Fish in a Tree

by Lynda Mullaly Hunt

  “Um . . . I just thought I’d say hi.”

  While she stares at me, all of the mean things she’s done wind through my head and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake in coming over.

  “I think,” she says, “we should call you Alley Cat from now on. Go bother someone else.”

  At first I’m surprised, but then I realize it wasn’t a mistake to come over, because it felt like the right thing. Shay’s the one who decided to act mean, but at least I tried. I have to admit, though, I do feel sorry for her.

  CHAPTER 50

  A Hero’s Job

  Keisha, Albert, and I take our time walking home.

  A voice behind us calls, “Hey, brain! Wait up!”

  We turn around and I hear Albert mumble, “Oh no.” I’ve never actually seen anyone turn white before, but he does. I look back at these three boys who are all running toward us. Albert is jumpy like he’s going to run, too, and I know that they must be the kids that beat on him all the time.

  I wish Travis were here.

  “Who are they?” Keisha asks.

  Albert swallows hard.

  “Hey, brain,” the one closest says. “Are these your girlfriends?” he asks.

  The group laughs. One in back says, “Yeah, right. Like that dweeb would have a girlfriend. He’d be lucky to get a pet bird.” They laugh harder.

  Keisha steps forward. “Why don’t you just get lost?”

  “Don’t think so. I’m right where I’m supposed to be.” He turns to Albert and shoves him. “Hey, brain! Did you miss me?”

  “Like a dog misses a flea,” Albert mumbles, his eyes glued to the ground. I wish he’d at least look at the kid.

  Keisha’s voice gets louder. “Yeah, like a little flea. Now get lost before someone slaps you!”

  And before I can even start worrying for her, the boy grabs her arm and pushes her on the ground. “Slaps me? I don’t think so!”

  “Hey!” Albert says. “You leave her alone.”

  The boy turns to Albert. “Shut up, brain. Or you’re next.”

  The second boy picks up Keisha’s bag. “What do you have here?” He turns it upside down, dumping everything out.

  “Look!” the third says. “A book with sweet little cupcakes.”

  “No!” Keisha yells. “Give me my book back!”

  Albert is shaking. Actually shaking.

  “Hey!” I say. “You leave us alone!” And when the kid turns and looks into my eyes, I’m really scared. Like I’m going to throw up.

  Keisha tries to get up and the first boy pushes her back down. He moves his foot to step on her but doesn’t get the chance.

  Albert—peace-loving, I-will-never-stoop-to-their-level Albert—pulls the boy away from Keisha. He turns him around and holds him by the front of his coat. The boy’s toes barely touch the ground. “You do not touch her again,” Albert says with a voice I didn’t think he had.

  Keisha jumps up and runs over to me. She stands next to me, squeezing my arm. Hard.

  “I’m tired of you beating on me all the time,” Albert says. “You have no right to treat me like that. And you don’t even fight one-on-one. You gang up on people like cowards.” Albert throws him down on the ground. Tosses him like he doesn’t weigh anything. The two other boys charge, but Albert grabs one and throws him on top of the first kid. Boy three runs.

  The first boy stands up. “You want to fight, brain? I’ll fight you.” He charges Albert and hits Albert in the stomach.

  I’ve never seen Albert mad before. He hits the kid one time and the kid goes down. Through his moans, he tells his friend to get up and fight—to get Albert for him. The second boy sits up, like he’s thinking about it.

  Albert’s feet are far apart, and he leans forward. “Do you really think you want to do that?”

  The boy shakes his head.

  Albert takes a step toward both boys on the ground. “Don’t you ever touch my friends again. Ever. Or you’ll answer to me.”

  Keisha and I gather her stuff and put it back in her bag. “C’mon,” Albert says, looking at us before turning to walk away. We follow him.

  I’m surprised that Keisha is quiet for as long as she is. I feel like I’m going to cry. Thinking how Albert has come to school every day with those bruises for all this time. We always asked him what it would take for him to fight back. Turns out it was protecting us.

  “Albert,” Keisha says. “That was amazing. And you can fight!”

  “I can’t take credit for strong arms.”

  “But,” I say, “it wasn’t just your arms, Albert. You were seriously brave back there.”

  “Yup. That’s true,” Keisha says. Then she laughs. “So, Albert, what got into you, anyway?”

  “My dad has always said that violence is something to avoid at all costs,” Albert tells us. “But he has also said that you never hit a girl. And so I had to weigh the two. I just . . .”

  Then he stops walking and he’s wide-eyed looking at me. It gives me a chill the way he does it. “But really,” he says, “it just made everything hurt inside to watch them hurt you two, and I would have done anything in the universe to stop it.”

  • • •

  When we arrive at A. C. Petersen’s, Keisha is still acting out what Albert had done. He never says anything, but he seems quietly happier. And a bit taller.

  After sliding into the booth, I take out my social studies book.

  “Seriously? You’re going to do homework after that?” Keisha asks.

  “I have a lot to do.”

  “I thought Mr. Daniels said you only had to do half of the questions.”

  “He did. But I want to try to do them all. I don’t want to get off easy.” I’ve figured out that if I look at the first two letters and the last two letters of a word, I can sometimes figure it out from the rest of the sentence. This trick I’ve discovered made Mr. Daniels say I’m a genius.

  “What is wrong with you? Are you serious?” Keisha asks.

  “Yeah, I know. First I don’t want to do work and now I want to do extra.”

  “You are a mystery, that’s for sure,” she says.

  “Huh,” Albert says. “That reminds me of our president Teddy Roosevelt, who went on a hunting trip and found that one of his companions tied a bear to a tree for him so it would be easy to shoot. He refused to shoot the bear and set it free. In fact, that’s why teddy bears are called Teddy. After that president and that day.”

  Keisha shakes her head. “Man, you’ve got a story for everything, Albert.”

  “I do not provide the stories. History does.”

  “You know, Albert, you kind of talk like those guys who narrate the movies at school. From the History Channel and stuff.”

  “Why, thank you, Keisha.”

  Based on Keisha’s expression, I’m not sure it was a compliment, exactly.

  I lean forward and look at Albert. “You know what else is a tremendous achievement?”

  “What?”

  “Sticking up for friends against guys that have used you as a punching bag for months. You whaled on them, didn’t you, Albert? You should get a medal or something.”

  Albert sits a bit straighter. “Well, it was just one thing I did on one day.” He turns to me. “Not like you, Ally.”

  Huh?

  “When Mr. Daniels told us about people with dyslexia . . . I mean some of the greatest minds the human race has ever seen . . . I’ve been kind of wishing I could have it, too.”

  Did he really just say that?

  Keisha laughs. “Sometimes, Albert, I’ve thought you have nothing but facts stacked up in that head of yours. And then you do what you did today and say something like that. You know what you are?”

  His eyebrows jump.

  Keisha leans forward. “You are one good friend, Albert.”r />
  CHAPTER 51

  C-O-U-R-A-GEnius

  I ask Mr. Daniels if I can renew my book at the library, and he smiles like I gave him a cake. “Sure,” he says. Then he hands me an envelope. “Since you’re heading that way, will you give this to Mrs. Silver for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “You have to hand it to her, though. And you have to wait until she opens it and writes a response, and then return it to me. Okay?”

  I nod, thinking back to the days when a visit to the office meant trouble.

  I renew my book and then head to the office. Mrs. Silver is there when I walk in. She smiles. “Hey there, Ally.”

  I hold out the envelope even before I start talking. I guess I want her to know right away that I’m not in trouble. “I have a message from Mr. Daniels.”

  She holds up a finger, telling me to wait one minute while she speaks with her daughter, and picks up the phone.

  I mean to listen in on their conversation, but something else catches my attention. The poster with the two hands reaching for each other. The one I was asked to read but couldn’t.

  I walk over and stand in front of it. I stare at the outstretched fingers. Then I take a deep breath and look at the letters. I step right up to the wall and, just like Mr. Daniels taught me, use the envelope in my hand as a marker under the first line.

  I whisper, “S-s-some . . . things?”

  Mrs. Silver comes and stands behind me. She puts her hands on my shoulders. I stop reading.

  “No, Ally. Keep going.”

  I turn my head to look up at her. “Can you just read it to me so I can hear it all at once?”

  Mrs. Silver reads,

  “SOMETIMES THE BRAVEST THING

  YOU CAN DO IS ASK FOR HELP.”

  —C. CONNORS

  “Ally?” she asks. I turn.

  Her voice cracks. “I want you to know how sorry I am about the bumpy road we had for a while. I’m proud of all the strides you’re making. All the hard work you’re doing. We should have picked up on your learning differences before, but you were so bright . . . and, well, I hope you’ll give me another chance to help.”

  I nod, looking over at that poster, and think how I should have asked for help. But, at the time, it took more bravery than I had, I guess.

  “Hey!” she says. “Didn’t you have a letter for me?”

  “Yeah. Mr. Daniels said you are supposed to read it before I leave.”

  She opens the envelope and reads as she walks to her desk. Then she laughs and turns toward me. “Did he tell you what this says?”

  I shake my head.

  “It says, ‘The student delivering this note is our student of the month for hard work and a good attitude.’”

  “Me?” I ask. “Are you sure it isn’t a mistake?”

  She laughs.

  “My brother, Travis, will never believe this!” I tell her. But in my heart I know he will. He’ll be happy for me and mess up my hair and say, “Good going, Al!”

  She writes a note for Mr. Daniels and hands it to me.

  I leave the office and am told right away to stop running by a teacher. So I do. But it is so hard not to run and jump and yell.

  Mr. Daniels smiles at me as soon as I turn the corner into the room and I half jump, half run over to his desk.

  “So, you got the message?” he asks.

  I nod.

  With a hand on my shoulder he says, “Attention, Fantasticos! I would like to announce that our student of the month is our own Ally Nickerson!”

  Oliver slaps his desk while others applaud. Even Jessica. Shay says something I can’t hear exactly, but I do hear Jessica answer her, “Stop it, Shay.”

  Albert and Keisha come over. Albert with a high five and Keisha with a hug. “Wow! Are you going to talk to us little people when you win your next award?”

  “If you bake for me,” I joke.

  “Wait,” Albert says. “Will you bake for me if I win something?”

  Keisha and I laugh while Albert says, “No. I’m serious.”

  Keisha pats him on the shoulder. “Yes, Albert. I’ll bake something for you.”

  We begin collecting our things to go home. Travis is picking me up because I have to bring my project home. I get my stuff and head down to the gym to wait.

  Soon, Travis walks in, still wearing his clothes from the garage.

  The sun from outside is behind him like he’s walking out of a ball of light, and all of a sudden, I feel like I’m going to cry.

  It makes sense. Everything does.

  Travis is smart. In the same ways that I am.

  I run up to him, put my project down on the floor, and throw my arms around him.

  “Pretty happy to avoid the school bus, huh?” He laughs.

  “I’m just really happy to see you, that’s all.” And I hug him one more time. But tighter.

  His face questions me.

  “Wait a second,” I say. “I’ll be right back!” And I turn and run before he can answer. I run because I just have to. This can’t wait until tomorrow.

  I sprint down the hallway, ignoring someone far behind me telling me to slow down.

  I approach my classroom, grab the door frame, and swing into the room, out of breath.

  Mr. Daniels looks up from his work, surprised.

  “Ally?”

  I step up to the side of his desk. I reach into my pocket and pull out the worn piece of paper that says possible.

  “You’re still carrying that?” he asks, and smiles big.

  “Please, Mr. Daniels,” I tell him. “You have to help. I’ll do anything.”

  He stands. “What’s wrong, Ally?”

  “Please help my brother.” I take a step forward. “He needs to learn to read, too.”

  I think of the poster in Mrs. Silver’s office. Mr. Daniels’s hand reaching for mine. And mine reaching for Travis.

  “Of course, Ally. I’m happy to help. Your brother is picking you up today, right?”

  I nod. Feeling so grateful for Mr. Daniels. I wonder if he knows that I came into sixth grade wondering what would ever become of me. Now I have dreams I know I’ll chase down.

  I’ll set the world on fire someday.

  And come back here . . . and tell him so.

  “Okay,” he says. “You go ahead. I’ll be down in a minute to talk with him about what we can do.”

  I run from the room but slow down. Thinking. Aware of every step. Eventually I’m back at the gym. Back to my big brother, who has stood by me and helped me always. Who’s believed in me no matter what I said.

  Travis is standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the light streaming through the windows across the top of the gym. I watch him for a while. Finally, he sees me and smiles.

  I hand him the tattered piece of paper that says possible. “Here. This belongs to you now.”

  He looks confused. “For me?”

  Mr. Daniels isn’t far behind me. He shakes Travis’s hand. “Hello there, Travis. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He looks down at me. “Quite a little sister you have here.”

  Travis does that half smile. “Yeah. She is.”

  “So,” Mr. Daniels says. “Apparently, Ally thinks we should talk.”

  “Okay,” he says, brushing his chin with his knuckles.

  Mr. Daniels explains to him what we do after school and invites him to join us.

  I look up. Travis swallows hard and nods. I knew Travis would be brave enough to say yes.

  A mind movie lights up in my head. Of our last name written in neon lights in the window of Travis’s new place.

  And there’s another mind movie. Of me being happy. Reading and making my art and finding a special Ally-shaped place in the world.

  But these mind movies won’t go
into my Sketchbook of Impossible Things, because I know they will actually happen.

  I lean my back against my big brother and feel his hands on my shoulders. Their voices seem to fade as I look up at that light streaming through the windows.

  Things are going to be different.

  It’s like birds can swim and fish can fly.

  Impossible to possible.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The author would like to thank:

  Nancy Paulsen, friend and editor extraordinaire. You are the 1943 penny of editors—one of a kind. And I am most grateful.

  Erin Murphy. You are spectacular. I’m blessed that you are my agent and friend.

  The Gango, who have added rich layers to my life—you are cherished.

  The “Other Penguins” who have worked on the editing and design of this book: Ryan Thomann for designing the unique interior, Kristin Logsdon for designing this phenomenal cover, and Sara LaFleur, who is always there to happily lend a hand.

  Carol Boehm Hunt, Jean Boehm, Karen Blass, Rick Mullaly, Jill Mullaly, John Mullaly, Melody Fisher, Bonnie Blass, David Blass, Suzannah Blass, Michael Mullaly, Megan Mullaly, Christopher Mullaly, Emma Mullaly, Dot Steeves, Margaret Pomeroy, Pat and Frank Smith, and ALL of the rest of the Smiths! LOVE this big family!

  Extra thanks for my brother, Ricky, who helped me know and love Travis.

  Extra thanks for my niece, Emma, whose beauty, spunk, and smarts helped me create Keisha.

  Rere, who is with me each day on this astounding journey. I wouldn’t have these blessings if you hadn’t been my mum. *SWAK*

  Mary Pierce, Liz Goulet Dubois, Laurie Smith Murphy—cherished friends, phenomenal women, and forever-time critique group partners.

  Lucia Zimmitti, Jenny Bagdigian, Jennifer Thermes, Cameron Rosenblum, Julie Kingsley, Leslie Connor, Sarah Albee, Carlyn Beccia, Bette Anne Reith, Jeanne Zulick, Sally Riley, Linda Crotta Brennan, and Sharon Potthoff. You are each a treasure and have been an important piece of my journey.

  Jill Dailey, Paula Wilson, Nancy Tandon, Jessica Loupos, Holly Howley, Kristina O’Leary, and Michele Manning, my new writing friends. Thanks for your keen eyes.

  Susan Reid Rheaume, Kathy Martin Benzi, Kelly Henderschedt and Doreen Johnson. I’m grateful for you girls.