Before I could respond, Emma appeared behind me.
She had heard the shouting.
She stepped onto the porch, saw the crowd, and froze.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
I turned toward her.
“Emma, what’s going on?”
She looked frightened.
“People asked why I was late yesterday. I told them our car broke down and Mrs. Vanessa wouldn’t let me ride with her because my shoes were wet.”
A boy near the mailbox raised his sign.
“They weren’t even muddy!”
One of the girls beside him muttered, “That’s so mean.”
Emma immediately turned toward her.
“Don’t say that.”
The girl looked surprised.
“But she was mean to you.”
“I know what happened,” Emma replied, her voice trembling. “But Sophie didn’t do anything wrong.”
At that moment, Sophie appeared from behind a group of parents.
She was standing several feet away from her mother, twisting one backpack strap around her hand.
Her eyes were red.
