me for Christmas last year.

Breathe, Lucy. Mom’s words wrestle to land, but it’s too late.

I lose my breath. The stall is hot. My legs shake. Aaaaaaah! I let out a sob, just loud enough for Sarah and Avery to hear me.

Um, are you okay? Avery asks. Her voice is softer.

I try to breathe through my nose.

Lucy? Avery is close to the stall door. I’m going to go get Mrs. Pepper, she says in the kindest tone I’ve ever heard her speak in. Then, she shows even more kindness. Come on, Sarah. Let’s go.

Whatever, Sarah mutters.

I hear the bathroom door slowly slide shut and Sarah chuckling under her breath as she slips out the door.

Chapter Two

I look down at my purple Converse sneakers, which pop against the gray tiled floor of the bathroom stall. Mom says when the tornado feeling happens, I should try the 3-3-3s. I’m not sure where she got the idea, but it does help, or at least it did help the first time this happened to me. It was right before we were about to move. The moving truck was in our driveway, and as I was looking out at it from my bedroom window, I just lost my breath. My whole body clenched up like a turtle going back into a shell. I couldn’t open my eyes either. Mom came in and found me on the floor, and she hugged me. That’s when we started this 3-3-3 thing.

The first step is to find three things I can see. In the tiny bathroom stall, under my purple sneakers, there is brown rust between the tiles just under my feet. Deep inhale. Scanning for one more thing, I watch the sunlight run across my shoes and under the next stall. That’s three. Deep exhale.

The next step is to identify three things I hear. The sink drips. The heater hisses. The toilet rumbles. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I wipe my tears with the bottom of my green T-shirt and open the bathroom stall to even more sunshine. I walk over to the sink and tighten the faucet to stop the drip. Before I start the last of the 3s—three things I can touch—Mrs. Pepper opens the bathroom door.

Everything okay, Lucy? she asks.

We face each other. Pink lipstick is still stuck on her teeth.

Oh, yeah, I’m okay, thanks. I look down and reach for a brown sandpapery paper towel to wipe my hands and blow my nose.

Okay, well, why don’t we walk out to recess together today.

My stomach tightens. I hate recess. All I do is walk around the edge of the playground and watch the other kids play.

A few days ago, I mustered up a bit of courage and walked over to Sarah and her friends, who were standing by the slide. I asked if I could play with them, and the sides of Sarah’s smile curled up. Sure, Lucy, you can be the one we’re mean to.

Some of the other girls laughed. I mumbled, Never mind, and wandered back to the edges of the playground.

At home in Ann Arbor, I could always count on my friend Jackson, and he could always count on me. I don’t have that person here. I don’t have a Jackson. If I could just find someone to play with at recess or sit with at lunch, maybe I wouldn’t walk around with a pit in my stomach all day long. There are lots of times at school where it’s better if you have a person—in the cafeteria, even walking down the hall, and definitely at recess. It just feels better when I’m not alone.

Sometimes at recess I hang around the field because my brother, Charlie, plays soccer. He’s in sixth grade, and even though we just started at Windy Hill Elementary, he already has a best friend. I’m not really sure why Charlie likes Alex, though. I’ve seen Alex do things at recess when the teacher isn’t watching. He always nudges Aidan Yang a little too hard and then laughs like it’s a joke. The other day, I saw him pick up the soccer ball and throw it right at Aidan’s face. Aidan lost his glasses in the grass and fumbled around looking for them while the other boys ran to take a water break. I chewed the inside of my cheek and watched from the sideline. No one helped him up. Not one person. Alex picks on Aidan a lot, way more than anyone else.

I wish I could bring my book out to recess and read under the trees, but Mom and Mrs. Pepper both say it would be better if I tried. They don’t get that I am trying, and it’s definitely not working.

So far, I haven’t been on one playdate. I haven’t been to any birthday parties. I don’t really want to play in Sarah’s group, obviously. Most days at recess, I walk the edges of the playground, near where the mulch meets the pavement. When recess is over, I go back to the classroom and look up at that big white clock hanging on the wall above the door. I wait for the smaller black hand to get close to the three so I can see Mom and go home.

As Mrs. Pepper and I walk down the hallway, we pass a few teachers gathered outside the main office. When they see me coming, they stop talking and pretend to be busy near the copy machine.

Just before we reach the door, Mr. Learner’s voice comes through the loudspeaker. Students and staff, this is Principal Learner. School is closing early. Pickup will be in thirty minutes.

Yes! I whisper to myself as my shoulders finally relax. Recess is over, and I get to go home!

Wait. Why is school closing early today? That wasn’t