Fish in a Tree

by Lynda Mullaly Hunt

  When he doesn’t say no, I know it means yes.

  “Tell us!” Keisha says.

  “I’m the Elephant.”

  “Because you’re big?” I ask.

  “No,” Keisha says. “Because he has a good memory.”

  “Elephants do have good memories,” he says. “But that isn’t why I chose it as my symbolic name.”

  “Then why?” I ask.

  “Well . . . I’ve become a pachyderm.”

  “Is that a religion?” I ask.

  His face twitches a bit. “No. An elephant is a pachyderm. It means an animal with a thick skin.”

  I guess we’re all pachyderms, then. Or we pretend to be.

  His finger picks at the side of his thumb. “Elephants feel a wide range of emotions, but their behavior remains constant. On the outside, happy and sad often look the same.”

  I can’t remember the last time I had nothing to say about something. All this time, I thought that Albert was the science guy with as much feeling as a pinecone. But I was wrong. All that watching he does. All that thinking. He really does understand things. He definitely gets me.

  CHAPTER 47

  Great Minds Don’t Think Alike

  Mr. Daniels looks really happy as he makes an announcement to us one morning. “Today, my Fantasticos, we are going to jump from our social studies unit and talk a little bit about some famous people. People I bet some of you know.”

  He takes out pictures and stands them up on the tray of the board. They almost cover the length of it, and I worry that we will have a test or have to write about our favorite.

  Mr. Daniels seems electric. “I’ll say the name and then you tell me if you know why they’re famous, deal? No need to raise your hands. Just call out.”

  Wow. He’s breaking the biggest teacher rule ever.

  He points to the first picture. “Thomas Edison.”

  Wait. I know who that is. I squeak out, “He invented the lightbulb?”

  “Great, Ally. But if you know, don’t answer like a question. Declare your answer!”

  I imagine myself at a podium in front of thousands of people, arms in the air, declaring my answer.

  “What about this one?” he asks.

  Max says, “Alexander Graham Bell, who invented the telephone. I did a report on him.”

  “Most excellent work,” Mr. Daniels says.

  The next one is George Washington. Everyone knows that one.

  “Henry Ford?” he asks.

  “He invented the car!” I declare.

  “Well, he did begin Ford Motor Company, but he didn’t invent the car. He perfected the moving assembly line, which was a very clever way to build a lot of cars fast.”

  “Oh.”

  “Ally, how do you know about these inventors?”

  “My mom bought a DVD called Schoolhouse Rock. It has a cartoon about inventors.”

  “Ah, yes. Schoolhouse Rock is awesome. Next one? Albert Einstein!” He says this one like he’s introducing someone on a game show.

  Albert raises his hand.

  “Yes, Albert?”

  “Albert Einstein was born in Germany on March 14, 1879. He is considered the greatest human mind to ever have lived in the fields of physics, mathematics, and philosophy. He changed all of science with his ideas. My father says that the field of science was like Pinocchio as the puppet, and Einstein changed it into a real boy.”

  “Does he really?” Mr. Daniels laughs. “That’s brilliant. Is your father a scientist, Albert?”

  “Yes, sir. He named me after Albert Einstein, so I know a lot about him.”

  Keisha whispers to him, “Is that why you style your hair after him?” She turns to me. “That boy has never even seen a comb.”

  “Style my hair?” Albert asks, confused.

  Mr. Daniels walks back toward the pictures. “I have a feeling that Albert’s father is quite a scientist indeed.”

  We go through the rest of the pictures.

  Leonardo da Vinci, famous painter of the Mona Lisa. Also a gifted inventor.

  Pablo Picasso, another famous painter, who created a modern style that no one had ever seen before.

  Patricia Polacco, talented illustrator and author.

  Whoopi Goldberg, hilarious comedian and actress.

  Henry Winkler, famous actor and author.

  Muhammad Ali, world heavyweight champion in boxing.

  John F. Kennedy, thirty-fifth president of the United States.

  Winston Churchill, prime minister of England during World War Two. His intelligence and grit kept the Nazis from taking over England. In fact, all of these people had grit to spare.

  Grit. I like that word.

  John Lennon of the Beatles.

  Walt Disney, creator of Mickey Mouse.

  Then Mr. Daniels stands back. “Don’t you all agree that this is a stunning group of talent? Is there anyone here that would be willing to stand up and say that any of these people were stupid?”

  Everyone shakes their heads.

  “Albert gave us a great rundown of Albert Einstein. But did you know that he was kicked out of school when he was young? His report card said that he was too slow to amount to anything. He couldn’t memorize the months of the year. In fact, he had trouble tying his shoes. But . . . he was and remains one of the greatest minds we’ve ever seen.”

  I remember when I had a hard time tying my shoes. Travis sat with me for a long time teaching me the baby way where you make the rabbit ears.

  I stare at Einstein’s picture with his crazy white hair that looks like he had an accident with a light socket. How could he figure out something like time travel and not know the months of the calendar?

  Mr. Daniels says, “Some people say that John Lennon is one of the most gifted, spiritual musicians ever.”

  He walks over and points to Walt Disney. “What about this guy? Did you know he was told by a teacher that he wasn’t creative enough?” He moves over. “How about Henry Ford? He was born understanding how an engine should work. He just knew without studying it.”

  Hey, that’s like Travis.

  He walks toward the windows. “Knew exactly how it should go together. He never went to school for it, but he was such a genius with machines, he worked as Thomas Edison’s engineer for a while. He built his first car by hand by building a motor and putting it in between two bicycles. And with his idea of using a moving assembly line, he ushered in a new world.”

  He walks back toward the board.

  “You know what all of these people have in common?” he asks the class. Then he stands in front of my desk and looks me dead in the eye. “Many believe that they all had dyslexia.”

  I feel it in my gut. In fact, I feel it everywhere.

  He smiles a bit. “That’s right. As children, they struggled to read even simple words and, based on some other clues as well, most experts now believe that they had dyslexia. But, of course, we know their struggles weren’t because they were stupid. It’s just that their minds worked differently. And thank goodness they did, because otherwise we may not have telephones or lightbulbs or stunning works of art.” He smiles. “Oh. And we wouldn’t have Mickey Mouse.”

  He is quiet for a while. I think he’s letting it sink in.

  “So, then . . . for your homework, I have an extra- credit assignment.” He turns on the smart board and there’s writing:

  Ju jt nvdi ibsefs up sfbe

  xifo zpv epou ibwf uif dpef.

  The class is already complaining that they can’t read it. Complaining that it makes no sense.

  “It’s a code,” he says. “Each letter stands for another—extra credit for anyone who can crack it. It isn’t exactly like reading with dyslexia, but it will give you a taste of how hard it is. How long it takes.” Then he looks at me. “An
d how smart you have to be to persevere.”

  He dismisses us and everyone starts to get ready to go home. But I’m still staring at the pictures of all those famous people and wondering if they felt like me when they were young. Did they feel stupid? Did they wonder what would become of them?

  Mr. Daniels squats next to me. “Ally?”

  Although the room is loud, it’s like the sounds are far away.

  “Are you okay, Ally?” Mr. Daniels asks.

  I turn to him and have to clear my throat before speaking. “It’s true? All those people there . . .” I look back at their pictures. “All of those people couldn’t read, like me?”

  “Indeed,” he says, smiling. “Not that they couldn’t read. They just needed to learn a different way, that’s all.”

  He puts an oval-shaped piece of metal in front of me. “This is a paperweight,” he says. “It’s a gift for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes. Look.” He points at each word as he reads them. “Never, never, never quit. Winston Churchill.”

  I pick it up. It’s heavy.

  “I’m not giving it to you as a reminder, because I know that you will keep at it. I’ve really gotten a sense lately of how hard you’ve had to work to learn what you have. And,” he says, laughing, “you’ve fooled a lot of smart people. So, how smart does that make you?”

  I swallow hard.

  “I’m giving it to you because I want you to know that I’ve noticed. And that you’re going to be okay, Ally.” He leans forward a bit. “Better than okay, actually.”

  My head swims with all that’s changed.

  In school.

  And in me.

  CHAPTER 48

  Oliver’s Idea of Lucky

  “So, what’s it like?” Oliver asks before his body has even come to a stop in front of my desk. “What’s it like? This thing you have. Dystopia or whatever.”

  “Dyslexia?”

  “Yeah. What’s it like?”

  “Well . . . ,” I begin, but don’t have an answer.

  “Don’t you see everything backward? That’s what I hear.” He squints. “Wait. Do you see me backward right now?”

  I shake my head. “No. I don’t think so.” Then, a mind movie of the butterflies at the museum drops into my head and I look back up at him. “It’s kind of like the letters on the page flutter like butterflies.”

  His face scrunches up. “Wait. You mean they move? The letters move?”

  I nod.

  His eyes widen. “That is so. Cool! You’re so lucky. Letters just stand there all boring when I read. I hate reading. I’d rather do anything in the world than read.”

  “Really?” I ask, wishing that the letters would just stand still for me and wait to be read.

  He gasps a little, as if he can’t believe that I don’t agree. “Uh, yeah? Are you kidding? Last summer, my mother kept giving me the choice of reading or washing her car. She had the cleanest car in the neighborhood all summer long.”

  I smile because I really like Oliver. I’ve been thinking about myself so much, I never really noticed how funny he is.

  And looking around the room, I remember thinking that my reading differences were like dragging a concrete block around every day, and how I felt sorry for myself. Now I realize that everyone has their own blocks to drag around. And they all feel heavy.

  I think of that word Mr. Daniels used when he talked about the famous people with dyslexia. Grit. He said it’s being willing to fail but try again—pushing through and sticking with something even if it’s hard. He also told us that a lot of those famous people were not afraid to make mistakes no matter how many they made. I think messing up will bother me less than it used to.

  • • •

  Keisha, Albert, and I are hanging out on the playground when Shay and a few of her clones come over. “So, you really have that thing that Mr. Daniels was talking about, right?” Shay asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, feeling proud of it after his talk.

  “So, dyslexia . . . Don’t you see letters backward or something?”

  “Sort of,” I reply, not sure exactly, since I’ve never seen letters the way other people have.

  “Figures,” she says. “My brother is in kindergarten and he can see them the right way.” She looks at me like she always has. It bugs me, but not like it used to.

  Albert steps forward. “Do you ever see letters backward, Shay?”

  “No. Are you kidding me?”

  “Oh,” Albert says, dropping his voice. “Too bad.”

  “Why is that too bad?”

  “Oh, well, you know it’s a sign of intelligence.” And then this thing just comes over Albert. Like he’s all relaxed and everything. Standing in a way that isn’t all stiff and Albert-like. “I know that you think I’m a nerd and everything,” he says to her. “I mean, you’ve called me all kinds of things. But there is one thing you’ve never called me.”

  “What could that be?”

  “Dumb. You’ve never called me dumb.”

  She swings her hip to the side and sighs. “What is your point, Albert?”

  “Well, there are a lot of letters that I’ve always seen backward. And Ally sees more than I do. So, who knows how smart she must be.”

  Wait. Albert sees letters backward?

  Shay is thinking about it, looking like she just found out that she’s the only one not invited to a party. “What letters do you see backward?”

  “Well, O, I, T, A, M, V, X, U . . . and some others.”

  Huh?

  Wow. Shay at a loss for words? I never thought I’d see that. “C’mon,” she finally says. “I have better things to do.”

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” Jessica says. “I’ll be there in a second.”

  “Obviously,” Shay says. “You wouldn’t dare not be.”

  Shay leaves and her group follows. But they don’t all stomp away like they usually do. A few walk behind her. Half looking back.

  Jessica turns and jogs back to us, and I can tell right away she’s different. “Hey, I think it’s cool. The dyslexia. And you really are a good artist,” she says, and then turns to walk away again. Then stops. Turns back. “And . . . I’m really sorry, Ally. For everything,” she says before turning to run this time.

  My mom was right. “I’m sorry” are powerful words.

  “So, Mr. Science,” Keisha says, turning toward Albert. “Did the world just fall off its axis or what? Did I just see what I think I did?”

  We all watch Jessica run up the hill.

  “Well,” he says, “there is an explanation. Ally is a catalyst.”

  Not sure what that means, but from Albert it must be good.

  All of a sudden, Keisha starts cracking up. Bending over with her hands resting on her knees. Stumbling around like she’s going to fall over. “God, Albert. I can’t believe you did that with the letters. And I can’t believe she went for it.”

  Albert cracks a smile.

  Keisha puts her arm around my shoulder. “Albert here just gave Shay a whole bunch of letters that are the same forward and backward. If she wasn’t spitting-nails mad, trying to hurt people, she probably would’ve figured it out.”

  Then I laugh, too. “Thanks, Albert,” I say. “Shay is going to hate you more than she hates me soon.”

  “No worries,” Keisha says. “That girl has plenty of hate to go around.”

  And I realize that it is easier now that Shay and everyone else know why I have so much trouble. Mr. Daniels says I should concentrate on what I do well. I’m going to try to do that.

  • • •

  When I get back to my desk, there is a wooden A on it.

  I pick it up and wonder where it came from.

  “Ally, my grandfather would like you,” says Suki. “I carved this
letter from one of his blocks. It is for you. ‘A’ for Ally. But also, I think you are amazing. And I admire you. I wanted you to know that.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thanks a lot, Suki. Now I can tell everyone I finally got an ‘A’ at school.” And we both laugh.

  I hear Shay across the room, but she doesn’t sound happy.

  There’s something on her desk, too.

  A pile of old friendship bracelets.

  CHAPTER 49

  I See the Light

  During break time, Albert and Keisha are talking about her new ideas for recipes.

  Jessica and Max and some other kids are laughing about something while Shay sits at her desk watching them. She seems like she’s not sure what to do, which is an odd thing to see. Finally, she stands and walks over. However, they don’t really acknowledge her. Especially Jessica. Something about it reminds me of those empty sundae dishes back when Shay and Jessica made me feel small for being me. Now it’s hard to imagine feeling that way.

  Oliver is going from desk to desk. As he does, kids are holding their arms over their heads to make a big circle. Then he says something and they answer. When they do, he jumps and laughs.

  Finally, he gets to Shay and I can hear what he’s saying. “Hold your arms up over your head to make a circle.”

  She hesitates but does it, which surprises me.

  “Now,” Oliver says, “spell ‘image,’ and then say ‘lightbulb.’”

  “I-M-A-G-E lightbulb.”

  Oliver jumps and laughs.

  Shay drops her arms. “You’re such a freak, Oliver. Go stink somewhere else.”

  He goes to Keisha and they do the same thing with the arms, but she laughs afterward.

  And I feel happy for Oliver because I remember a time when he would have sat down and been sad after Shay had said something like that.

  Looking at Shay, I can tell she’s looking around the room wondering where she fits in now. Wondering how all of this happened. I remember how it felt to be alone in a room full of people, so I take a deep breath and head over.

  “Hey, Shay.” Now that I’m close to her, I can really see how upset she is.

  “What do you want?”