“There was a new girl at school this week,” began Hazel. “Sally Silverthorn. And so me and my friends -”

“My friends and I.”

“- and so my friends and I have been inviting Sally to sit with us at lunchtime all week.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

“I know,” said Hazel. “And it was going fine until today.”

“What happened today?” asked Mrs. Jenkins.

“Sally started talking,” stated Hazel dryly.

“I don’t understand.”

“Up until today Sally hadn’t really said anything,” said Hazel. “So we all just assumed she was cool.”

“But?”

“But today we were all talking about the Purples, and how stupid they all are, like usual, and all of a sudden Sally starts becoming visibly… perplexed.”

“Perplexed,” interrupted her mother. “Good word.”

Hazel smiled, clearly pleased. “I asked her what was wrong, and Sally says to me – in front of the entire table, mind you – ‘What’s wrong with Purples?'”

Hazel’s eyes darted toward her mother, eager to see her reaction. Finding encouragement in her mother’s narrowed eyes, she continued with her story.

“And so I told Sally that Blue bloods are true bloods, Greens are fiends, and Purples smell like burples…”

Her mother grinned. “They’ve been saying that one since I was in school.”

“And Sally says, ‘What about Orange?’ And I didn’t understand what she meant – Sally, I mean – but Amy got really mad. I asked Amy why she was so mad, and Amy tells me, ‘She’s making fun of you, Hazel. Nothing rhymes with Orange.'”

“Hmm,” intoned Mrs. Jenkins disapprovingly.

“Right?” said Hazel. “But then Sally says, get this, Sally says -” Hazel was becoming too agitated to sit still, and so she put the uneaten cookie on the kitchen table and stood up, bumping the table and spilling her milk in the process. “Sally tells the whole table that she isn’t even a Blue!”

Mrs. Jenkins didn’t say anything, but seemed suddenly ill at ease.

“But that’s not all,” continued Hazel eagerly, very aware she had captured her mother’s attention. “Sally said that all colors were stupid. She said that they didn’t mean anything, really. She said her old district didn’t even have colors.”

“She’s lying,” said Mrs. Jenkins without pause. “All districts have colors. Sally was lying.”

“Of course she was lying, mother. That’s why -” Hazel trailed off.

“That’s why what?”

“Well, I’m going too fast. So, Sally said colors don’t matter. And then she got this goofy smirk on her face, like she was better than all of us or something. And Amy asked her why she thought she’s so special.”

Mrs. Jenkins wiped at the spilled milk with her towel. “What did Sally say?”

“She walked away,” said Hazel. Perhaps fearing that her story reeked of anti-climax, she hurriedly continued: “I mean, Sally went out into the playground – recess is right after lunch -”

“Right.”

“- and Amy followed Sally, and we all followed Amy. And the whole time Amy kept asking Sally why she – Sally – thought she was so special, and then Sally started crying, and said she hated our school, and she told Amy to go where the sun doesn’t shine. And then Amy called Sally a female dog, and Amy picked up a rock from the grass and she threw it at Sally.”

Hazel stopped talking. The kitchen seemed deathly silent as she waited for her mother’s reaction.

“Was Sally hurt?” her mother asked.

Hazel nodded. “The rock hit her in the head. She fell down right away and the ambulance came and everything. It took her away.”

Mrs. Jenkins was quiet for what felt to Hazel like several minutes, but was in reality several seconds. “Sally should have known better,” her mother said at length. “That was a dumb thing to say. Dumb any time, but especially in a new school. Sally should have known better.”

Relief spread across Hazel’s indignant face. “Do you think Amy will get in trouble?”

“Probably,” said Mrs. Jenkins. “Violence was the wrong reaction. But you can hardly blame her, can you? A new kid coming to town, telling lies. I’d be upset too.”

Hazel sat back down in the chair. She picked up her cookie, now cooled, and stared at it. “I sure hope Amy doesn’t get in trouble,” she said. “She’s my bestest friend.”

“I thought Lacy was your best friend?”

“Well… I like them both.”

Mrs. Jenkins smiled. “Did I ever tell you that your father was an Orange when I met him?”

Hazel’s mouth, brimming with half-chewed cookie, fell open. Crumbs spilled across the table.

“It’s true,” continued Mrs. Jenkins, wiping the cookie crumbs off the table top and into her open palm. “Only for a month, but still. I mean, Green I could have maybe tolerated. But Orange?”

“What happened?”

“Well, his parents got him transferred to Blue as soon as they were able.” Mrs. Jenkins walked to the corner and brushed her hands together over the trashcan. “And that was that.”

“And then you fell in love?”

Mrs. Jenkins laughed. “Well, not right away. We were still only kids then. But yes, eventually.”

Hazel grew quiet. “I never knew daddy was an Orange,” she said at length.

Mrs. Jenkins looked out the window, her eyes narrowed in thought. “It’s strange to think about, certainly. I can still recall seeing him that first day at school. I mean, there’s a part of me that can still see him as an Orange, if that makes sense?”

Hazel stood up and hugged her mother from the side. “I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Jenkins accepted the hug but shook off the sympathy. “No need,” she said. “Your father is now as Blue blooded as they come.”

As she was hugging her, Hazel felt her mother’s pocket vibrate. “Phone,” said Hazel.

Mrs. Jenkins removed her phone from her pocket. “It’s Lacy’s mother,” she said.

Hazel’s eyes grew wide.

“Hello?” said Mrs. Jenkins. “Oh, hello Margot! Great to hear from you! …Yes, I did hear. So silly, but children will be children… Did she really? Well, I’ll be… I fully agree! Such an ignorant thing to say, especially at a new school…”

Hazel did her best to follow the conversation, but it was difficult, seeing as she could only hear one side. It certainly seemed as if everything was all right – Hazel’s mother was smiling as she talked. At least at first. Midway through the conversation, Hazel’s mother’s face went pale.

“…was she really? And they’re sure it was approved? …Huh. Yes, I suppose it is a shame, then… Huh.”

Mrs. Jenkins hung up the phone.

“What?” asked Hazel.

“That was Lacy’s mother.”

“Duh.”

“Sally passed away.”

“What?” said Hazel.

“Sally died. How big was the rock?”

Hazel held up her clenched fist. “Like that? But what’s wrong?” asked Hazel. “You said something was a shame. What’s a shame?”

“Well, apparently, Sally was in the process of becoming a Blue. Her parents had requested it last week, before Sally even started school. But those things take time. Lacy’s mother works for the district – she said Sally was to become a Blue on Monday.”

“Really?”

Mrs. Jenkins nodded.

Hazel looked suddenly away from her mother, as if staring another human in the eye was too much at this particular moment. The thinnest of tears ran down the girl’s reddened cheeks as she looked out the kitchen window. Hazel’s face, finally free of anger, appeared soft in the pink glow of the setting sun. So too the sunset seemed to ameliorate the vitriol in Hazel’s voice, for when she spoke again, it was as if a different child was speaking. “It was a dumb thing for Sally to say,” said Hazel.

“It was,” agreed Mrs. Jenkins gently.

Hazel finally met her mother’s eye. “I don’t miss her.”

“I understand.”

Hazel looked back outside. “I may miss her on Monday, though.”