Albert nods a little.
Shay tells everyone that it makes no sense, but I know the answer.
“If you mix paint together, that’s true, but if you’re talking about just the colors, pure in nature, they make white when mixed together. I brought this wheel to prove it.” I feel like a magician. I show them the wheel with all its colors. Then I stick a paper clip that I’ve unbent through a hole in the center and spin the wheel. It turns white as it spins fast. As it slows down, the colors reappear.
Jessica leans forward. “That’s pretty cool.”
Shay looks at her with squinty eyes until Max agrees. Then she nods and agrees, too.
“Are you going to give that away?” Oliver asks.
I hesitate. “I wasn’t going to . . .” I look down at it. “But I guess I could.”
“You like that, huh, Oliver?” Mr. Daniels asks.
“I’d give it to my bus driver. She likes things with rainbow colors.”
“Well, that’s thoughtful of you, Oliver!” Mr. Daniels says.
I sit down at my desk, thinking about whether I should give the colored disc to Oliver. Jessica and Shay are talking behind me.
“Can I have another bracelet?” Jessica asks Shay.
“I don’t think so. I can hardly keep up with people wanting them. Besides, you already have enough.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind another.”
There is a pause and I want to turn around. But I’m not supposed to be listening in.
“Listen,” Shay says. “You have seven already. I have other orders to fill first. And besides that, you still owe me three dollars for the last one. I’m not giving you another until you pay me for what’s already on your wrist.”
Wait. I whip around. I can’t help it. “You charge your friends for those friendship bracelets?”
“Eavesdrop much? Yeah, so what? You want one?”
Jessica leans forward. “Wait. You’re going to give her one?”
“No, idiot. I’m not going to give her one. She’s going to pay me. But you know what? Ally should pay more. A lot more.” She turns to me. “Ten dollars.”
I laugh. “Uh, no, thanks. I’d rather wear handcuffs.”
I can’t believe Shay charges her friends for something that’s supposed to stand for loyalty and friendship. And I can’t believe they paid.
“You are such a dope, Ally Nickerson,” Shay says.
I look over at Keisha and Albert and realize that I have been. I’ve been lucky all along but didn’t see it.
CHAPTER 25
Celebration or Devastation?
Mr. Daniels is wearing a tie with little trophies on it. Also, he has a goofy smile on his face. Even goofier than most days.
“Okay, my Fantasticos! There is one among you who is even more fantastic than usual—and that’s hard to do. So, we are going to celebrate. You see, when you all wrote those nature poems the other day, you had all been secretly entered in”—he puts his arms up and raises his voice—“the first annual Fantastico Poetry Award.”
Oh, great. Another thing for Shay to brag about. I look over at Albert and hope he will win instead. He’s hoping so, too. I can tell by how he pulls his chair in more, like he’s getting ready. I think that Suki has a good shot as well.
“So,” Mr. Daniels begins, “this poem is a splendid surprise. Great work. And I am very happy to give the first annual Fantastico Poetry Award to . . .”
I watch Shay out of the corner of my eye. If she wins, we’ll never hear the end of it.
What she does doesn’t make sense. She shows surprise, but it’s followed by disgust.
Mr. Daniels’s hand on my shoulder makes me jump.
“Congratulations, Ally,” Mr. Daniels says.
This can’t be. It’s too early for April Fool’s Day. I look over at Albert and Keisha, wondering if they put a poem in with my name.
Mr. Daniels takes a step back and says, “C’mon. Come claim your prize.”
Prize? I swallow hard.
Mr. Daniels stands at the front of the room, waving me up. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
I stand and walk toward him like the floor will swallow me up. I turn toward the class and he puts his hand on my shoulder.
He holds the poem in his hand. I look and see it is actually mine. Maybe I was just having a good day. I mean, it’s about time I have a good day for once, right?
Happiness seeps in. Have I really won an award? The thought of that would have been something for my Sketchbook of Impossible Things before now.
Me.
“So, Ally is our first poetry winner for her piece entitled, ‘Rain, Rain.’” He turns to me. “Do you want to read it, or shall I?”
The paper crinkles in my hand. “I’ll read it,” I say, happy that I have it memorized.
“Rain, rain falling down
Down, down on the ground
All the birds go in the trees
They don’t like the rain, you see.”
It doesn’t take long to say, but it took me a long time to write. But now it’s all worth it.
There is silence until Mr. Daniels motions to everyone to applaud. Albert and Keisha clap loudest. Mr. Daniels motions again and the applause gets louder. Oliver slaps his desk until Mr. Daniels’s pulling on his ear calms him down.
Looking out over the class, I remember some of the other poems I heard people working on. Really good poems.
And then the whole thing hits me. I finally get it.
Mr. Daniels holds out a certificate with fancy letters and swirls around the edges. He also holds a coupon for a free ice cream in the cafeteria, and I think how happy Albert would be if I gave that to him.
But I can’t reach out and take them. I look up into his face. He smiles and then he winks. I look out over my classmates, who have stopped clapping. Shay has pressed her mouth into a flat line. Most glance at each other with knowing looks. They all know but figure I don’t.
This isn’t a poetry award.
This is a pity award.
I look up at Mr. Daniels, who gives me a serious nod, as if to say, Go ahead and take it. They don’t know.
Getting an award for not being smart enough to deserve it is the worst feeling I’ve ever felt. Like getting this certificate is going to make me pat myself on the back and, somehow, transform into a different person. I swear that I’ll never accept an award that I don’t deserve.
Never.
Keisha calls my name as I run from the room.
CHAPTER 26
Stalling
I run into the bathroom and hide in the stall at the end. I stand, pressing myself up against the wall. Embarrassed and humiliated and never wanting to go back.
The door opens and someone comes in.
“You okay?” Keisha asks.
“No. I’m not.”
“You won an award. Who in the world runs from an award? I’d think you’d be happy.”
“I didn’t. I didn’t win for real.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks. “Of course you did. I was there.”
“No. Trust me. I didn’t. He just . . . He’s just trying to be nice.”
“Why don’t you come out of there?”
“You don’t understand. Just go away.”
“You’re right, Ally. I don’t understand. I don’t know why you’re mad about an award.”
I feel so much worse than just mad. “Look,” I say. “When you get on your bike, don’t you expect it to hold you up? Not fall apart when you pedal?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“Imagine if every single time you got on your bike, you had to worry that the wheels would come off. And every time you ride, they do. But you still have to ride. Every day. And then you have to watch everyone watch you as the bike goes to piece
s underneath you. With everyone thinking that it’s your fault and you’re the worst bike rider in the world.”
“Why in the world are you talking about bikes and wheels coming off?”
“My brain,” I say, leaning my forehead against the cold wall. “My brain will never do what I want it to do.”
“C’mon. It’s not like your brain is broken. So you’re not the best speller. So what? Your brain seems fine to me.”
“You don’t understand what it’s like to be different than everyone else.”
“Wait. Have you noticed how different I look than everyone else in our class?”
“It’s not the same.”
“Look, you’re my friend. The best friend I have here. If you want to say things like that and make it hard to be your friend, then . . . well, I’ll just wait for you to come to your senses.”
Oh.
“You’re talking like a fool saying I don’t understand what it’s like to be different. But the thing is . . . I’m only different to the people who see with the wrong eyes. And I don’t care what people like that think.”
I laugh a little. “Albert says that the problem is that white people don’t have enough melanin. He says that’s the thing that makes human skin darker.”
“Well, that boy is bonkers, but he is a smart one.” She sounds happy. “Now, come on out.”
I lean against the wall for a minute more because it’s easier to say my next thing without seeing anyone. It comes from a place so deep inside, it’s like it’s coming out of the ground. “I just . . . I just want to fit in for once. I mean, I really do. Just to be the same as everyone else.”
Keisha doesn’t answer for a while. “Look. You don’t fit in. I don’t fit in. Albert doesn’t fit in, either. Who says who fits in, anyway? People like Shay? That girl is just mean. Who cares what she thinks?”
The stall door is still closed, but I smile as I imagine Keisha’s expression. I’m lucky to have her.
“Come on, Ally. Who wants to fit in with people like Shay and her worse-than-awful friends? Thankfully we’ll never fit in with people like that.” Keisha laughs again. “One thing’s for sure. We’re not gonna fit in, but we’re gonna stand out. All three of us. You wait and see. You’re going to be a famous artist and Albert is going to cure cancer or invent talking fish or something.”
“Talking fish? What would they say? ‘Please don’t fry me’?” I push the door open, and her face is just like I imagined. “And you’re going to have a big baking business, right?”
“Maybe in my spare time. I’m also going to rule the world.”
I laugh. Then swallow hard. “Thanks for being my friend, Keisha.”
“Don’t go thanking me for that. Thank me for this: I’m going to go tell Shay she has a spot on the back of her fancy riding jacket so we can watch her try to look. Then we can eat that ice cream that you won.”
CHAPTER 27
Half-Baked Afternoon
Keisha invites Albert and me over to her house for a “surprise.” When I arrive, Albert is already there and Keisha is wearing a baker’s hat and apron.
“So, when do we eat?” Albert asks.
“No free ride here, Albert. We have to cook first,” Keisha says, putting a cookbook on the table.
Albert seems disappointed.
“You’ll be able to eat. Don’t worry. And in the meantime, think of this as a science experiment. So it’s two of your most favorite things, Albert.”
I am pretty happy until she opens the cookbook and slides it over to me. “You’re in charge.”
“Of what?”
“The recipe! What do you think?”
What? Is she kidding?
“And Albert, you can be in charge of rolling the dough. Going to try cookie dough today to see if the letters cook at a similar rate to cake.”
I’m freaking out over having to be in charge of the book. I’d rather be in charge of teaching cats to play hockey.
And my mind spins into that mind movie. When I start laughing, Keisha asks me what I’m doing. I have to shrug. Push the picture of a goalie cat with skates and a mouth guard out of my head.
“Ally?” Keisha pokes me.
“Yeah?”
“I asked, what’s the first thing?”
Albert appears next to me. “I’d rather do the book. You want to trade, Ally? You can roll out the dough.”
“Sure, Albert. If that’s what you’d rather do, I don’t mind switching.”
Albert begins reading the ingredients while I roll out the cookie dough. It’s sticky and hard to roll. Keisha points to a package of flour. “Hey, sprinkle some of that on.”
I manage to get the dough rolled out, but I have my doubts about all of this. I look at the alphabet cookie cutters she uses to make letters. “What do you want me to spell?”
“Well, the letters are kind of big for cupcakes, so it can only be three-letter words. Spell whatever you want.”
I spell “cow” because it’s the first word I think of. Then we stand the letters up in the bottom of each cupcake mold and cover them with batter.
Once Keisha slides the first batch into the oven, Albert asks, “Can I have some milk?”
Keisha shrugs. “Sure,” she says, taking a glass and filling it.
Albert gulps it all down and asks, “May I possibly have some more? We switched to water at home. I really miss milk.”
She hands him the gallon. “Help yourself.”
He sits with the milk and wraps his arm around it like he’s protecting it.
I laugh. “You’re not getting that back, Keisha, I hope you know.”
“I have a question,” Albert says after licking the milk from his lips. “If you spell ‘cow’ inside a cupcake, can a vegetarian eat it?”
“Boy,” Keisha says. “You really take everything seriously, don’t you?”
“Hey!” I turn to the oven. “Is it supposed to be smoking like that?”
Keisha pulls on a mitt. When she opens the door, smoke fills the kitchen. The cupcakes have oozed all over the tops of the pans and fallen on the bottom of the oven. It’s a mess.
She groans. “Oh, man!”
“You should wait until the oven cools before you wipe it,” Albert says.
Keisha turns to him. “Yeah. Thanks, Albert.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, and she rolls her eyes.
She’s disappointed that cookie dough will not work for letters. She and Albert figure out that the cookie dough expanded more than we thought it would and that’s why it made such a mess.
But I just keep thinking that whenever I write something, it turns into a big mess.
CHAPTER 28
Deal of a Lifetime
“Ally?” Mr. Daniels calls me to him as the classroom empties for lunch.
“Yeah?” I ask, heading over.
“So, I’ve been thinking a lot about some of the answers you give during discussions. I love it when you share your opinions.”
“Thanks,” I say, wondering why he really called me up here.
“And I loved your thoughts on Roy G. Biv. I overheard you asking Suki about her grandfather and comparing him to yours. Well, Ally . . . I am impressed by you.”
I shrug. What am I going to say? That he’s crazy if he thinks I have anything for brains but a pail full of grasshoppers?
“Really. You have some wonderful gifts. And your explanation of lonely and alone. That was clever.”
I glance up at him but stare at my shoes by the time I answer. “That was just because I know about those words, alone and lonely, that’s all. It was just an unfortunate stroke of luck.”
He laughs. “An unfortunate stroke of luck, huh?”
I nod.
“I see.”
Yeah.
“Ally, how man
y kids your age use phrases like ‘unfortunate stroke of luck’?”
I feel like a fish in a wire cage rather than a tank. “Can I go to lunch now?”
“Not just yet. I’m wondering. Do you ever think one word but a different one comes out of your mouth?”
“Well, yeah, I guess.”
“Does reading sometimes give you headaches?”
I nod, more nervous.
“When you look at letters, do they ever seem to move?”
I’m confused. “Of course they do.”
“They do?” He is wide-eyed.
I nod but I’m not sure if I should.
He just looks me for a while, and I think I know how Keisha’s cupcakes feel when she watches them in the oven.
“One more question,” he says.
I shift my weight.
“Have you ever heard of a game called chess?”
“Yeah!” I say, happier. “It’s from Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking-Glass. My grandpa read it to me a gazillion times. It’s the game that uses a checkerboard and the castle pieces, right?”
He brightens. “Yeah. That’s the one. Do you know how to play?”
I shake my head.
“Do you want to learn?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “I think you’d like chess. I could show you how to play after school. You know, if you’d like.”
“I’d have to stay after?”
He thinks for a second. “Well, I was thinking of starting a chess club. I thought you could come first so I could teach you to play. If it works out well, we could invite other kids. It might be fun. Something different.”
It’s not like I was born yesterday. I know he’s up to something. Teachers don’t volunteer to stay after school to play games. I kind of want to say yes because Mr. Daniels is cool and I don’t think there is any reading stuff in chess. And my grandpa would have liked to know I could play. But it scares me. “Well, I don’t think so. But thanks anyway.”
He seems disappointed. I turn to go.
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