“Jane, please come up to my desk.” It was silent reading time, so everybody in the entire sixth grade heard me get called up. I knew what Mrs. Watson was going to say even before I got there, but I didn’t care.
“Jane, your name is spelled incorrectly on every paper in your Bicentennial packet. These are official documents more or less, and therefore require correct spelling.”
In my head I yelled that I ought to be able to spell my name any way I chose and there wasn’t anybody who could stop me, but I was only brave in my head. Out loud I said, “yes, ma’am,” and went back to my seat.
I heard Pamela snicker when I walked by. Pamela Latimer hated me and I hated her back, but I had a good reason. She didn’t.