A is for adultery and A is for aftershave. And A is the scarlet letter. The school room stinks of sweat and tomcat Armani knock off. “Please let us read outside,” we beg Mr. Kraft. We sit in a circle on the grass, boys one side, girls the other. Reading. Reading The Scarlet Letter.

     B is for bra. Lola Grace’s is scarlet and shiny and for a quarter she’ll give the girls a peek at recess. In the washroom. B is for breasts. Lola Grace’s are magnificent. Soft smooth pillows snug inside their fake lace scaffolding.

    C is for camels. “I invented camels,” says Lola Grace. It’s a lot like leapfrog except the frogs are camels and bend at the waist rather than crouch on the knees and the leapers jump on the camels’ backs and hang on. The camels wiggle and wriggle and try to buck the riders off until Lola Grace calls the game over. It’s a private game played away from the eyes of boys and recess monitors, and it’s a public game played next to the freeway to the sound of air brakes. “It’s not at all like leapfrog, it’s more like riding a horse,” says Lola Grace. And winks.

     D is for don’t. “Don’t,” says the principal. “Don’t play near the fence beside the freeway.”

     “Why not?” says Lola Grace

     “Just don’t. And don’t wave at the truckers on the freeway.”

     “I don’t,” says Lola Grace.

     “Don’t go into the boys’ washroom,” says the principal.

     “I don’t,” says Lola Grace.

     And D is for dignity. The back cover of The Scarlet Letter says Hester Prynne accepts her punishment with dignity.

     D is for dyslexia and decoding. Lola Grace says her mum told the principal her daughter had one and needed the other. When the principal talked to Mr. Kraft, Mr. Kraft said he could help Lola Grace after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

     E is for English class and English literature.

     F is for freeway. Our school is so close to the freeway the stubble grass smells of gasoline and there are no birds.

     F is for field where we read The Scarlet Letter. Lola Grace is late for class. “No one told me you were out here.”

     “Don’t make excuses,” says Mr. Kraft.

     Field as in playing field but we are too old for children’s games.

     G is for gallows where Hester Prynne stood in shame for three hours. “But she stood in shame with grace and dignity,” says Lola Grace.

     G is for grace. Grace as in style and elegance, charm and poise. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Lola Grace,” says Mr. Kraft when Lola Grace comes late to class.

     H is for heat. And hot. Lola Grace wriggles in her shirt as Mr. Kraft reads. “So hot,” she whispers. Every day hotter than the one before, and today the hottest of all. Lola Grace unhooks her bra, pulls it out through a shirt sleeve, and sighs.

     I is for it, and I is for is. As in it is. It is what it is. The second i can be replaced by an apostrophe. “A contraction,” says Mr. Kraft and all the boys and some of the girls laugh. Lola Grace writes the definition in her notebook.

     It’s not true there are no birds because one lands on Lola Grace’s head in English class.

     J is for jeopardize. “Lola Grace will jeopardize the integrity of the learning environment,” says Mr. Kraft when the principal suggests Lola Grace practice reading with our class.

     “I knew there’d be trouble when the principal overruled Mr. Kraft,” says Lola Grace.

     We’re thirteen and Lola Grace is fourteen. They all discussed it in the principal’s office. It has streaked windows and a fern on the windowsill. “Like this is the sort of school that would allow a plant to grow,” says Lola Grace.

     And J is for just, an adjective which means fair and impartial and equitable.

     And just can be an adverb. “Just follow along, Lola Grace,” says Mr. Kraft. Her finger moves under the words in the first paragraph. When she feels our eyes, she sits up straight, adjusts her bra beneath her shirt. Tommy Green’s eyes can’t believe their luck sitting across from her. Lola Grace smiles at Mr. Kraft. Mr. Kraft nods at her page, just before Lola Grace removes her bra and just before the bird circles her head and prepares to land.

     K is for knob, know, knowledge, knit, knave, and knock. Silent K’s get under Lola Grace’s skin and irritate her. “Knock without the K,” says Mr. Kraft, “is a notch cut in the ends of a bow for holding the string.” And we all sigh. “Knew is to understand,” says Mr. Kraft, “but new is something bright and shiny from Woolworths. Right, Lola Grace?”

     “Yes, Mr. Kraft,” says Lola Grace.

     L is for Lucky. “Lucky to have a bird land on your head,” says Mr. Kraft when the bird lands on Lola Grace’s head. “Everyone, look at the bird, just the bird,” said Mr. Kraft. “Remember this bird,” says Mr. Kraft. “If you must take something other than learning away from this class, let it be the luck of a bird landing on a classmate’s head.”

     M is for map. Tommy Green says he drew a map of Lola Grace’s body. Lola Grace says it isn’t true and rumour says she marched into the boys’ washroom and stuffed urinal rocks down his underpants.

     M is for mayor, as in Mayor of Casterbridge. “Maybe this book is too advanced for you, Lola Grace,” says Mr. Kraft.

     “I understand the book,” says Lola Grace, “but I can’t make out all the words.”

     “Make out,” says Tommy and giggles.

     “I understand the book better than most people in this class,” says Lola Grace.

     N is for nemesis. “Nemesis,” says Lola Grace in the girls’ washroom at recess. “Who is

mine? Mr. Kraft, the principal, or little Tommy Green? It’s a puzzle. And why am I never called on for spelling or structural comments?”

     O is for out. Out front, where Tommy Green’s eyes stray when he’s called on to read. In class, on the grass, in the field. He opens and closes his mouth, but nothing comes out, like a goldfish circling a bowl and seeing the scarlet bra for the first time, the first time, the first time. The class laughs and Lola Grace rolls her eyes.

     O is for Oxford comma. Lola Grace still uses one because Mr. Kraft insisted in grade six, seven, eight, and nine. (Though now she reads with grade eight.)

     “P is for please and pleas,” says Lola Grace.

     “Please let us read outside,” we beg Mr. Kraft. “Please let us read outside.”

     Q is for question. Lola Grace asks hers all slow and personal. Her eyes drill under the teacher’s skin. Every time. She pauses between words and stares straight in the teacher’s eye. She always pauses in the perfect place. It’s like there’s a deeper, truer, answer buried deep in the teacher’s skull and Lola Grace wants to scoop it out. “Searching for the right word, Lola Grace?” asks Mr. Kraft. I don’t think hers are jumbled, or particularly unsmooth. I think she’s searching all her words for simplicity and grace.

     And R is for remedial. “Lola Grace is joining us for some remedial reading,” says Mr. Kraft. One year behind - a year in junior high is a lifetime. Everyone watches her lungs in her breasts in her bra in her shirt move up and down and in and out. She wears a t-shirt with a faded Canadian flag. Rosamund F. says the t-shirt used to be hers and was donated to Goodwill and bought by Lola Grace’s mother. Rosamund F. says she knows because there’s an orange crush stain on the back of the t-shirt.

     “Why’s everyone looking at the back of my shirt?” asks Lola Grace.

     S is for suspension. When Lola Grace returned to school following a suspension for charging a quarter for a flash of her bra in the girls’ washroom, she upped her rates.

     “Why?” everyone asked.

     “Because the principal said not to sell myself so low,” says Lola Grace.

     S is for sell.

     S is for stop and s is for scarlet. “Stop that, stop that now!” says Mr. Kraft when Lola Grace twirls her shiny scarlet lace bra around her head. “Stop,” says Mr. Kraft. But the trucks honk loud and it’s reasonable to believe Lola Grace can’t hear. The boys choke with disbelief and Mr. Kraft says, “Go inside boys. Inside! Now boys!” But the trucks honk louder and it’s reasonable to believe the boys can’t hear. Lola Grace twirls the bra like it’s a new kind of sport. Then a bird lands on her head.

     And S is for screech as in the screech of truck brakes.

     S is for so and ssh. “So hot,” whispers Lola Grace.

     “Ssh,” says Mr. Kraft and reads.

     T is for timetabling. “Your presence,” says Mr. Kraft, every time Lola Grace walks into the room, “is a heroic feat of timetabling.” And Lola Grace glows.

     T is for Tommy. Tommy Green who has a pen protector that used to be his dad’s and who smirks at Lola Grace.

     And T is for typical. “Typical,” says Lola Grace, “a book about women written by a man.” The Mayor of Casterbridge. “And another,” says Lola Grace. “The Scarlet Letter.”

     T is for timing and Lola Grace’s is often impeccable.

     U is for unbuttoning. Lola Grace’s shirt unbuttoning is magnificent. I kid you not, every recess thirty-eight double D’s breathing in and out, in a shiny scarlet bra with lace. “Real lace,” says Lola Grace.

     And U is for unjust which means unfair and partial and inequitable.

     V is for volunteer. “Time for a new reader,” says Mr. Kraft. Lola Grace is all hands up. “I don’t think so, Lola Grace,” says Mr. Kraft. I watch her finger move beneath the words as a voice reads.      “Another volunteer?” Only Lola Grace. “No one? Then maybe I’ll read,” says Mr. Kraft. Lola Grace sits straight, adjusts her shirt, wriggles in her bra.

     “So hot,” whispers Lola Grace.

     W is for we and whee. We. We are the silence in front of the trucks wheeling – whee, whee, whee – down the freeway. We. We held our breath in shabby unison as Lola Grace removes her bra from beneath her shirt, pulls it out through a sleeve.

     X marks the spot. “We don’t have time for this,” says Mr. Kraft as Lola Grace slowly signs her name for her school copy of The Scarlet Letter. Her hand is stiff and the tip of her tongue lodges between her teeth and lips. “You could always sign with an X,” he says and grins at the class.

     Y is for yesterday. Yesterday, Lola Grace suggested Mr. Kraft sell his wife in the marketplace and try on a younger one for size. Mr. Kraft turned red and dismissed class early, asked Lola Grace to stay after school and it wasn’t even a Tuesday or Thursday.

     Z is for zoo where you watch the animals and the animals watch you. Zoo. “You belong in a zoo, Lola Grace,” says Mr. Kraft. “Zoo, zoo, zoo.” And everyone is quiet. Lola Grace says if Mr. Kraft reports her then she’ll report him.