Chapter 5

           Theywerereadytoclosebythetimeshegottotheteller.She’dhadtowaitforthebusafterschoolandwaitagaintransferringdownMain.Andthiswasthesecondbank.

           She’dcarriedthefoldedcheckinherblousepocketallday,underthesweater.Itwasinherhandwhenthemaninfrontofherpickeduphisrollsofnickelsandstuffedtheminthepocketofhisovercoatandleftthespaceatthewindowforher.Shesetherhandonthecoldmarble,holdingthecheckoutandstandingontiptoe,tobeabletoseethefaceoftheteller.“I’dliketoopenanaccount,”Bethsaid.

           Themanglancedatthecheck.“Howoldareyou,miss?”

           “Thirteen.”

           “I’msorry,”hesaid.“You’llneedaparentorguardianwithyou.”

           Bethputthecheckbackinherblousepocketandleft.

           Atthehouse,Mrs.WheatleyhadfouremptyPabstBlueRibbonbeerbottlessittingonthelittletablebyherchair.TheTVwasoff.Bethhadpickeduptheafternoonpaperfromthefrontporch;sheunfoldeditasshecameintothelivingroom.

           “Howwasschool,dear?”Mrs.Wheatley’svoicewasdimandfaraway.

           “Itwasokay.”AsBethsetthenewspaperonthegreenplastichassockbythesofashesawwithquietastonishmentthatherownpicturewasprintedonthefrontpage,atthebottom.NearthetopwasthefaceofNikitaKhrushchevandatthebottom,onecolumnwide,washerface,scowlingbeneathaheadline:LOCALPRODIGYTAKESCHESSTOURNEY.Underthis,insmallerletters,boldface:TWELVE-YEAR-OLDASTONISHESEXPERTS.Sherememberedthemantakingherpicturebeforetheygaveherthetrophyandthecheck.