[Part 5] "Out of My Mind" by Sharon M. Draper

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER XXVI.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

In the midst of all the commotion Mr. Dimming seemed to get an inspiration.

“Let’s go out to dinner to celebrate!” he announced as the last of the studio lights were turned off.

“Great idea!” Connor said immediately.

“I’m starving!” said Amanda.

“Even though I wasn’t on camera, I’ve been too nervous to eat all day.”

“Me too!” Elena added.

“How about Linguini’s?” Connor suggested.

“They’ve got all-you-can-eat spaghetti.” Leave it to Connor to know all the best places to eat.

“They might go out of business after you show up, Connor,” Mr. Dimming said with a laugh.

“Don’t go embarrassing me, now.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. D. My max is about twelve bowls of spaghetti.”

“Linguini’s is perfect,” Rose’s dad said.

“It’s walking distance—just around the corner from the studio.

These kids deserve a special night out!”

I looked at Mom, not sure if this was a good idea.

Then Elena walked over to me and said, “You’ll come too, won’t you, Melody?”

“Yeah, Melody,” Rose added, “come with us.

You did really great tonight.”

“We couldn’t have won without you,” Connor said as he buttoned up his coat.

Their words made me feel like one of the helium balloons that some families had brought.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Molly said, glancing at Claire.

Balloons do pop.

“You weren’t up there,” Connor reminded Molly.

“So, you comin’ or not?” Rose asked.

“Sure,” I tapped.

“It will be fun.” I glanced at Mom again, who nodded.

Dad took Penny home, and Mrs. V gave me a hug and promised she’d see me in the morning.

The air was brisk and the conversation silly as we headed for the restaurant.

“How many windows do you think are in that office building?” Connor shouted, pointing to the tallest one we could see.

“Five thousand two hundred and seventy-four,” Rose answered.

“Man, you’re good!” Rodney said.

“How did you know that?”

“How do you think I got on the quiz team?” Rose told him.

“I’ve got smarts!”

“She’s just guessing,” Molly told Rodney.

“You believe anything.”

The restaurant had been in that location for years.

The outside entrance was designed to look like a bistro from a small Italian village.

Painted grape leaves and tiny white lights decorated the bricks around the door.

The door.

When Connor’s dad opened it for everyone to enter, Connor and Rodney bounded up the steps.

The steps.

Five stone steps led upstairs to the dining area.

Everyone, including Mr. Dimming, rushed past me and Mom.

Finally, Connor’s dad, the last to go up, looked at me, looked at the stairs, and the lightbulb came on.

“Uh, do you need some help?” he asked.

He was large, like his son.

I bet he could swallow a few bowls of pasta as well.

Mom replied, “Would you be so kind as to ask an employee where their wheelchair ramp is located?”

As if glad to have something to do, Mr. Bates dashed up the steps.

Mom and I sat there in the cold.

Alone.

A waiter dressed in black rushed down moments later.

“I’m so sorry.

We have an elevator in the back, but it went on the fritz this afternoon.

The technician is coming to fix it first thing in the morning.”

“That’s not going to help us tonight, is it?” Mom told him.

Her voice was tight but not angry.

“I’d be glad to help you carry her up the steps,” he offered.

“No,” I tapped.

My eyes begged Mom.

Mom told him, “Just hold the door for us, young man.

We’ll be fine.”

He did just that.

Mom turned her back to the stairs, got a good grip on my chair, tilted it back slightly, and took a deep breath.

I was so glad we had decided on the manual chair this morning.

Mom gently rolled the back wheels up the edge of the first stone step.

Pull.

Roll up.

Bump.

First step.

Pull.

Roll up.

Bump.

Second step.

Pull.

Roll up.

Bump.

Third step.

She paused and took another breath.

We’d done this before.

Many times.

Pull.

Roll up.

Bump.

Fourth step.

Pull.

Roll up.

Bump.

Fifth step.

Then we finally rolled into the dining room, which was crowded with noisy, laughing customers.

“Over here, Melody!” Mr. Dimming called as he saw us.

Mom led me over to our very large table, and I was relieved to see that the group had left a spot for me.

With all the kids on the team plus their parents, we took up a big chunk of the table space in the place.

In some restaurants the tables are too low for my chair, but this time I was able to slide perfectly into place.

Mom helped me take off my coat, then sat in the seat next to me.

She gulped the water from her glass and asked for a refill.

The waitress began to take orders.

Rodney and his parents ordered a large mushroom and onion pizza.

“We’re vegetarians,” Rodney explained.

I had no idea.

“Can I get a steak, Dad?” Connor asked.

His dad clapped him on the back.

“Sure, I think I’ll have one myself.

For this one night, you get anything you want!”

Connor’s eyes got large.

“A whole chocolate cake?”

“You’ll barf, boy,” his dad replied.

“I want the pasta delight,” Rose told the waitress.

“With extra cheese.”

“Me too!” said Amanda.

“May I have the spaghetti and meatballs, please?” Elena asked.

Claire and Molly both ordered lasagna.

When the waitress got to me and Mom, I was ready.

“I’ll have mac and cheese, please,” I made Elvira say.

The waitress looked a little surprised, since most of the machine was tucked under the table, but she was cool and acted as if she got orders from Medi-Talkers every day.

“Sure, hon.

Comin’ right up.

You want some salad with that?”

“No, thanks.”

She gave me a real big smile, then took Mom’s order.

Only my mom would order baked fish at an Italian restaurant!

As we waited for our food, the cheerful mood continued.

Our tables were covered with white paper instead of tablecloths, so everybody, including the adults, had been given crayons and markers.

“Look at this—I drew a giant monster rabbit!” Connor said.

He glanced at Rose’s drawing, then added large green teeth to his own.

“And it’s gonna eat that wimpy bug you just drew,” he told her.

Rose laughed.

“Well, this is a poisonous spider, and it’s gonna bite your silly old rabbit!”

Rodney and Connor then lined up all the salt and pepper shakers and started tossing sugar packets over the barricade with forks and spoons as catapults.

But I noticed that Claire, who was sitting next to Rodney, was strangely quiet and didn’t even pick up a crayon.

“Engage the enemy!” Connor cried.

“Score!”

“You weren’t even in my territory, man!

Besides, you tossed the pink fake sugar stuff.

You only get half a point for that stuff!”

I sat and watched my teammates do such ordinary things.

Drawing.

Laughing.

Teasing.

Joking.

I really tried hard to look like I was having fun too, but all I wanted to do was go home.

When the waitress finally brought the food, forks became important for eating and the war ended suddenly.

Conversation slowed down as everybody dug into their meals.

Connor took a huge bite of his steak.

“Mmm, this is the bomb,” he said with his mouth full.

Mom’s fish looked a little, well, fishy, as she picked at it with her fork.

She and I were thinking the same thing, I knew.

My food sat untouched in front of me.

Our family goes out to restaurants every once in a while.

Actually, Penny is more of a problem in a restaurant than I am because she’s wiggly and excitable and she’s likely to throw her peas on the floor.

Usually, eating out doesn’t bother me.

Mom and Dad take turns spooning food into my mouth, and I ignore anyone who is rude enough to stare.

But this was different.

At school I eat in a special area of the cafeteria with the other disabled kids.

The aides put bibs on us, feed us, and wipe our mouths when we’re done.

With the exception of that sip of Coke at the competition, nobody on the team had ever really seen me eat.

Rather, be fed.

I didn’t know what to do.

My food sat there getting cold.

I looked at Mom.

She looked at me.

She picked up the spoon and looked at me with the question on her face.

I nodded.

Very carefully, she placed a spoonful of pasta in my mouth.

I swallowed.

I did not spill.

I saw Molly poke Claire, and they exchanged looks.

Mom spooned one more portion into my mouth.

I swallowed.

I did not spill.

We continued, one spoonful at a time.

I was so hungry.

Nobody said anything, but I saw them look down at their plates with way too much attention.

It got quiet.

Even Connor stopped talking.

Finally, even though my plate was still full, I pushed it away.

“Would you like to take this home, Melody?” Mom whispered.

I nodded yes, hugely relieved, and she signaled for the waitress, who also brought dessert menus.

Being reminded of cake and ice cream cheered up Connor, who did not order a whole chocolate cake, but did order two slices.

Rodney ordered apple pie, while Rose asked for pudding.

Claire ended up taking her food home in a box as well.

She had eaten almost nothing and barely said two words all evening.

“So, what did you think about that final question?

That was too hard!” Rodney said.

“Piece of cake!” Connor replied, laughing at his own joke.

He smeared whipped cream over his second piece of cake.

“Did you see the hair on that announcer?” Amanda teased.

“It never moved!”

“Must have been made of plastic,” Rose said, laughing.

“What are you wearing to the D.C. competition?” Rose asked Claire.

Claire just shrugged.

“I wonder if we’ll get to visit the White House while we’re there,” Amanda mused.

“That would be awesome.”

“I believe it’s on our agenda for Saturday,” Mr. Dimming replied enthusiastically.

“I’m excited about that as well!”

“So, what’s with you and Melody being best friends, Claire?” Elena asked.

Claire didn’t answer, but she rubbed her hand over her forehead.

“I don’t feel so good,” she said weakly.

“Is it hot in here?” No one had time to answer, for at that moment Claire stood up suddenly, clamped her hand over her mouth, and stumbled from her seat.

“Are you okay?” Mr. Dimming asked.

Before he could finish the question, Claire threw up all over his new shoes.

“Ooh, gross!” Connor said, obviously trying not to laugh.

“Poor thing,” Rose said.

“Whoa, what a stink, man!” Rodney covered his nose.

Claire’s mom rushed her to the bathroom.

Mr. Dimming rushed out as well, I guess to clean off his shoes.

I wondered if Claire felt as embarrassed as I had while Mom was feeding me.

Our little victory celebration was clearly over.

Parents gathered coats and checks and paid their tabs.

Claire returned from the restroom looking pale.

No one mentioned the incident.

We all headed for the steps.

Hmmm, I thought.

Claire gets sick in the middle of a crowded restaurant, yet I’m the one everybody looks at sideways.

They all had to wait for me and Mom.

We took our time.

Push gently.

Roll down.

Bump.

Top step.

Push gently.

Roll down.

Bump.

Next step.

Push gently.

Roll down.

Bump.

Third step.

Five bumps down to the bottom of the steps.

And I was still so hungry.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER XVII.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

The next morning Mom bounds into my room holding a newspaper.

“Good morning, my rock star,” she greets me.

“Guess what?”

Rock star?

She’s tripping.

I turn to look at her.

My face says, What?

“You’re famous!”

Huh?

She gets me out of bed, straps me into my chair, unplugss the Medi-Talker from the charger, and hooks me up.

Then she places the morning paper on top of it.

There I sat plastered on the front page of the newspaper.

In color.

“Wow!” I type.

“The article is all about the team winning the competition, but yours is the only picture they used.

Interesting.”

“Why me?”

Mom smiles quickly.

“Because you are unique and wonderful and lots more interesting than ordinary fifth graders, I guess,” she says.

“The whole article seems to be focused on you.”

“Team kids won’t like that,” I type.

“I’m sure they’ll be happy for you, sweetheart.”

“No, they won’t.”

“Here, listen to this.”

She reads me the article: “‘Spaulding Street Elementary’s talented academic team of fifth and sixth graders won the local Whiz Kids quiz competition last night by a score of eighty-six to eighty-five.

With stunning skill and knowledge, they answered questions far above their grade level to defeat seven other teams.’”

“Makes us sound smart,” I tap.

“And so you are,” Mom replies.

“Math questions made me sweat.” I get clammy under the arms just thinking about them.

Mom continues.

“Ooh, here’s the part about you.

Listen to this!

‘One outstanding member of the Spaulding team is Melody Brooks, an eleven-year-old who has been diagnosed with cerebral palsy.

In spite of her physical challenges, Melody’s quick and capable mental abilities were able to shine as she led her team to victory.’”

“They will hate me,” I type glumly.

Butterscotch, who still sleeps in my room, nuzzles my hand.

She always seems to know how I feel, but it doesn’t help this time.

“Oh, don’t exaggerate.

I think it’s a lovely article, and your friends should be proud.”

“You don’t get it.”

Mom ignores me and proceeds to get me ready for school.

Two blue T-shirts—one to wear and one to pack, just in case.

Two pairs of pants.

She never picks out jeans.

I decide not to argue.

I have a feeling it is not going to be a good day.

“What a great photo of you!

I’m going to make sure I get extra copies of the paper,” she chatters cheerfully as she tugs on my socks before putting on my sneakers.

“I’ve got to make sure everybody at work sees this.”

Dad has finished dressing Penny, so he brings her into my room.

When Penny notices my picture in the paper, she drops Doodle and shouts, “Dee-Dee!” She picks up the paper and kisses it.

I bet I won’t get many reactions like that at school today.

Dad leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m so proud, I could pop,” he says softly.

“I love you, Melody.”

That makes me get all teary.

Just once I wish I could hug my little sister or tell my dad I love him too.

In real words, not through a machine.

The reaction at school today is just what I expected.

Words float out of lips that say nice things to me, but eyes tell the truth.

The eyes are cold, as if I had beat the reporter over the head and forced her to print that picture of me.

Even Rose acts distant.

“Nice picture of you in the paper, Melody,” she says.

“Thanks.

Should have been all of us.”

“I think so too,” Rose replies.

I just sigh.

I can’t do anything right.

I don’t want to be all that—I just want to be like everybody else.

When we get to Mr. Dimming’s class, he strides in wearing another brand-new suit—there must have been a two-for-one sale —and a brand-new smile.

He looks like he might explode with happiness.

He carries a stack of the morning newspaper with him.

“I didn’t sleep at all last night,” he admits to us.

“I am just so very proud of our team and our school!”

He pauses while the class cheers for the quiz team.

Rose, Molly, and Claire smile happily.

Connor and Rodney take bows.

A few kids even turn around and look at me with a smile.

“Do we get free pizza or something?” Connor blurts out.

“Absolutely!” Mr. Dimming replies.

“The principal has declared that next Friday is Quiz Team Day, and the entire school is being treated to free pizzas and sodas!”

More cheers from the class.

Connor looks really pleased.

Mr. Dimming continues.

“And I want to give a special shout-out to Melody, who really helped us secure our victory!

Let’s give her a special round of applause!”

He begins the clapping and the class joins in, but it seems more polite than sincere.

I guess I’m not as cool as free pizza.

“Who saw the eleven o’clock news last night?” Mr. D asks, still beaming.

About half the kids raise their hands.

I had missed it—I had fallen asleep exhausted after we got home.

“I taped it and TiVoed it and put it up on MySpace!” he tells us excitedly.

“But now we must get back to regular class activities.” He sounds disappointed.

“But how do we get ready for Washington?” Rose asks, obviously not ready to let him do that.

Teachers are so easily distracted!

I knew he’d bite on that one.

Mr. Dimming smiles again and takes a deep breath.

“We have only two weeks to get ready, Rose.

I’ve prepared a packet for each of my team champs,” he says as he passes out the paperwork.

“Take this home and bring it back tomorrow without fail.

In it I’ve included information about how to redeem the free plane tickets and info about our hotel and schedule for the days we are in D.C. It also gives details about our practice schedule, which begins today.

We will meet every day after school and half a day on Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Connor asks, disbelief in his voice.

I’m worried about that too.

A whole half day?

If Catherine can’t come, how will I get to the bathroom or eat?

“I’ll bring bagels for breakfast, fruit for snacks, and we’ll order in burgers for lunch,” Mr. Dimming tells him.

“Sounds sorta healthy,” Connor responds with a grin.

“But I’ll be there.”

“You skip a practice and you get bounced to the alternates, Connor.

I’m in this to win.”

“Why don’t you take a couple of days off, my man?” Rodney says to Connor.

“I’d be glad to take your place.

Slide you right out in a blink.”

He sounds serious.

“No way, man.

I’ll show,” Connor says hurriedly.

Molly raises her hand.

“Mr. Dimming, do the alternates go to Washington also?”

“Absolutely!”

“So, should I buy a new dress just in case I get to be on the team?”

“That’s up to you, Molly,” the teacher replies.

Claire raises her hand then.

“Mr. D, I think I know what Molly’s getting at.

Since there are six people on the D.C. team instead of four, which of the alternates will you choose?”

“We will use a point system,” he replies.

“The students with the six highest scores from all our preliminary rounds will make the final TV team.

Sound fair?”

Claire looks satisfied at that, and she and Molly high-five each other.

Mr. Dimming finally gets back to regular class work— the study of Spain and Portugal—and I do my best to do nothing to call attention to myself.

No weird noises or kicks or grunts for the rest of the class, no answers to questions I know.

I just sit in the back of the room with Catherine and hope the morning will pass quickly.

I spend the afternoon in room H-5, where we watch Tom and Jerry cartoons for three hours.

Can you believe it?

After school Catherine feeds me a pudding cup and some juice just before it’s time to go to Mr. Dimming’s room for our first practice.

She frowns as I finish my last sip of juice.

“What’s bugging you, Melody?” she asks.

“You should be on top of the world, but you’re acting like somebody just popped you in the nose.”

“They don’t want me on the team,” I type.

“That’s ridiculous.

You were the star last night.”

“That’s the problem.”

“Without you, they would not have won!”

“They’re scared of me.” I try to explain.

“They think I look funny.”

“You never let that bother you before,” she counters.

It’s hard to put my feelings into words that will come out right on my talker.

I know the other kids are uncomfortable with me on the team.

There’s no other way to put it.

My presence was cute at first, maybe okay for a local competition, but for the big game—on national television—that’s different.

I’ll make them stand out, and not in a good way.

I start typing again.

“I make them look . . .” I hesitate, then type in, “weird.”

“You’re the smartest person on the team!” Catherine exclaims.

“I drool.”

“So pack a box of tissues!”

“I make funny noises.”

“And Connor farts sometimes!”

I have to smile at that.

“No more of this feeling sorry for yourself, young lady!

Let’s get down to Mr. D’s room and kick some butt!”

“Okay, let’s go,” I type.

We roll down to the room, and I hold my head high.

Well, at least as high as I can when it isn’t wobbling around.

Nobody says anything more about the newspaper article, and practice goes on as usual.

I answer most of the questions correctly, and by the time Mom picks me up, I feel a little better.

But I do notice Rose and Claire and Molly whispering together as I leave.

It could be about a new music video or a shopping trip to the mall . . . or it could be about me.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER XXVIII.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

How can they expect us to get ready in such a short time?

Crazy!

Plane tickets and permission slips.

Paperwork and practice.

Practice every day for close to two weeks.

Study every evening with Mrs. V. Words.

Cities.

States.

Countries.

Capitals.

Oceans.

Rivers.

Colors.

Diseases.

Weather.

Numbers.

Dates.

Animals.

Kings.

Queens.

Birds.

Insects.

Wars.

Presidents.

Planets.

Authors.

Generals.

Laws.

Quotations.

Measurements.

Equations.

Definitions.

My head has been spinning nonstop with facts and figures.

But I’m ready now.

Our team is ready.

Mr. D kept his promise.

The six highest scorers from all our practice rounds were announced at the last practice session a few days ago.

Of course, just like the other kids, I had been keeping a mental tally of everybody’s points, so I was pretty sure I’d be one of the on-air contestants, not an alternate.

Mr. Dimming almost glowed with anticipation as he made the announcement.

He paced nervously.

A little more and the man would be dancing!

“Here we go,” he said.

“I feel like I need a drumroll or something!”

“Read the list—please!” Connor shouted impatiently.

Mr. Dimming said slowly, “The six members of the championship Spaulding Street Elementary School quiz team are . . .” He paused.

I thought Connor was going to throw something at him.

“Rose, Connor, Melody, Elena, Rodney, and Molly.

Claire and Amanda will be our alternates.”

“I’m an alternate?” Claire gasped.

“Molly beat you by two points, Claire,” Mr. D explained.

“But you still get to come with us and cheer us on and tour the city.”

“But it was me who helped her study!” Claire said, outrage in her voice.

“That is so not fair!”

I just shook my head and smiled a little.

There is so much Claire doesn’t know about stuff not being fair.

Molly looked smug and not at all sorry.

Her mother came to pick her up, and the practice was over.

The competition is tomorrow—Thursday evening.

Assuming we win, we’ll have the Good Morning America appearance on Friday, followed by a trip to the White House.

More sightseeing in D.C. is planned for Saturday, then we come home on Sunday.

On Monday, hopefully, we’ll return to school as national champions.

With that trophy.

So tonight we pack.

I’ve never been on a trip away from home before, so we have some serious planning to do.

I feel crazy excited, crazy nervous.

Dad bought me a bright red suitcase with wheels.

It smells like the inside of a new car.

Touching it makes me smile.

Mom and I went shopping yesterday—something we don’t get to do much anymore.

She let me choose a couple of new outfits—with jeans—none of those practical, baggy sweat suits for this trip!

As we rolled down the mall, we passed a card shop.

I had a brainstorm and tapped out on my board, “Go in.

Get card, please.”

“For whom?” Mom asked as we wheeled in there.

“Catherine,” I typed.

“To thank her.

For helping me get ready.”

“How very grown up of you!” Mom said, clearly pleased.

“One for Mrs. V, too?” I tapped out.

“Absolutely!”

The card we found for Mrs. V could not have been more perfect.

The front was completely covered with hundreds of oranges, except for one blue one in the middle.

Inside, it said: You’re one in a million.

Thanks.

“She’ll love it,” Mom said.

For Catherine, I picked out a card that showed a desk full of computers and MP3 players and video games, and a young woman connected to all of them with earphones.

It read: Glad you’re always there to plug in to me.

Thanks for all you do.

“You couldn’t have designed those better yourself,” Mom said as she paid for the cards.

Yep, pretty perfect.

Around seven o’clock the doorbell rings.

It’s Mrs. V, coming over to help with the final packing preparations.

She and Mom make a great team.

“I’ve made a checklist according to Mr. Dimming’s suggestions,” Mom says.

“Black skirt and white blouse for the competition.”

“Check,” Mrs. V says as she neatly folds those two pieces into my suitcase.

“Sheck!” Penny mimics.

“Extra white blouse, just in case,” Mom says.

“Great idea,” Mrs. V replies, nodding.

Mom carefully folds in two more shirts and my favorite pair of jeans.

“Comfortable outfits for sightseeing in Washington.

Spending money for souvenirs.

Sunglasses.

Camera.”

“Check, check, check,” Mrs. V repeats.

“Pajamas, toothbrush, deodorant, hair clips.”

“All there.”

“A warm jacket—no telling what this March weather will do.”

“Sheck!” Penny cries.

“Power pack for Medi-Talker, extra batteries, tissues, and wipes.”

“Got it!”

“Umbrella?”

“For you or for Melody?” Mrs. V asks with a laugh.

“Do you have your bag packed?”

“Yeah, I’m just about ready.

I’m nervous too.” Mom pauses.

“You’re the best, Violet.

I know Penny will be safe with you while we’re gone—” “And Butterscotch,” I interrupt.

They both laugh.

Mom continues, “Frankly, without you, there is no way that Melody would be packing for this trip.”

“Get card, Mom,” I type.

I reach my hand to the side, but I can barely touch the edge of my book bag hanging on my chair.

Mom reaches into the bag, pulls out the envelope, and sets it on my tray.

I push it toward Mrs. V.

She opens it, reads it, then squeezes me so hard, I can hardly catch my breath.

“This one goes on my refrigerator door!” she says quietly.

“I want to look at it every single day.” She busies herself then with dusting off a pair of my shoes that have never taken a step.

“I’m a little scared,” I admit.

“Nonsense, Mello Yello,” Mrs. V tells me.

“I fully expect to see you on Good Morning America with that ten-foot-high trophy!”

“That would be awesome,” I type.

“Now tell me once more,” Mrs. V says to Mom.

“What time does the plane leave tomorrow?

Penny, take Melody’s underwear off your head, you silly girl!”

Mom checks her papers.

“Plane leaves at noon.

That means we should leave here no later than nine, get to the airport by ten, get all checked in, make sure her wheelchair is properly taken care of and such, then we can relax until it’s time to board the plane.”

Mrs. V scratches her head.

“I wonder why they chose the noon flight.

That will get you into Washington around two.

The competition starts at seven.

That’s cutting it a little close.”

“Mr. Dimming told us the hotel has a late check-in policy.

The TV studio is just across the street from the hotel, so we’ll be fine.”

As Mom closes and zips my suitcase, I feel tears come into my eyes.

I can’t believe this is happening.

In just one day I will be in Washington, D.C., on national television.

I pray I won’t screw up.

I want to call Rose and see if she’s nervous too.

I want to ask her what she’ll wear to the White House.

Suppose we get to meet the First Lady—now, that would be the bomb!

I want to know if we’ll be sitting near each other on the plane.

I want to be like all the other girls.

I don’t sleep well that night.

In the morning Mom gets me bathed and dressed and fed in record time while Dad gets Penny ready.

“Go see plane?” she asks repeatedly.

“Fly!

Whee!” Dad says as he flies her around the room in his arms.

She loves it.

We head outside, and Mrs. V hurries over, camera in hand.

She snaps pictures of me getting strapped in, my suitcase being loaded, and my brave and hopeful victory smile.

Then she does it all over again with Dad’s camcorder.

No, we’ll never be able to forget this morning.

Penny darts about, chasing Butterscotch, running in circles around the car, which has been washed and shined.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

Mom, dressed in a cool denim suit and, surprisingly, a pair of late-style Nikes, loads our bags in the car, and we’re totally ready to go by eight forty-five.

Dad takes Butterscotch back into the house, then locks the front door on his way out.

“All set?” he asks.

“Let’s do it!” Mom yells.

Even Penny can feel the excitement.

She claps her hands.

I can’t stop grinning.

Even though I know we have plenty of time, I keep wanting Dad to drive faster.

I’m so afraid that we’ll miss the plane or that we forgot my ticket or that I’ll throw up and we’ll have to go back home.

At the airport garage we have no trouble finding a row of empty handicapped parking spaces.

We unload me, my chair, our bags, and Penny and Doodle.

Mrs. V snaps more photos.

It seems like hours, but in minutes we’re at the check-in gate.

Mrs. V pushes me.

Mom carries Penny.

Dad pulls a cart loaded with the luggage and Doodle.

It’s ten o’clock on the dot.

“Hi!” Mom says cheerfully to the uniformed lady at the desk.

“We’re here to check in for the noon flight to Washington, D.C.” She hands the lady our tickets.

“The noon flight?” the woman replies with a frown.

She types and clicks, purses her lips, then types some more.

Finally, she looks up.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that flight has been cancelled.

We’ve had loads of cancellations today—a late-winter snowstorm in the Northeast has caused backups all over.”

Cancelled?

My stomach starts to gurgle.

“Snow?” Mom’s voice sounds thick.

“But the weather here is sunny and clear.”

“They’ve got five inches on the ground in Boston already, and more is predicted for this afternoon farther south.

The FAA won’t let planes take off in weather like that, so our whole system gets gummed up.

Planes due to arrive here and then return eastward get cancelled, meaning our afternoon flights can’t depart.

It’s complicated.

Sorry.”

The desk agent continues to type rapidly.

She tells Mom, “I can get you and your daughter on the next direct flight out, however.

It leaves here at 7:23 p.m. and will get you into Washington at 9:07.

The weather service has predicted that the storm system will have fizzled by then, so we can start getting folks where they need to be.

Actually, tomorrow it will all be rain.”

My heart is thudding now.

“Would you like me to rebook you now?” She smiles cheerfully.

She doesn’t get it.

“But the competition starts at seven,” Mom mumbles weakly.

“Excuse me?

I didn’t hear you,” the desk agent says.

I can’t breathe.

Mom speaks a little louder.

“What about the rest of our group?

We’re traveling together—a group of schoolchildren—a quiz team, actually.

They were also booked on this flight.

We’ve got a competition this evening.”

“Oh, I remember those kids.

They were here early this morning.

Great group.

So polite and well mannered.

They told me all about the competition and the huge trophy they might be bringing home.”

“They came early?” Mom croaks.

“It seems they all went to breakfast together, then came straight here.

It’s a good thing they did too, or they wouldn’t have gotten out.”

“Where are they?” Mom asks.

“Oh, they got switched to the nine o’clock flight—the last eastbound plane to get out before flights started getting cancelled.

They had to run down to the gate, but they made it just in time.

I made sure of it.” She looks down at her computer.

“Yes, that flight left about an hour ago.”

“They’re gone?” Mom whispers.

I feel like I’m going to choke.

“Are you and your family going to D.C. to cheer them on?” the woman asks.

She still doesn’t get it.

“No, my daughter is on the team,” Mom explains.

“We must get to Washington.

Isn’t there another flight— perhaps on another airline?”

The woman looks at me and blinks.

“She’s on the . . . ?” she starts to ask, but then she catches herself, returns her gaze to her monitor, and begins typing furiously once more.

I can hear her fingernails as they click on the keys.

Dad places both hands on the ticket counter and leans in toward the agent.

I’ve never seen him so angry.

“How could this happen?

Shouldn’t we have been notified that the flight was cancelled?”

“We try, sir, but it’s not always possible,” the lady replies, sounding truly sorry.

“We do always advise passengers to call ahead and check their flight status.”

“But this was the trip of a lifetime!

You can’t possibly understand how important this is to my daughter!”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Stupid elevator music floats from the tinny airport speakers.

I hear no beautiful colors.

I smell no lovely aromas.

All I can see is the darkness behind my eyeballs.

“I’m really, really sorry, sir,” the lady says.

“What about a connecting flight?

We must get her to Washington this afternoon!”

The woman types and clicks for what seems like hours.

Finally, she looks up.

“There are no other flights to D.C. on any other carrier, sir, nonstop or otherwise.

That weather system has grounded everything.

There will be nothing until later this evening.

I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

I open my eyes because they are filling with tears.

Dad walks away from the ticket counter, his face scrunched into tight wrinkles, then, without warning, he smashes his fist into the wall right next to where I’m sitting.

I jerk my head up.

I know that had to hurt.

“Ahhh!

I shouldn’t have done that!” he admits, holding one fist in the other.

But if I could have smashed my fist against a wall, I would have as well.

Mrs. V looks from Dad to me.

“I don’t understand how this could have happened either,” she says to Mom.

“Shouldn’t someone from the quiz team have called you?” Her voice could crush bricks.

“The teacher, perhaps?”

“Maybe there wasn’t time,” Mom says helplessly.

“At least that’s what I hope.

Surely they . . . surely they wouldn’t have left her behind on purpose.”

I still have not taken one deep breath.

“I really do apologize, ma’am,” the gate agent finally says.

“I’ve even checked airports in nearby cities.

There are no flights out of the area until this evening.

I have plenty of seats on our seven o’clock flight if you’d like me to book you.”

“No, thank you,” Mom says quietly.

“It’s too late.”

The entire airport feels like a vacuum to me.

No sound.

No voices.

No air.

Mom walks slowly toward me.

I sit there in my new blue and white outfit with new matching tennis shoes, next to my new shiny red suitcase, feeling very, very stupid.

And angry.

How could they do this to me?

And helpless.

I hate feeling like this—like when I was little and got stuck on my back like a stupid turtle.

There was nothing I could do.

Nothing.

“How long does it take to drive to D.C.?” Mrs. V asks.

I don’t even look up.

I know the answer.

“Ten hours at the very least,” Dad replies, his voice soft.

“Go fly airplane?” Penny asks.

“No fly today,” Dad says, touching her gently on her head with his good hand.

Mom rolls me over to a bench on the other side of the check-in area.

She kneels down in front of me.

She’s crying.

I don’t think I’ll ever breathe again.

Mom hugs me.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetie.

You’re still the best, the smartest, the most wonderful girl in the world.

Somehow we’re going to get over this.”

No.

I won’t.

Mrs. V wipes her eyes as well.

She sits on the bench and takes both my hands in hers.

“Oh, baby girl, I know this is hard.

But there is just no way to get you to Washington.”

I just sit there.

The morning started out like crystal, but the day has turned to broken glass.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER XXIX.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

When we get home, I ask my mother to put me in bed.

I refuse to eat lunch.

I try to sleep, but quiz questions and why questions keep flying into my head.

Why didn’t they call me?

Why didn’t they tell me about breakfast?

Why can’t I be like everybody else?

I finally cry into my pillow.

Butterscotch nudges me with her nose, but I ignore her.

They left me on purpose!

How could they do that?

They left me on purpose!

I feel like stomping on something.

Stomping and stomping and stomping!

That makes me even crazier because I can’t even do that!

I can’t even get mad like a normal kid.

Penny peeks into my room, then, when she sees I’m awake, she climbs up on my bed and snuggles close to me.

She smells like watermelon bubble bath.

She tries to count my fingers, then tries to count her own, but all she knows is one, two, three, five, so she says that over and over.

Then she tries to teach Doodle to count.

“Two, Doodle!

Two!” I feel myself relaxing a tiny bit.

“Oh, here you are, Penny!” Dad says from my doorway.

“Are you making Dee-Dee happy?”

“Dee-Dee good girl,” she tells Dad.

“Yes, she is that.

The very best,” Dad agrees.

“You okay, Melody?” he asks as he comes over to stroke my hair.

I nod.

I point to Dad’s left wrist, which is wrapped in an Ace bandage.

“Yeah, it hurts,” he says.

“That was a dumb thing to do, but I guess it made me feel better.”

I nod again.

He lifts Penny from my bed with his right arm.

“Ready for a snack, Miss Penny?” he asks her.

“Hot dogs!” she demands.

“Do you want me to fix you something, Melody?” he asks me.

I’m not hungry.

I shake my head, then point to the clock.

“Maybe later?” Dad says.

I smile at him, and he quietly leaves the room with my sister.

The phone rings.

I hear Mom say, “Oh, hello, Mr. Dimming.” She walks quickly into my room, portable phone to her ear, her palm so tight around the receiver, I can see the veins on the top of her hand.

“No, I don’t understand,” Mom says curtly.

“Why weren’t we called?” She listens to him for a minute, then bursts out angrily, “We could have easily been at the airport an hour earlier.

We could have been there at dawn!” She’s almost shouting.

“Do you know how much this has devastated my daughter?”

A pause.

“Yes, I’m aware she’s probably the brightest person on the team.

Was.

The word is WAS.

There is no IS.” Mom pauses to listen again.

“You’ll make it up to her?

You’ve got to be kidding!”

Mom hangs up on him and flings the phone into a corner.

She wipes her eyes, pulls a tissue from a box on my desk, and sits down heavily on the chair next to my bed.

I listen to her blow her nose, then I turn over.

“Oh, Melody, if only I could make your hurt go away,” she says plaintively.

I blink at my own tears.

She pulls me up onto her lap.

It isn’t the snuggly fit it used to be, but it feels good.

She rocks me, humming softly.

I finally fall asleep listening to the rhythm of her heartbeat.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER XXX.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

What happened today was all my fault.

I should have listened.

We should have all stayed home and spent the day together.

But we didn’t.

Because of me.

When I awoke this morning, it was raining.

Thunder.

Lightning.

Wind.

A constant, soaking downpour that laughed at umbrellas and raincoats.

The air itself was gray and heavy, thick with too much moisture.

I could hear it pounding on my window.

Dad came into my room and sat down in our old reading chair.

He held his wrist carefully.

Mom had put his arm in a sling.

“Messy day out there,” he said.

I nodded.

“Your team got beat in one of the late rounds in D.C. last night,” he told me.

“They got ninth place—a little bitty trophy.”

But they weren’t my team anymore.

I tried to pretend like I didn’t care.

I blinked real hard and faced the wall.

“I wish I could fix this for you, Melody,” Dad said quietly as he headed out of my room.

That made the tears fall for real.

At first I didn’t want to go to school.

I’d been excused because I was supposed to be in Washington, and if I went in, I’d have to sit all day in room H-5 with Willy and Maria and Freddy.

It seemed pointless.

But as I thought about it, I changed my mind.

I felt the sorry for myself shift to mad again.

And the mad me decided that I was not going to sit at home like a kicked-around puppy.

I was gonna show up and let everybody know they didn’t beat me.

Mom leaned on my door just then and said, “You want to stay home today?

No one will blame you.”

I shook my head forcefully.

No!

No!

No!

I kicked the covers off my feet.

She sighed.

“Okay, okay.

But the weather is ugly, and I woke up with a migraine.

Plus, Penny is sick, and Butterscotch threw up on the carpet.

I had to put her in the basement.”

She got me bathed and dressed and took me downstairs.

Usually, Dad carries me up and down the steps, but with his arm out of commission, Mom just grunted, lifted me, and did it herself.

She eased me into my manual chair (my electric chair and lightning storms don’t mix well), hooked up my old Plexiglas talking board (ditto for Elvira), then sat down to catch her breath.

“It looks like we’re going to have one stormy day, honey,” she said as she glanced at the wet mess outside the window.

As she ran a brush through my hair, she whispered, “I’m so sorry, my Melody, so, so sorry about everything.”

I reached up and touched her hand.

The rain continued to fall.

She fixed me breakfast—scrambled eggs and Cream of Wheat —and fed me, one spoonful at a time.

She kept placing her palm against her forehead.

She was unusually quiet.

I wondered if she was thinking about how many times she had fed me, how many more times she’d have to do it.

Wearing a floppy yellow hat and yellow duck-footed sleepers, Penny wandered into the kitchen, coughing and sneezing.

Mom stopped feeding me, found a Kleenex, and wiped Penny’s nose.

She hated that, of course, so she screamed like she was being tortured by enemy spies.

Normally, Mom makes a game of it and wipes Doodle’s nose as well to make Penny tolerate it better, but I guess she didn’t feel up to it this time.

Then the phone rang.

Mom answered, a spoon in one hand, the dirty Kleenex in the other.

“Hello.

You what?

You need me to come in?

But I’m off today.

I’m supposed to be in Washington.” She paused.

“Long story.”

I cringed.

Penny continued to howl.

She ought to put Penny in the basement with the dog!

I thought, frowning.

Butterscotch scratched furiously at the basement door.

“Penny, please!” Mom cried out, cupping her hand over the phone.

“I can’t hear!”

Penny quieted a little, but only because she had squatted down on the floor and put both hands in Butterscotch’s water bowl—sloshing water all over the floor.

Mom listened for a minute, then said into the phone, “How bad is the accident?

Lots of injuries?

Okay, I understand.

I’ll be there, but I have to wait until I get my daughter on the school bus.”

She hung up the phone and sighed, squeezing the tissue into her fist.

“I’ve got to go in to the hospital, Chuck,” she called out to Dad.

“Big pileup on the freeway.

Are you dressed and ready?”

Dad came downstairs, still in his pajamas.

“I’m not going in today,” he announced.

“You almost never take a day off,” Mom said, a surprised frown on her face.

“My wrist is aching, the weather is awful, and Penny has a cold,” he explained.

“Why don’t you just stay home with me today?” he said to me.

But no, I kicked and shrieked and insisted on going to school.

Can’t miss today!

I pointed.

Must go!

Must go!

Mom just put her head in her hands once more.

“Get Penny out of the dog’s dish” was all she finally said.

Dad ripped a bunch of paper towels from the roll, cleaned up Penny’s mess, and wiped her nose with a wet paper towel.

That started her screaming again.

Her screech became a shriek.

That’s when she reached up and knocked over the cup of orange juice on my tray.

My clean blouse was a soppy mess.

She did that on purpose!

I thought angrily.

Mom simply shrugged her shoulders and yanked off my shirt in one swift motion.

She told Dad, “Melody is determined to show up at school—why, I do not know— but she may as well go.”

I couldn’t explain to them that I wanted to see Catherine.

Somehow I felt like she’d talk to me and make me feel better.

She’s a college kid—she would know what to say.

Besides, I had to give her that card.

Today.

It took Mom several minutes to find a new shirt for me until she remembered all the clean clothes in my suitcase.

When she rolled that red suitcase into the kitchen, I looked at her, then looked away.

I refused to cry any more.

For some reason, the bus came early that morning.

I’d just gotten my clean shirt on, my book bag still needed to be packed with my lunch and Catherine’s card, and I had to go to the bathroom.

Even over the noise of all the rain and thunder, the honk of the bus horn blared clearly.

It always sounds like a goose in pain.

I heard Dad open the front door to wave the driver on.

He yelled, “Don’t wait, Gus!

She’s not ready!” The driver—a sandy-haired guy who’s been on this route for a couple of years—beeped once more, then rumbled on.

Gus is really cool and often waits a few minutes as parents hustle to get their children out of their houses.

It just takes us longer sometimes to get it together in the morning.

“Melody, baby, why don’t you just stay home with Dad and Penny today?

Please?” Mom asked as she lifted me off the toilet.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

“It’s such an icky day.”

I kicked and cried out again, shaking my head.

No, no, no!

I didn’t know why it was so important, but I knew I had to show up.

Maybe I wanted to let everybody know what the team had done to me—I wasn’t really sure.

I only knew I had to go to school.

Mom sighed and pulled up my jeans.

When I got back in my chair, I pointed to Thanks and Mom.

She just shook her head and stuffed my lunch into my book bag.

The rain didn’t seem to be letting up, so Mom took a deep breath and started the process of loading me into the car.

When I ride the bus, I simply roll down our ramp, down the driveway, onto the bus lift, and into a specially designed area of the bus that straps my chair into place.

But when I ride in the car, it involves a whole process of taking apart and putting together me, my chair, and my stuff.

Even with my manual chair, it’s a pain.

And Dad was no help.

With his arm in a sling, he shrugged and tried to look like he was sorry he couldn’t come out and lend Mom a hand.

I think he was enjoying it a little, and that made Mom even more upset.

The rain and wind, if anything, had gotten worse.

Mom had draped a huge plastic raincoat over me and my chair, and another one over herself, but in seconds the hoods had blown off and our heads were soaked.

We headed slowly down the wheelchair ramp, the wind whipping at us and the rain attacking from all sides.

I thought it was exciting.

I’d never seen the sky so dark at eight in the morning.

The thunder and wind made it feel like a scene out of a really good movie.

My hair is short and curly, and I think it looks sorta cute when it’s wet.

Good thing.

Mom hates it when her hair gets wet—it gets stringy and limp.

I gotta admit: Mom with wet hair should hide in a closet.

She opened the car door on the passenger side, and the wind blew it shut.

She did it again, this time using me and my chair as a doorstop.

The front seat of the car, of course, was getting soaked.

She lifted me into the seat, strapped me in, and began the process of collapsing my chair.

Fortunately, most of it is plastic and leather and metal, but I knew it would stay damp all day, even if somebody wiped it off real good when I got to school.

Mom placed my chair, along with my old communication board, into the back of the SUV.

When she shut the trunk, she slammed it hard.

The rain continued to fall.

By the time she scooted into the driver’s seat, she was a dripping mess and in a terrible mood.

“I wish I could go back to bed,” she said grumpily as she put the key into the ignition.

“My head is killing me—why did I agree to go to work?

I’m supposed to be off today, with you in Washington.” She sighed heavily.

I kicked my legs in response, but only a little.

I didn’t want to upset her even more.

That’s when I glanced down and noticed she’d forgotten my book bag.

Catherine’s card!

I reached over, grabbed Mom’s arm, and pointed to my feet.

“What?” she said, irritation in her voice.

I kicked, I pointed, I grunted.

Then I pointed to the house.

Dad, who had changed into thick gray sweats, was standing there at the front door, grinning, my denim book bag in his right hand.

I could see Penny, still in her little yellow duck pajamas and now a yellow rain hat, standing behind him.

She had Doodle and Mom’s red umbrella in her hands.

Lightning crackled.

Thunder followed.

The rain poured.

I watched Mom’s hands tighten on the steering wheel.

She made a noise that sounded like something I would say, almost a growl.

“Arrrrh!” She flung open the car door, stomped back out into the storm, up the ramp, and then she snatched the book bag from Dad.

She was sopping by the time she got back in the car.

Dad waved his bandaged arm from the porch one last time, then turned and went back into the dryness of the house.

I watched as the front door almost closed.

That’s when I saw a small bundle of yellow, dragging a red umbrella, dart out of the house.

I saw her for only a second.

But I saw.

I screamed!

I kicked!

I flailed my arms!

The windows were almost completely fogged up, and they got even worse as I continued to act like I’d been possessed by demons.

Mom looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

She screamed at me, “Stop it!

Are you crazy?”

But I wouldn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

I banged on the car window, pulled Mom’s shirt, hit her head.

I pinched her, or at least tried to.

“I can’t take any more, Melody!” Mom screamed over the thunder.

“I hate it when you get like this.

You’ve got to learn to control yourself!

Now QUIT!” She put her hand on the keys to start the car.

I screamed, reached over, and tried to pull the keys from her.

I scratched the back of Mom’s hand.

She smacked me on the leg.

She’d never raised a hand to me before.

Never.

I still didn’t stop screaming and kicking and jerking.

I had to tell her.

I had to tell her that Penny was out there!

Never had I wanted words more.

I was going out of my mind.

“I’m taking you to school, and I hope they keep you!” Mom mumbled under her breath.

Angrily, she turned on the car.

A rush of air started to clear the windows.

The windshield wipers rocked at their fastest speed.

I cried.

Huge, sobbing tears.

I grabbed at Mom’s arms once more, but all she did was shake my arm away.

I could tell she felt like hitting me again, but she didn’t.

Her lips were tight.

She looked out the rearview mirror.

She put the car into reverse.

I shrieked, I screeched, I yelled.

The rain poured.

The thunder roared.

Slowly, the big car rolled backward.

I felt the soft thud.

I became deadly silent.

Mom stopped, turning her head slowly to the left.

Then she turned slowly to the right, almost as if in slow motion, as she saw Dad come running out of the house, a look of stark alarm on his face.

“Penny!” I heard him yell.

“Where’s Penny?”

Mom rolled the window down on my side.

Rain poured in onto me, but I didn’t care.

“What do you mean?

She’s with you!” Mom’s voice was low, but sounded frantic and very, very scared.

She got out of the car.

She looked down.

She screamed for a long, long time.

Her screams were louder than the police sirens that eventually came shrieking around our corner, louder than the fire truck and ambulance sirens that followed them, louder than my silent cries.

I sat there for what seemed like hours, basically forgotten, strapped in the front seat of the car as the rain poured in my open window.

I ached with fear.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER XXXI.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

The air felt thick and damp, like the silence that followed the screaming and crying and sirens.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle.

After Mom and Dad left with the ambulance, Mrs. V took me out of the car and sat me in my chair.

She placed the soggy, filthy Doodle on my tray.

“I found this under the car,” she said, her voice shaky.

I touched it and burst into tears.

As she rolled me to her house, she said, “We’re gonna clean Doodle up and have him waiting for Penny when she comes home.

You hear?” I couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince me or herself.

I felt dizzy and nauseous.

I could not stop shaking.

After changing my clothes into warm, dry sweats, she switched the radio to an easy-listening station and turned the volume down low.

The only color I heard was gray.

Mrs. V stood behind me, gently rubbing my shoulders.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

I shook my head no.

She continued to massage my back and shoulders until we both could feel the tension slipping away.

“I’m going next door to get your Medi-Talker and the dog,” she said.

“You want anything else?”

I shook my head and continued to listen to the tones of smoky gray.

When she got back, Butterscotch seemed nervous.

She kept pacing and sniffing, as if she was looking for something.

“I think she’s looking for Penny,” Mrs. V said.

“Dogs know.”

She hooked up Elvira to my chair and switched it on, but there was nothing either of us could say.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” she said finally.

I shook my head forcefully.

Mrs. V should know better than to say stuff just to make me feel better.

“I mean it, Melody.

It is not your fault!”

“Yes, it is!” I replied on my talker.

I turned the volume up loud.

Mrs. V walked around to where I could see her, leaned down until her face was just inches from my own.

“You did your best to warn your mother.

You should be proud of yourself.”

“Not proud.

Not enough,” I typed.

“Sometimes things happen that are beyond our control, Melody.

You did everything right.”

The guilt bubbled up then.

“I was mad at Penny,” I typed, slower than usual.

“Penny knows you love her,” she said.

Tears slid down my cheeks.

“Made Mom take me to school.”

“So what?

The fact that you insisted on going to school, even after what happened to you yesterday, shows you are a strong person, a better person than anyone else there.

I’m proud of you for that.”

“Don’t be.”

“I’m sure Penny will be just fine,” Mrs. V said then, but her voice said otherwise.

For the first time I could remember, Mrs. V sounded unsure.

“Will she die?” I had to know.

“She was alive and breathing when the ambulance took her, so I’m going to believe that’s still the case.

Toddlers are very resilient, you know.”

I had to know something else.

“Her brain?

Messed up?” I asked.

I had seen enough television shows on brain trauma to know it was possible.

My classmate Jill had been in a car accident.

I couldn’t bear to see Penny like that.

Mrs. V answered thoughtfully and honestly.

“I suppose it’s possible, but I pray that’s not the case.”

“Two broken kids,” I typed.

Just the idea almost made me gag.

“That’s not gonna happen, Melody.” But Mrs. V’s voice wavered—I heard it.

I was still for a moment, then I typed, “It should have been me.”

“Huh?

What do you mean?”

“Nobody would miss me.”

“Now, you just stop stupid talk like that!

My whole world would fall apart if something happened to you.

Your parents’ as well.”

I’m not sure I believed her.

I tilted my head.

“Really?” I typed.

“I plan to wear purple to your college graduation!”

“Far away and very hard.”

“Like making the quiz team?”

“They left me.”

“And they lost!”

I glanced out of her large picture window and watched the wet branches sway.

How could I say it?

I looked back at my talker and typed very slowly, “I want to be like other kids.”

“So you want to be mean and fake and thoughtless?”

I looked up at her angry face, then looked away.

“No.

Normal.”

“Normal sucks!” she roared.

“People love you because you’re Melody, not because of what you can or cannot do.

Give us a little credit.”

“I want it to be yesterday,” I typed.

“Yesterday your heart was broken because they left you behind, remember?”

“Rather have that than this.”

“I know.

Oh, Melody, I know.”

“I’m scared.”

“Me too.”

The silent room echoed our thoughts.

“I had a goldfish.

He jumped out of his bowl,” I typed then.

“I remember your mom telling me about that.”

“Tried to save him.

Couldn’t.”

The phone rang then, startling both of us.

I jerked in my chair.

Mrs. V picked it up.

“Yes,” she said.

I strained to listen.

“Oh, no!” she said.

My heart dropped beneath my chair.

She listened for a long time.

“Oh, yes!” she said finally.

Then she burst into tears and hung up.

“Is Penny dead?” I typed.

The world was spinning.

Mrs. V wiped her eyes, looked at me, and took a deep breath.

“She has some internal injuries, a badly broken leg, but she survived the surgery!

She’s gonna live!” Then she cried once more.

Normal doesn’t suck at all.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER XXXII.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

It’s Monday, so I have to return to school today.

The temperature has dropped and the sun is glowing like some kind of frosted golden jewel.

Yet everything feels different and not quite right.

Mom spent the weekend at the hospital with Penny, sleeping on a cot in her room.

I have not seen her since, well, since everything changed.

I wonder if Mom is mad at me.

Mrs. V comes over and helps me get dressed and fed.

Even Butterscotch seems to miss Penny.

She puts her head in my lap and looks at me with lonely eyes.

I can’t help her.

Dad is a mess.

He keeps dropping things like forks and keys.

He starts to talk, then forgets what he was going to say.

He hasn’t shaved.

“Go and get yourself together, Chuck,” Mrs. V finally tells him.

“A hot shower and cold glass of orange juice will do you wonders.

When you go see Penny this morning, you don’t want to scare the child, do you?”

“Uh, you’re right,” Dad replies.

“You’ve got Melody covered?”

“I’ll see she gets on the bus.

Now scoot!”

He bounds up the stairs to the bathroom.

“Penny better?” I tap on my board.

“Yes, oh, yes!

When I spoke to your mom this morning, she told me that they have taken her off the IV already.

Penny was eating applesauce, complaining about her cast, and asking for Doodle, which I’ve got cleaned up and ready for her.

Penny is going to be fine, Melody.

Just fine.”

I inhale deeply.

Mrs. V spoons eggs into my mouth, but my stomach roils with worry.

“Her leg?” I ask.

“Her leg is in a cast.

It’s big and clunky and will annoy the heck out of her, but the doctors have said that when she gets stronger, she’ll even be able to walk with it.”

I’m glad Mrs. V is always straight up with me.

“Wheelchair?” I can’t think of anything worse than a teeny baby wheelchair.

“No.

They want her to move around as much as possible.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Her head?” I ask.

Mrs. V understands.

“No brain damage, Melody.

None.”

I exhale slowly.

“You sure?” I spell out.

“Absolutely.

I saw her myself last night.

She bumped her head when she fell, but the car hit her leg.

It didn’t touch her head at all.”

The school bus honks then, so Mrs. V wheels me down the drive to meet it.

She checks my backpack, adjusts my foot straps, and gives me a big hug.

“You ready, Melody?

Ready to face the quiz team?”

I nod.

After what had almost happened, facing a bunch of snotty fifth graders will be easy.

Gus looks at me with concern as he lowers the bus lift.

“How’s your little sister?” he asks me.

“That is so scary!”

“Gonna be okay,” I type.

“Thanks.”

I realize right then that news like that travels fast.

Everybody at school will probably know as well.

Gus wheels me onto the lift and pushes the button to raise it as I wave good-bye to Mrs. V. The ride to school is strangely quiet—none of the usual squeaks and grunts from the students who ride the special bus.

When we get to school, the air is chilly, so the aides take us directly to room H-5.

As we get settled, I look at my friends there through different eyes.

Freddy, who wants to zoom to the moon.

Ashley, our fashion model.

Willy, the baseball expert.

Maria, who has no enemies.

Gloria, the music lover.

Carl, our resident gourmet.

Jill, who might have once been like Penny.

Not one of them even knows how to be mean.

And me, the dreamer who tries to escape room H-5, a kid with a computer named Elvira.

I don’t even know where I belong anymore.

Catherine comes in then, wearing a new outfit that is actually cute and stylish.

Tan slacks, black sweater, and a vest.

“Nice outfit,” I tell her.

“Thanks!

And I did it all by myself.”

“I have something for you.” I point to my book bag.

She reaches into my bag, digs around, and finds the card that almost led to tragedy.

After she reads it, she blinks back tears.

“No, Melody, thank you!” She leans over and hugs me.

Then she looks serious and says, “Mrs. Valencia called and told me all about what happened with your little sister.

How’s she doing?”

“Better,” I type.

“You know, you probably saved her life,” Catherine tells me.

“What?”

“Seriously.

Your screaming and yelling slowed your mother down.

Gave her time to figure out why you were acting like you had hot potatoes in your pants.”

“Could not stop Mom,” I stab out on my machine.

“You did exactly the right thing.

I’m so proud of you.”

“Really?”

“Really.

Especially after all you had been through at the airport.

You want to talk about it?”

“No,” I type, and look away.

Maria comes over to my chair and gives me a big hug.

“You did good, Melly-Belly,” she says.

“Real good.”

I’m not sure if she is talking about the quiz team or something else, but my eyes get all drippy and my nose starts to run.

I wish I could give her a big squeeze back to let her know how good she has made me feel.

But I just tap, “Thanks.”

I’m never sure how much Freddy is aware of what’s going on in the world around him, so he surprises me when he zips over to me and asks, “Melly go zoom in plane?” He looks excited, maybe even envious.

“No, Freddy,” I type.

“No plane.

No zoom.”

His face scrunches up into sadness, then he drives away.

Mrs. Shannon comes over next and squats beside me.

“Your head must be near ’bout ready to explode from all that’s happened in the past few days.”

“Boom,” I type.

But I don’t feel like smiling.

“Let’s talk at lunch.

Okay, Melody?”

“Okay.”

“Are you going to your inclusion classes?” she asks.

“Yes,” I tap.

I’d thought about this all weekend— when I wasn’t thinking about Penny.

I’d decided I wasn’t going to hide.

“I want you to know I’m very proud of you.” She gives me a big thumbs-up and then gets our morning routine going.

As it turns out, Miss Gordon is absent today, so the first inclusion class I’m set to attend is Mr. Dimming’s.

“Are you sure you want to go?” Catherine asks me.

Instead of answering, I power my chair toward Mr. D’s door.

Catherine rests a hand on my shoulder as I whir in.

A small brass-colored trophy sits on Mr. D’s desk.

The room is quieter than normal.

Mr. Dimming clears his throat.

He shifts from one foot to the other.

He runs his finger around the collar of his dim white shirt —he’s back to his old, well-worn brown suit.

His old shoes as well.

Finally, he says, “Hello, Melody!” His voice sounds fake cheerful.

I do not reply.

He wiggles so much, he looks like he has to go to the bathroom.

I just watch him.

No kicks from me.

No weird sounds.

I am amazingly calm.

I glance over at Rose, but she is looking in the other direction.

No one seems to know what to say.

At last I break the silence.

I turn the volume up loud on my machine, then type out, “Why did you leave me?”

Somebody should have been there with a video camera proving that, yes, a fifth-grade classroom can be absolutely, totally quiet.

Faces search other faces, each one willing another to speak.

Eventually, Rose stands up.

She looks directly at me and says, “We didn’t plan to leave you, Melody.

Honest.”

I look her dead in the eye and wait.

I don’t react at all.

I just wait.

She continues.

“We all went out to breakfast early that morning—” I interrupt.

“Nobody told me about that.

How come?”

None of them answer.

Their silence says what their words cannot—it’s better without me.

I blink real fast.

Claire finally stammers, “We figured you’d slow us down because you have to be fed and stuff.”

It’s so quiet, I swear I can hear my own heartbeat.

“You threw up.

Nobody left you.”

“Ooh, snap!” I hear Rodney whisper.

Claire stares down at her desk.

“Who took my place?”

Claire lifts her hand slightly, but she won’t look at me.

Rose scrapes at a spot on her history book.

“We finished breakfast really fast because we were all excited, so we got to the airport extra early.”

Connor stands up then.

He looks uncomfortable.

“So when we got to the airport, they told us that the noon flight had just been cancelled but that we could make the early flight if we hurried.”

Molly speaks next.

“So we checked our stuff real fast, then rushed—I mean, ran like track stars, even Mr. Dimming—down to the gate to get that early flight.”

“Nobody thought about me?” I ask.

Silence again.

Finally, Elena says, “I did.

I was the first one to board the plane.

Just as I gave my boarding pass to the agent, I reminded Mr. Dimming that you were missing.”

Mr. Dimming again twists from one foot to the other.

“I was so busy—trying to count heads and check seat assignments and deal with everybody’s carry-on bags— so I asked the kids to call you at home.

I knew Rose, at least, had your number in her cell phone.”

All eyes shift to Rose.

She looks at the floor, then slowly, she looks at me.

A tear runs down her cheek.

“You couldn’t have made it there in time anyway.

I . . . I picked up my phone to call you.

I flipped it open, then I looked at the rest of the kids on the team.” She pauses.

I could imagine them standing there, thinking about the chance to be on Good Morning America, with that huge trophy . . . and me.

Rose continues in a whisper.

“We looked at each other.

Everyone made just a tiny head shake—no.”

All of them?

I shiver.

Rose sniffles and whispers finally, “So I closed the phone and we got on the plane.

I . . . I never made the call.”

How can silence be so loud?

Mr. Dimming finally says quietly, “I’m so very sorry, Melody.

So sorry.”

Rose bursts into tears then and puts her head down on her desk.

“Just before the competition,” Molly explains, “a reporter from the Washington Post came to interview the team.

But he left when he found out you weren’t there.”

Connor walks up to the front of the room then, picks up the ninth-place trophy, and brings it to me.

He stammers and licks his lips.

“Uh, the team kinda wants you to have this, Melody.

Sorta to make up.” He places it on my tray.

The thing is small, made of cheap plastic that has been painted to look like metal.

The name of the school is even spelled wrong on the faceplate.

I look at the ugly little statue, and I start to giggle.

Then I crack up.

Finally, I roll with laughter.

My hand jerks out and hits the trophy—I’m not sure if it was an accident or not—and it falls to the floor, breaking into several pieces.

The class stares at me in surprise.

When they see that I’m not going to go ballistic on them, they finally start to laugh as well—a little.

Even Rose sniffs and smiles.

“I don’t want it!” I finally type.

Then, turning the volume as loud as it will go, I add, “You deserve it!”

Still laughing, I click on the power to my chair, do a smooth turn, and roll myself out of the classroom.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER XXXIII.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

Fifth grade is probably pretty rocky for lots of kids.

Homework.

Never being quite sure if you’re cool enough.

Clothes.

Parents.

Wanting to play with toys and wanting to be grown up all at the same time.

Underarm odor.

I guess I have all that, plus about a million different layers of other stuff to deal with.

Making people understand what I want.

Worrying about what I look like.

Fitting in.

Will a boy ever like me?

Maybe I’m not so different from everyone else after all.

It’s like somebody gave me a puzzle, but I don’t have the box with the picture on it.

So I don’t know what the final thing is supposed to look like.

I’m not even sure if I have all the pieces.

That’s probably not a good comparison, since I couldn’t put a puzzle together if I wanted to.

Even though I usually know the answers to most of the questions at school, lots of stuff still puzzles me.

Penny came home from the hospital with bumps and bruises, a cast, and a new red hat.

Doodle is back in her arms.

They’re spoiling her rotten.

That’s okay with me.

Even Butterscotch is treating Penny like she’s an injured puppy.

The dog has brought all her favorite stuffed toys into Penny’s room, like gifts.

Today I’m working on Miss Gordon’s autobiography project.

Mrs. V has Elvira plugged into the computer.

Classical music is softly seeping from her new iPod.

I hear soft purple.

This is going to take a while.

So much is stuffed inside my mind.

I have lots to say and just one thumb to say it with.

I guess I’ll start at the very beginning. . . .

Words.

I’m surrounded by thousands of words.

Maybe millions.

Cathedral.

Mayonnaise.

Pomegranate.

Mississippi.

Neapolitan.

Hippopotamus.

Silky.

Terrifying.

Iridescent.

Tickle.

Sneeze.

Wish.

Worry.

Words have always swirled around me like snowflakes— each one delicate and different, each one melting untouched in my hands.

Deep within me, words pile up in huge drifts.

Mountains of phrases and sentences and connected ideas.

Clever expressions.

Jokes.

Love songs.

From the time I was really little—maybe just a few months old—words were like sweet, liquid gifts, and I drank them like lemonade.

I could almost taste them.

They made my jumbled thoughts and feelings have substance.

My parents have always blanketed me with conversation.

They chattered and babbled.

They verbalized and vocalized.

My father sang to me.

My mother whispered her strength into my ear.

Every word my parents spoke to me or about me I absorbed and kept and remembered.

All of them.

I have no idea how I untangled the complicated process of words and thought, but it happened quickly and naturally.

By the time I was two, all my memories had words, and all my words had meanings.

But only in my head.

I have never spoken one single word.

I am almost eleven years old. . . .

THE END.