Page 14 of Savage Heart

“I’m Maverick,” I say.

“Maverick,” she says, leaning back. “That’s a nice name. Ma-ver-ick.” She rolls out the word, and her head tilts. “I’ve never met anyone named Maverick.”

“Oh.”

“I like my name because it means two things.” She shifts and her long yellow hair bounces. “The color part of the eye.” She giggles, pointing to her eye. “And a beautiful flower. Have you ever seen an iris before? They come in white, purple, and yellow.”

I shake my head.

The teacher makes us listen to her next, but I wish she’d just let me talk to Iris. I’m learning more from her than school, and she’s really pretty.

That afternoon, we all go outside with Ms. French. Most people take the bus, but Lincoln and I are getting picked up. I turn, and Iris is on the other side of me. She’s turning and looking everywhere, and then her shoulders drop.

She has sad eyes and isn’t smiling big like before.

“What’s wrong?” I ask quietly.

She looks at me, and her mouth shakes. My eyes widen when a tear almost falls down her cheek.

“I don’t think my mom’s coming,” she whispers.

I look at the row of cars lined up and see my mom behind a few other cars.

“Maybe she’s not here yet?” I ask.

She shakes her head, and I watch as a tear trails down her cheek and drips into her yellow hair. I don’t like seeing her cry at all.

I take her hand and hold it. “My mom can take you home,” I tell her. “Come on. Lincoln, time to go.”

Lincoln’s playing with a ball and doesn’t hear me at first.

“Lincoln! Come on,” I repeat.

I start to walk away with Iris’s hand still in mine and feel a hand tap my shoulder.

“Where are you going with Iris, Maverick?” Ms. French asks.

“We’re going to take Iris home,” I say.

“I’m afraid not,” Ms. French says. “We have to wait for your mom to pick you up, Iris.”

Iris just looks up at our teacher, and now her chin is shaking.

“But she said her mom isn’t coming,” I tell Ms. French. “And my mom won’t mind.”

Ms. French frowns. “Why do you think your mom isn’t coming?” she asks Iris.

“Because she forgets, and I have to walk home from the community center every day,” Iris says.

Ms. French’s mouth opens like she’s waiting for a fly to zip right in there. “Right. What is your mom’s name? She didn’t come to our parents’ night before school started.”

“Cherry Sullivan.”

“God help me.” She sighs. “Okay, remind me where you live?”

“Little Lark Trailer Park.” Iris wipes her nose with the back of her free hand.

“Maverick,” my mom calls. “Lincoln! We’re over here!”