The Shore Magazine - "THE MISSING GIRL" by Jason Shaffner

Mrs. Simpson gathered the class in a circle on the floor. Billy sat cross-legged and leaned back on his hands.

"Sit up, Billy," she said. Billy straightened and dropped his hands to his knees. "You too, Charlie," she said.

"Today, kids, we're going to make butter. Does everyone know what butter is made from?"

Billy looked around at other kids looking around, not wanting to be the one to raise his hand first, but at the same time dreading that puzzled look Mrs. Simpson threw at them when none volunteered the obvious. He raised his hand slowly and it rose no higher than his shoulder before she called on him.

"Milk?" he said, confident despite how the answer came out, a slight shakiness masking his certainty from the others.

"Yes, Billy, that's right. Well, what I've got here is a jar," she said, pulling two mason jars from her knapsack and setting them on the carpet in front of her. The white liquid sloshed, thicker than the milk Mommy put on his Lucky Charms.

Mrs. Simpson didn't call attendance out loud, but Billy was sure someone was missing. Billy silently ticked off the class roster in his head, but lost track when Mrs. Simpson spoke.

"We're going to pass these jars around the circle until this cream turns into butter. And then," she reached into her knapsack again, this time producing a large box of Ritz crackers, "we're going to have a snack. When you get the jar, I want you to do this." Mrs. Simpson shook the jar, milk splashing up the sides and leaving behind a thin white film. "Since we can't all shake the jars at the same time, I'm going to read a story called 'Bessie the Golden Cow.'"

The teacher passed the first jar to her left, the second to her right, and pulled a big hardcover book from her bottomless, Santa Claus knapsack. She turned the cover toward the students until they had all seen. Against a green background stood a golden cow with black spots

Billy's turned toward Stacy. How could it have taken so long to realize it was Virginia? Not just anyone. Virginia.

Mrs. Simpson closed the book and lowered it to her lap. "I knew I was forgetting something. Thank you, Stacy, for asking."

Stacy nodded at the attention. She was pretty, but not like Virginia. Her eyes sat further apart and her nose was chubby. Still, she was the only blonde in his Kindergarten home room, so Billy watched her a lot.

"Virginia will be home all this week, because she's very sick, and what she has is very contagious. Do you know what that means?"

"It means that if she comes to school, she might bring the germs with her and make the rest of you sick, too."

The pink sweater Virginia wore every now and then, with embroidered red hearts, was Billy's favorite. She always wore a matching ribbon around her ponytail when she wore that sweater.

"Well, first of all, it has nothing to do with chickens. When you get the chicken pox, you get little bumps that look like mosquito bites. Now what happens when you get a mosquito bite?"

"Exactly. But when you have chicken pox, you must absolutely, positively, whatever you do, never scratch, no matter how itchy.
Because if you do, then it gets worse and lasts longer."

"Oh, golly no. She'll be better in no time. It's something you'll all go through someday. Everybody gets it." A few kids gasped in horror. Billy pictured himself covered by red itchy-bumps. "But the good news," Mrs. Simpson continued, "is that you can only get it once, unlike the flu or a winter cold."

The cream reached Billy. He shook it hard, but his heart wasn't in it; he and his heart sat on a bedspread covered with teddy bears.
Virginia lay nestled in a sea of pillows, snug beneath sheets and blankets. A stuffed animal was tucked under her right arm like a football. His feet dangled off the side, too short to touch the floor, heels slapping against the wooden bed frame with each hyperactive kick, shaking the mattress with every fidgeting motion.

Billy paused, remembering which was her left, nodding when he figured it out, and scratched the inflamed mosquito bump on her left shoulder.
She squirmed under his touch and smiled. "Better. Now my other shoulder."

More cream, halfway to becoming butter, waited for him in Charlie's impatient hand. Mrs. Simpson's soothing tone spoke about a cow bell and a farmer.

Jason Shaffner graduated from Harvard College in 1999 and lives in Boston. He works as an IT Consultant, which means he travels more than he'd like to places he wouldn't choose. He is hard at work on his first novel. This is his first publication.