Stella by Starlight By Sharon M Draper-pdfread.net

“No fair!”
Because they visited the store so often, Stella felt comfortable enough
to say hi to Thelma. “It sure must be nice having a mom who owns a
candy store,” she said this morning.
Thelma laughed. “I probably get less than any of you—Mommy’s
pretty strict!” She handed Stella a Bazooka Joe bubble gum when her
mother wasn’t looking.
Just then a group of five white children walked into the store, also
carrying lunch pails and school bags. The room was suddenly quiet.
Stella inhaled sharply, a thought striking her. Had any of their fathers
been in that field last night?
“Welcome!” Mrs. Cooper called out cheerfully, breaking the
uncomfortable silence. “Looks like we’ve got a full house this morning.
Nothing better than a store full of children!”
The two groups, however, moved around each other like oil and water.
Paulette Packard, the doctor’s daughter, pushed herself right up to the
case and started choosing. Stella could scarcely take her eyes off Paulette’s
dress—it was a pale lavender, and clearly store-bought. She wore patentleather
shoes and carried a matching pocketbook.
A pocketbook at school? Stella thought.
While most of the children in the store, both black and white, scraped
for pennies in their pockets, Paulette pulled out two crisp dollar bills and
bought three large bags of candy. She sure liked Goo Goo Clusters!
So as not to be caught staring, Stella turned from Paulette back to
Thelma and got up the nerve to ask her something she’d always wondered
about. “How’s school?”
What Stella really wanted to know was what the rooms looked like—the
books, the desks, even the pictures the Mountain View teachers posted on
their walls. She would love to have just a teeny peek inside Thelma’s
classroom.
But Thelma just shrugged. “Grumpy teachers. Lots of reading and
reciting. Basically boring. How about yours?”
Stella couldn’t understand how school could ever be boring. “It’s not
bad,” was all she told Thelma. But she wondered if white kids ever had
trouble figuring out writing and reading stuff.
Barbara Osterman, the daughter of the mill owner, must have been