by Nancy N. Rue
“You already took like twenty hours of me eating lunch.”
Sophie blinked. Okay, she thought, what happened to Brooke sticking on me like a shadow?
“What if we filmed you in one of your classes?” Sophie said. “Do you have a teacher that’s cool? We could ask her if we could do some shots of you at your desk — ”
“No!” Brooke let go of the door handles and staggered backward. “I hate my teachers!”
She stumbled into the locker room and let the door close in Sophie’s face.
“That went well,” Fiona said in a dry voice.
But Sophie nodded. “That’s like what I read about ADHD. Kids who have it don’t do well in school because they can’t pay attention, so they hate it.”
“Don’t even think about us helping her with her homework, Sophie,” Darbie said. “Or I know I’ll eat the head off her for sure.”
“Okay, forget that,” Sophie said. “We’ll think of something else.”
“You will,” Willoughby said.
But Sophie didn’t. When they got to the gym, Brooke was sitting on the floor, surrounded by Corn Pops.
“That can’t be good,” Fiona muttered to Sophie.
“I bet they’re making fun of her,” Kitty said.
Maggie shook her head. “Doesn’t look like it to me.”
It didn’t to Sophie, either. Brooke was chattering nonstop, as usual, while Julia appeared to be giving her a manicure and Anne-Stuart coaxed her strings of red hair into a French braid.
“I know the Corn Pops.” Willoughby twisted one of her own curls around her finger. “They wouldn’t be nice to Brooke if they didn’t want something from her.”
Fiona raised an eyebrow. “No offense, but what does Brooke have that they would possibly want?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie said, “but we should find out. She is our project.”
Darbie groaned. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
Coach Yates blasted away on the whistle, and the Corn Flakes hurried to their line. Brooke passed them on the way to her place, but she didn’t look at Sophie or any of them.
“She has something stuffed under her shirt,” Maggie said. She demonstrated, pulling her own shirt out at the waist.
Sophie glanced back at Brooke, and her gaze snagged on Julia. Her eyes were gleaming with that hard kind of mirth Sophie knew was trouble. Whenever a Corn Pop thought something was funny, it was usually at somebody else’s expense.
As soon as roll was taken, the Corn Flakes swarmed to their volleyball court and took the Lucky Charms aside.
“We’re trying to find out what Brooke’s got under her shirt,” Sophie whispered.
Nathan’s face went straight to red.
“No, silly.” Willoughby poked him. “She’s got something stuffed into the waistband of her track pants.”
“Something she’s not supposed to have,” Maggie said.
“At least that’s what we think,” Darbie put in.
Fiona rolled her eyes. “If she got it from the Corn Pops, it’s definitely contraband.”
“What’s that?” Kitty said, eyes wide.
“Something she’s not supposed to have,” Fiona said.
“Here she comes,” Jimmy whispered. “What do you want us to do?”
“I’m not pulling something out of her shirt,” Nathan said.
“Get her to jump up and down a lot,” Sophie said. “Until it falls out.”
“Done,” Jimmy said.
It wasn’t hard. Although Brooke was unnaturally quiet at first and volunteered to stand out and rotate in, they weren’t two volleys into a game with the Wheaties’ team before she was bouncing like the ball itself and yelling, “That was out!
That was so out!”
“How about getting it for us?” Vincent said. “It went over there.”
Brooke bounded after the ball, and Sophie watched the lumpy-looking bulge under her T-shirt shift to the side.
“I hope it doesn’t go down into her pants instead of out.” Willoughby gave the expected shriek.
“Hey!” Brooke yelled. “Somebody, catch!”
She heaved the ball so hard she fell after it, right on her tummy.
“My candy!” she cried. “Aw, man!”
Brooke rolled over and yanked a plastic bag from under her shirt. Five different kinds of mini candy bars scattered over the gym floor.
“Dude!” Colton Messik shouted from the next court over. “It’s rainin’ chocolate!”
Fifty pairs of tennis shoes squealed as Coach Yates blew her whistle.
“Singletary! What are you doing with food in class?”
Sophie only had to look at Julia, Cassie, and Anne-Stuart to know. All three of their glossy upper lips were curled like Fruit Roll-Ups.
“I wonder how much of that she already ate,” Maggie said.
If the theory that sugar might make ADHD behavior worse was true, Sophie figured Brooke had downed about a pound. She was crawling around on the floor like a crab, snatching up miniature Snickers and Three Musketeers and shoving them back into the bag.
“I’ll relieve you of those, Red,” Coach Nanini said as he stood over her.
Darbie looked at Sophie. “I’m sorry, but I wish he would relieve me of her.”
Dr. Devon Downing sighed. It was difficult to make progress when other factors were constantly entering in. But she went on, because the work of a gifted medical researcher could not be abandoned. She had to find a cure, before Raggedy Ann-D-H-D was lost to the —
“Corn Pop Alert,” Fiona said.
Sophie looked up in time to see Brooke dallying at the edge of the court where the Pops and Loops were playing. AnneStuart whispered something in her ear, which kept Brooke from seeing the ball flying at her until it smacked her in the head.
“Hey!” Brooke yelled at Tod, who was innocently whistling into the air. “I’ll kick your — ”
“Brooke!” the Corn Flakes shouted in unison.
“It’s your serve,” Jimmy said.
Brooke gave Tod one last killing look before she bounded back to them.
“Cheated death again,” Vincent muttered.
Brooke didn’t show up at the Corn Flakes’ table at the beginning of lunch, and Darbie gave a happy sigh. “I like having a moment of peace,” she said as Sophie handed her the camera bag.
“The moment’s over,” Willoughby said. “Here she comes. You have those Cheerios ready, Kitty?”
But Brooke stopped at the end of the table and didn’t put her tray down.
“I’m sitting with Julia and them,” she said.
Everybody looked at Sophie.
“How come?” Sophie said.
“Because Julia’s gonna finish doing my nails.”
“You hardly have any nails,” Maggie said.
“Ma-ags,” Willoughby said out the corner of her mouth.
“She’s gonna give me fake ones,” Brooke said. “She has this really cool file thing — her mom bought it for her at the nail shop — ”
“The one with the cat on it?” Kitty said. “That is cool.”
Nice work, Kitty, Sophie thought.
Brooke nodded, sending her pizza slice dangerously close to the edge of the tray. “She said it cost fifty bucks.”
“That’s a bit of a horse’s hoof, I think,” Darbie said.
“Huh?” Brooke said.
“That means Julia’s exaggerating,” Fiona said. “No nail file costs — ”
Fiona was cut off when Brooke’s body suddenly lurched forward and her plate crashed to the table. The pizza slice landed pepperoni-down in Sophie’s lap, and the contents of a glass of chocolate milk splashed up in Brooke’s face. Brooke whirled around to find Tod Ravelli standing behind her, smirking.
“Sorry.” His mouth was as unrepentant as anything Sophie had ever seen. “My bad. But you shouldn’t be blockin’ the aisle like that.”
“You did it on purpose!” Brooke said.
Before Sophie could even
agree, Brooke grabbed the now-empty tray and brought it down on top of Tod’s head.
The cafeteria came to life with shouts of “Fight! Fight!”
Maggie and Darbie pulled Brooke by both arms, and Willoughby jumped on her back. Jimmy stood behind them, hands out like a baseball catcher. Vincent fumbled with the camera.
“Let me at ’im!” Brooke screamed.
“Don’t do it!” Sophie tried to shout. But her pip-squeak of a voice was lost in Kitty’s panicked cries, Fiona’s attempt to talk Brooke down, and the roar of the entire lunch room urging Brooke and Tod to go at it.
Only Coach Nanini could break up something like that, and he did. Then Mr. Bentley, the principal, hauled the kicking, screaming Brooke out. Mr. DiLoretto, the art teacher, dragged Tod in the direction of the nurse’s office. Coach Nanini stood there, shaking his big head.
“Tod ran into her on purpose, Coach,” Willoughby said.
“We saw him.”
“I didn’t get it on film, though,” Vincent said. “I was too late.”
“That’s okay.” Sophie didn’t like the weary sag of Coach Virile’s eyebrows. “Red chose to take the matter into her own hands.”
“Literally,” Fiona said.
Coach gave a grim nod. “There are consequences for that.”
“She’s gonna get suspended,” Maggie said when he was gone.
Darbie looked straight at Sophie. “I told you I didn’t think our little project was working.”
“What do we do now, Sophie?” Kitty said. She pointed to the cereal box on the table. “I have all these Cheerios.”
Sophie felt irritated prickles go up her neck. “I don’t know,” she said as the bell rang.
“Maybe you’ll figure something out by after school.” Willoughby nodded until her curls bounced.
Sophie thought she might go “mental” instead from the nonstop itching inside her.
They had barely gathered at their lockers at the end of sixth period when Kitty said, “She’s coming!” and ducked behind Maggie.
Brooke marched down the row of lockers, French braid half undone, waving a yellow slip of paper.
“I told you,” Maggie said. “She got — ”
“I’m suspended for three days!”
Brooke stomped up to Sophie and brought her foot down hard on Sophie’s toe. Sophie choked back a yelp.
“Three days!” Brooke said. “And it’s your fault!” She stormed off, still waving the suspension slip.
“That was just — violent!” Willoughby said.
Sophie sank to the floor and hugged her foot. “It’s just because she’s frustrated. I read that — ”
“I don’t care what she is.” Fiona squatted beside Sophie. “I personally don’t want to be around when she decides to break a tray over one of our heads.”
“We have enough film to make our movie for class, don’t we?” Darbie said.
Maggie consulted the Treasure Book and nodded. Willoughby and Kitty looked down at Sophie.
“Is it settled then?” Fiona put her hand on Sophie’s arm. “Is Project Brooke over?”
No! Sophie wanted to shout at them. I can’t give up!
But she didn’t say anything at all.
Seven
The next day, Sophie was sure the rest of the Corn Flakes had taken her silence as a yes. And a yes, she quickly figured out, made everybody happier.
Kitty didn’t nervous-giggle as much. Willoughby gave fewer poodle-yips. Darbie declared that she hadn’t wanted to call anybody an eejit for a whole day.
So why, Sophie asked herself, didn’t she feel all happy and free the way everybody else did now that Project Brooke was over?
One answer she knew right away. Without Brooke there, taking all of Sophie’s attention, she couldn’t keep her mind off baby Hope. What if nobody could help Hope when she got to be Brooke’s age? What if people gave up on her and were glad when she wasn’t around? The questions itched like poison ivy that was spreading.
Sophie only knew that if she gave up on Brooke, it would be like giving up on her own little sister. No matter what the other Corn Flakes decided, she had to be ready the minute Brooke came back.
Which was why, after school on Tuesday, Sophie went to the library and logged on to a computer back in the corner. The schedule of every student at GMMS was on a list anybody could pull up. She didn’t even need Dr. Devon Downing for that.
Sophie scrolled through the R’s and the S’s until she came to Singletary, Brooke. She poised her gel pen over her notebook, ready to write down room numbers, but she couldn’t take her eyes from the screen.
Period 1 — Special Education/Language Arts Room 202
Period 2 — Special Education/Study Skills Room 202
Period 3 — Physical Education Gym
The rest of the classes were Special Ed too. There was even tutoring scheduled after school on Mondays and Wednesdays.
Sophie thought she had to be dreaming. She leaned closer to peer through her glasses, but the words were really there.
I don’t remember the Internet saying kids with ADHD were Special Ed, she thought. In fact, she knew they weren’t. One article had even said ADHD kids were just as bright as other kids, only they couldn’t concentrate enough to get their work done. So what was going on?
Dr. Devon Downing pushed herself back from her microscope and used extreme willpower not to hurl it across the room. Once again, she was confronted with a medical mystery that perhaps she couldn’t solve. Something else was wrong with Ann-D-H-D’s brain, perhaps something that, like Down syndrome, couldn’t be cured. No wonder the subject broke trays over people’s heads and stomped on their feet —
“She’s not a subject,” Sophie said out loud. “She’s a person — and I can’t help her either.”
She left the library before she started throwing books off the shelves.
The urge to throw things didn’t go away. That night Sophie couldn’t see Jesus’ eyes again. She wanted to ask him her questions and belt out her doubts, but it all stuck in her throat.
Maybe he just didn’t want to listen to her.
During the break between first and second periods the next morning, when Fiona, Darbie, and Sophie hung outside the classroom talking in frosty breaths, Fiona said, “Don’t forget, we have Bible study this afternoon.”
“My aunt’s bringing snacks,” Darbie said.
Sophie didn’t say anything. Fiona nudged her.
“You’re coming, right, Soph? Boppa’s picking us up.”
“I guess.” Sophie shrugged.
Fiona and Darbie looked at her blankly.
“You guess?” Fiona said. “What’s up with that?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie said. “Maybe I’m just tired of Bible study.”
Darbie thrust her head forward. “Now that’s a bit of the horse’s hoof.”
“Nobody loves Dr. Peter’s class more than you do,” Fiona said. “What’s going on?”
“The bell’s gonna ring.” Sophie retreated into the classroom because she didn’t want to tell her best friends that she was afraid to go to Bible study. They might all find out she was so mad at God, she wanted to grab an angel’s harp and break it over her knee. Or whatever a person did when God didn’t send any messages through Jesus that everything would be okay.
I must not allow these personal feelings to interfere with my research, Dr. Devon Downing scolded herself. What should I work on next?
“What do you mean?” Anne-Stuart said. “The assignment is right there on the board.”
Sophie blinked and propped her social studies book in front of her, trying to focus on the page. All she saw was Dr. Devon Downing disappearing.
By the time they arrived at the church that afternoon, Sophie felt like a plastic bag full of air. One small punch would be all it took . . .
And Dr. Peter landed it the minute they were all situated in their different-colored beanbag chairs, Bibles in matching covers in their laps.
&nbs
p; “So what’s God been doing in your lives this week?” he said.
“Nothing,” Sophie said. “I think he lost my address.”
Everyone seemed to stop breathing at the same time. Sophie couldn’t move, not even to say, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that! Well, she hadn’t meant to say it, anyway.
Finally, Kitty giggled nervously, and Willoughby’s poodle-yip came out as a whimper. Harley, one of the Wheaties, gave a soft snort. Everyone was looking at Dr. Peter, and even Sophie could see why. Nobody in the class had ever said anything like that about God before.
Dr. Peter sat forward in his beanbag chair and let his arms fall across his knees. “Is this something we need to talk about privately, Loodle?”
“Can I say something?” Fiona said.
Dr. Peter nodded at her. Sophie wished miserably that he hadn’t.
“If Sophie’s thinking that, then we all need to hear what you say.”
“She’s our friend,” Kitty said in a tiny voice.
“Not only that,” Darbie said, pushing her hair behind her ears. “If Sophie can go there, then the rest of us are bound to go there too, sometime or other. She knows God better than any of us.”
“I thought I did,” Sophie said. “Now I’m not so sure.”
“Okay,” Dr. Peter said. “If it’s all right with you, Sophie, we’ll all take a look at this doubt issue.”
“Whatever,” Sophie said. It was useless to keep pretending anyway, she thought. She’d already blurted out the worst thing she could possibly say.
“All right then.” Dr. Peter rubbed his hands together the way he always did when they were ready to dig into the scriptures. “Let’s open those Bibles to John 20, verse 26.”
The air itself felt uneasy as the group thumbed its way to the New Testament. Usually Sophie loved this part and couldn’t wait to hear who Dr. Peter wanted them to pretend to be in the story he read. But if it involved Jesus, she was afraid to even step into the scene.
“Imagine that you’re the disciple Thomas.” Dr. Peter pushed his glasses up with a nose-wrinkle. “Now, you remember that when Jesus rose from the dead, he appeared to the disciples in a locked house.”
“John 20:19,” Maggie said.
“Wow, Mags,” Willoughby said.