The next day, I went back to Mr. Rumkowsky. He dragged the ladder out again, and I looked deep into the box. I dug down deeper and found all sorts of weird stuff. But no hat.
On Friday, my mom dropped me off at school early. “This afternoon when I pick you up, I’ll have your grandmother with me.”
I didn’t say anything. I knew that already. I went straight to Mr. Rumkowsky’s office.
“Keep digging,” he said. It seemed like he was as desperate for me to find the hat as I was. He really wanted me to find it.
But I was about ready to give up. Everything I was finding now was really ancient.
Finally, I got to the bottom of the box.
“Do you see it?” Mr. Rumkowsky called down.
“It’s not here,” I said.
“Just this dumb old pink sweater.”
“Hmmm,” he said. “Try looking under it.”
I lifted it up.
“My hat!” I yelled. “Blue and white, with orange stars all the way around.”
Mr. Rumkowsky helped me out of the box. “Are you sure it’s yours?”
“It’s mine, all right,” I said. Then I noticed that it had a fuzzy red ball on top—just like the one that had fallen off my hat. I turned it inside out. The tag said “Sally.”
“Wait—that’s my mom’s name!” I said. “This must have been her hat when she was a kid!”
Mr. Rumkowsky smiled. “Come back anytime,” he said.
I put the hat on and went to class. I wore it all day.