Libby hurried out the door and down the porch steps. "Did you feed
and water Ol' Boss?" Mama called from her sewing room window.
Libby stopped at the gate. "Yes, Mama," she answered. She was surprised at how easy the lie slid out of her mouth, like it was greased with warm butter.
Mama stopped sewing Virginia Washington's wedding dress and came outside. Libby dropped her head and wouldn't look in her mother's eyes. "Are you sure?" Mama asked real stern-like.
Libby's stomach felt like she'd swallowed a handful of chicken feathers. Her eyes commenced to fill with water and her bottom lip quivered. Then, taking a deep breath and gulping hard, she owned up to her lie. "I was gon' do it soon as I got back from jumping rope with Ruthie Mae."
Libby felt a lot better, even though Mama punished her double. For not tending to Ol' Boss, Libby couldn't go play with Ruthie Mae. And for lying, she had to stay on the porch the rest of the day. It was the first time Libby had lied to Mama, and as far as she was concerned it was gon' be the last.
"From now on, only the truth," she decided.
The next morning, Libby joined a group of friends on the way to school.
"Did you do your geography homework?" Willie asked Libby.
"It was easy," she answered.
"Not for me." Willie shook his head. "I didn't understand it, so I didn't do it."
First thing in class, Libby started waving her hand. "Me, Miz Jackson, me, me, me, Miz Jackson!" When the teacher called on her, Libby announced, "Willie don't got his geography homework."
"Doesn't have his homework," corrected Miz Jackson.
"No, ma'am, he don't." Libby was pleased with herself.
Willie gave her an ugly look. "Why'd you tell on me?" he whispered as he headed to Miz Jackson's desk to explain.
With certainty she whispered back, "All I did was tell it like it is. So there!" And she folded her hands neatly in her lap.
Before lunchtime, Libby had told a lot of truths. By the time school was out, hardly anyone would talk to her.
"Why are y'all mad at me?" Libby asked as her classmates started home without her.
Before Libby knew it, she was in front of Miz Tusselbury's vine-covered cottage. The woman was in her rocking chair, gliding back and forward and fanning herself with a hand-folded fan. "How-do, Libby Louise," she called in her singsong voice. "What's that sad look you wearing on such a pretty day?"