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Jackson, Virginia
December 15
Dear Miss Harris,
The books by J. R. R. Tolkien came the day after your letter. Now I know who Galadriel was. Do you think Frodo should keep trying to take back the magic ring? I think it would be better if he kept it and took charge of things himself. Do you know what I mean? Anyhow, thank you for the books. They are really exciting.
They help a lot because this school is terrible. Nobody knows anything, including the teachers. I wish I was back in Harris 6.
Your former student,
Gilly Hopkins
P.S. It’s OK if you want to call me Galadriel.
December 16
Dear William Ernest,
Of course we won the race. Now we are training for the Kentucky Derby. I guess I will have to miss a lot of school to go to that, but it won’t matter. They have already told me that I will probably skip to the ninth grade, because I am so far ahead of all the sixth graders in this dumb school. When you are old enough, I will take you to a horse race. How about that?
Tell Trotter and Mr. Randolph hello for me. Are you reading to Mr. Randolph like I told you to?
Take care.
Gilly
P.S. Why don’t you ask Santa to bring you some karate lessons?
December 17
Dear William Ernest, Trotter, and Mr. Randolph,
I just wrote William Ernest yesterday, but now I got some real news. I just heard that my mother is coming on December 23. I know I lie a lot, so you won’t believe this, but it is really the truth this time. She is really coming. I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Galadriel (Gilly) Hopkins
Her mother was really coming. At least Nonnie, who had talked to her on the telephone while Gilly was at school, believed she was. She was due at Dulles Airport at 11 A.M. on December twenty-third. A whole week to wait. Gilly thought she might die waiting. She dulled the
agony somewhat by plunging into housecleaning for Nonnie.
Nonnie was all right. She could still chatter Gilly straight into a pounding headache, but she meant well. And then, whenever Gilly would lose patience with her, she’d remember the first day Nonnie had taken her into Jackson Elementary School.
They had marched into the principal’s office, and Nonnie had said: “Margaret, this is my granddaughter, Galadriel Hopkins.”
The principal had raised her eyebrows. She had obviously known Nonnie for years, and this was the first mention she’d ever had of a granddaughter. “Your granddaughter?” she said, giving Gilly’s new blouse and jumper the once-over. “Hopkins, did you say?”
You had to hand it to old Nonnie. She didn’t blink an eye. “Yes, I said Hopkins. She’s Courtney’s child.”
“I see,” said the principal, and you could practically see the wheels spinning in that prissy head of hers. “I see. Hopkins. Now how do you spell her Christian name?” Had she exaggerated Christian ever so slightly? If so, Nonnie took no notice.
Nonnie spelled out Galadriel as patiently as Gilly might have spelled out a hard word for W.E. “Her school records will be sent directly to you. She’s been in school in Maryland.”
“Maryland?” The same tone of voice used earlier for Hopkins.
It was a scene that was to repeat itself with variations many times in those first couple of weeks. “Hopkins?” they always asked. “Galadriel? How do you spell that?” “Maryland, did you say?”
Gilly had had plenty of practice staring down sneers, but it was hard to imagine that someone like Nonnie had. But Nonnie looked straight down her short nose at every sneer and they stopped, at least the face-to-face ones did. Nonnie was gutsier than she looked.
