by Kit Pearson
Theo sat down with relief. Across the aisle Nita smiled. Theo lowered her head.
Nita had been assigned to take care of her on her first day at this school last week. She was kind. Crystal and Meiko were kind too. But they wore different clothes every day and the right kind of shoes. Theo was sure their kindness was just an act for the teacher.
In her previous school she hadn’t known this. Kyla, too, had worn clean clothes and included Theo in her conversations. She was pretty and funny and for a few weeks Theo had been flattered that Kyla had chosen her as a friend. But then she’d been the only girl in the class not invited to Kyla’s birthday party.
This was the second of the five schools Theo had attended where there was a mixture of well-off kids and poor kids. Now she knew you couldn’t trust the well-off kids.
And the poor kids were too much like herself. The first day it was hard to pick them out; wearing sloppy clothes was the style and everyone looked the same. But now she knew the kids who, like her, had dirty hair and wore the same clothes for a week. They were either tough or as quiet and wary as she was.
At least Theo wasn’t the only person in the room who was called “Licehead.” If she made friends with Angela or Jennifer or Kandice, perhaps the name wouldn’t sting as much. But that would be admitting she was like them—poor and inferior, the type of person who was called names.
None of the kids in her schools were as interesting as kids in books.
The long day dragged on. Theo dully guessed at the answers in her arithmetic book and pretended to listen to an earnest woman talk to them about constructive ways to express anger. At lunch she sat alone, chewing slowly on her dry jam sandwich to make it last longer.
That was a major problem with this school. Like the last one, there was no hot-breakfast program. Two schools ago there’d even been a free lunch. Theo tried not to think of hamburgers or hot dogs or to gaze too obviously at the boy beside her, who was devouring a large piece of chocolate cake.
After lunch Mr. Barker tried to get them to write poetry. Theo was thinking so intently about the Psammead that she didn’t hear a thing he said.
Then he was standing over her. “Theo? Do you understand what I want you to do?” He smiled. “Just choose one of the lines on the board and make up a poem about it. It doesn’t even have to rhyme! You can write it any way you like!” He seemed to burst with goodwill, as if he were giving her a present.
Theo blinked at him, and nodded. A poem … She looked at the board.
What is pink? (or choose some other colour)
What is peace?
What is love?
What is friendship?
What is happiness?
She looked around—everyone else was already scribbling. She began to write slowly.
After twenty minutes Mr. Barker clapped his hands. “All right, people! Let’s have some volunteers to read their poems.”
No one raised a hand. “How about you, Nita?” asked the teacher, smiling.
“It’s not very good.”
“I’m sure it’s wonderful! Don’t forget, we’re all writers here! Let’s hear what you’ve created. Stand up and use a good loud voice.”
Nita stood up and mumbled, “‘What is happiness? Happiness is a warm puppy. Happiness is opening Christmas presents. Happiness is your mum and dad kissing you good night.’ That’s as far as I got.”
“Excellent, Nita!” beamed Mr. Barker. “You really tried to express your feelings!”
“I don’t think it’s very good,” said Robert. “She didn’t make it all up herself. I’ve heard that part about a warm puppy before.”
“Well, sometimes poets echo other poets—but not on purpose, eh, Nita?”
Nita glared at Robert.
“How about you, Robert?” asked Mr. Barker.
“Sure!” Robert jumped to his feet. “‘What is peace? Peace is when there’s no more war. What is war? War is shooting and guns and bombs. What are bombs? Bombs are—’”
“That’s enough, Robert,” said Mr. Barker. “I think we get the idea.” For a second he almost frowned, but then his expression became even jollier. “Good for you! It was very creative of you to extend the original premise like that!”
“It’s an awful poem!” said Nita. “It’s way too violent.”
“It’s how Robert feels … what he wanted to write. That’s the most important thing,” said Mr. Barker. “Now, who wants to be next?”
After Lindsay read her long poem about love and Adam his rhymed couplets about peace, Mr. Barker became more and more excited as he searched for extravagant words of praise for each of them.
“Now let’s see … How about … Theo!”
Theo jerked to attention. She’d been looking out the window and imagining what it would be like to be able to leap from tree to tree like a squirrel. “What?”
“How would you like to read us your poem?”
“No, thank you.”
“Well, then … how about if I read it?”
Theo shrugged; she knew she didn’t have a choice. Mr. Barker took the paper off her desk.
“‘What is grey? Grey is cold rain. Grey is a scratchy blanket. Grey is a hard sidewalk. Grey is a rat in the bin. Grey is no colour at all.’”
There was silence. In front of Theo, Angela turned around and gave her an understanding look.
“A rat!” said Yogita finally. “Yeck!”
“That’s too depressing for a poem,” said Shannon. “Poems are supposed to be happy, like Nita’s.”
Mr. Barker seemed to be swelling like a balloon. Then his words spewed out all at once. “I think it’s brilliant! Superb! It’s original and evocative and full of emotion! Poems don’t have to be happy, Shannon. I’m delighted Theo reminded us of that.” He put the paper back on Theo’s desk, practically jumping up and down with enthusiasm. “Very well done, Theo! Excellent!”
For a second Theo felt a tinge of pride. Mr. Barker really seemed to like her poem.
But he’d acted excited about the others, too. He was obviously just trying to be nice to her.
At last the closing bell went and school was over for the day. Theo rushed out of the room.
THE SCHOOL LIBRARY was crammed into a space that was much too small for it. Books and magazines and computers lined every surface. There was barely enough room to walk between the shelves and tables and bean-bag chairs. The librarian, Ms. Cohen, wasn’t there, but students were allowed to check books in and out on their own. Theo took Five Children and It from her bag and signed it in. Then she went over to the fiction section.
Choosing a new book was like looking for treasure. Theo always took a good long time. First she examined some paperbacks on a revolving stand. But they were mostly novels about one girl or one boy with a problem, or horror stories with scary covers. That wasn’t what she wanted.
She knew she’d have better luck on the shelves where the older hardcover books were kept. She walked along looking at them slowly, tilting her head to read the titles. Half Magic, The Moffats, The Family from One End Street … Theo tingled with pleasure as she recognized favourites from other libraries.
At her last school there had been only paperbacks. But this new library was the best kind—it didn’t throw out its old books. They looked ugly, with their thick, plain covers. But the dull outsides concealed the best stories.
Usually a title would leap out at her, as if it were shouting, “Read me!” And here it was—All-of-a-Kind Family. Theo pulled it off the shelf. The cover was sturdy and green, with a faded picture on it. It showed five girls in matching old-fashioned dresses and pinafores tumbling down some stairs. They were all smiling and, best of all, they were holding books!
Theo opened it up, read the enticing first sentence, then sighed with relief. She’d found the right book.
Ms. Cohen was back at her desk when Theo returned to it. She smiled. “Hello, there! Theo Caffrey, isn’t it?”
Theo nodded.
“Is Theo shor
t for something?”
“Theodora,” mumbled Theo.
“That’s a beautiful name. What have you found today? Oh, you’ll love this. I read it when I was your age! What a lot of books you’ve taken out in only a week! You’re an exceptional reader for your age. Why don’t you pick some more? You can take as many as you like.”
“No, thank you,” said Theo. Ever since she’d lost a library book and Rae had had to pay for it, she wouldn’t let Theo take home more than one book at a time.
“Well, enjoy it. It’s a treat to see these wonderful old stories being borrowed.” The librarian checked out the book, handed it back, and gazed at Theo thirstily. “I just wish some of the others read as many good books as you do.”
Theo flushed and put the book into her bag. Librarians always went into ecstasy over her. Soon she’d be called in to the counsellor to find out why she did so poorly in school, in spite of the fact that she read so much.
BEHIND THE SCHOOL was a grassy playground. Even though it was raining, Theo sat down on a swing, watching the water dribble down the shiny wood of the teeter-totters. She swayed gently, pretending she was a princess.
This is the royal park, she thought. Over there are peacocks and fountains. In a few minutes I will be called in to dinner by my nanny and eat roast chicken and mashed potatoes off golden plates …
“Hi, Theo!” Theo looked up and tried to focus. It was Angela, holding hands with a tired-looking woman in a shapeless black coat. “Mum, this is Theo, a new girl in our class.”
Angela’s mother smiled, but she didn’t seem to speak English.
“I really liked your poem,” said Angela shyly. “I thought it was the best in the class! It sounded so—so real.”
“Mmm,” said Princess Theo haughtily. She willed Angela to go away so she could continue her game.
Angela’s eager smile turned to disappointment. “Well, goodbye. See you tomorrow.” She led her mother away and Theo immediately forgot about them.
She tried to carry on being a princess but her pants were soaked and it was getting late.
She began to walk home. Her wet hair dripped into her eyes and water seeped through the cracked soles of her runners. Her toes bumped painfully against the fronts.
Theo always lingered on the first part of the walk, where renovated old houses were crowded together pleasantly. She stopped in front of her favourite house. Its blue window boxes were planted with tiny fir trees that were still decorated with red bows for Christmas. The front door was sunny yellow. It looked like a house in a little child’s drawing—bright and friendly and neat. On the top floor was a small round window like a peep-hole. That would be my room, thought Theo.
After she passed the hospital, the houses became shabbier; then they were replaced by low apartment buildings. The closer Theo came to her own block, the louder the traffic noise from the busy street behind it.
Theo stopped at the corner store beside her apartment. She stooped to pick up two cigarette butts for Rae. Then she slinked into the store, hoping the owner had a customer. But he was alone and kept his eyes on her as she examined the candy display.
The longer she looked, the more moist her mouth became. Two days ago she’d managed to sneak a chocolate bar into her pocket when the store owner was helping someone.
The week before Rae was paid was always a lean one. All Theo had had to eat today were two jam sandwiches—one for breakfast and one for lunch.
“Are you going to buy anything or not?” the man growled.
Theo shook her head and scuttered out of the store. She couldn’t put off going home any longer.
2
The lobby of the small grey building smelled like cabbage. Theo trudged down the dingy stairwell and along the hall of the basement, pushing past someone’s laundry hung to dry. A TV game show blared from behind Mrs. Mitic’s door.
Opening her own door, Theo took out the cigarette butts, then dropped her sodden jacket. She pried off her wet shoes and socks and rubbed her sore toes. The same show droned from the small TV in the living-room.
“Where have you been?” scolded Rae. She stood up. “It’s almost four-thirty! You know I have to be out of here in an hour.”
“Sorry,” mumbled Theo.
Her mother began stirring something on the stove. Theo dropped the cigarette butts into an overflowing ashtray on the table.
“It takes me half an hour longer to get to work from this place,” complained Rae, as she dished out Kraft Dinner for each of them. “I told that to Derek yesterday when I was late and do you know what he said? ‘Too bad, you’ll just have to leave earlier.’ Doesn’t he think I do? It’s the damn bus that’s never on time, but he doesn’t believe me. And he nagged at me again for not wearing a hair net. And then he wouldn’t help Leona and me when this drunk guy called us ‘babes.’ He just laughed! One of these days I’m going to tell Derek exactly what I think of him. He pisses me off so much! Theo? Are you listening?”
Theo had been cramming macaroni and cheese into her mouth so fast she’d burned her tongue. She took a long drink of water from her glass. The game show had ended and now the canned laughter of a comedy filled the room.
“You never listen!” said Rae. “Look at me, I have something to tell you.”
Theo tried to pay attention as Rae lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke over the table. Her mother was beautiful. She had long rippling blonde hair, a perfect nose and blue-green eyes. But there were always etched circles under her eyes from working the late shift at the restaurant, and although she was only twenty-five her skin was lined like that of a much older woman.
“I don’t want you to go to school tomorrow,” said Rae.
“Why?”
“We’re going downtown to do some panning.”
“Oh, no, Rae! I hate that!”
“I’m sorry, but we have to. Our money’s almost gone and yesterday I got no tips.”
“I have an important test tomorrow,” Theo tried saying.
“Huh! Since when have you cared about tests? You can write it the next day—I’ll give you a note saying you were sick.”
“But—” Theo stopped as she watched anger flicker on Rae’s face. Sometimes Rae slapped.
“That’s settled, then,” said her mother. “So, kid, do you think I should put a red rinse in my hair? Donna did and it looks great!”
Theo shrugged. But now that Rae was in a good mood again, she ventured a request.
“Rae, I really need shoes. These ones are too small and they leak.”
“But I just got them for you in November!”
“They were already worn out. I guess my feet have grown again.” Theo wished they would stop. Shoes were a constant worry.
“Well, maybe on my day off I’ll take you to the Sally Ann.”
Theo took a deep breath. “Do you think—do you think we could afford new ones? I saw some purple slipons in the drug store. They were only ten dollars.”
“If they were only ten dollars, they won’t last any longer than used ones.”
Theo looked so downcast that Rae said, “Cheer up, Kitten. I’ll tell you what. If we make a lot of money tomorrow I’ll take you to Metrotown and buy you some shoes in a real shoe store, okay?” She was using her sweet look-what-a-good-mother-I-am voice. Theo hated that voice—especially since Rae believed it.
And it wouldn’t happen. They wouldn’t make enough money, and whatever they did make would be used for food and cigarettes.
HOURS LATER Theo huddled in bed, clutching a thin grey blanket around her shoulders. But she didn’t feel the cold. She was away—deep in the ending of All-of-a-Kind Family, as the five girls revelled in their new baby brother. She finished the last words and pored over the picture of them all going for a walk. Then she closed the book softly and lay down.
What a wonderful family! They were poor, like her, but they didn’t seem so; they were rich with love and laughter. What would it be like to belong to them? Which one would she want to be?
Maybe Henny …
Now Theo began to shiver. This apartment was draftier than the last one and the landlord controlled the heat. She got out of bed, put on socks, a tuque and a sweatshirt, then laid her coat and a small rug on top of the blanket. She crept under it all carefully and squeezed herself into a ball.
The evening was the best part of the day, after Rae had gone to work and Theo was left alone with her book. Mrs. Mitic was supposed to look in on her, but she never did; she was too absorbed in her television.
Rae always wanted Theo to watch TV with her when she was home, but Theo turned if off as soon as her mother left for work. She would read every evening until her book was finished, or until her eyes felt so gritty she had to stop and go to sleep.
Theo had found out about books two years ago. Rae only read the magazines that restaurant cutomers left behind, and she had never read to Theo.
But Theo had a faint memory of sitting on someone’s knee, looking at pictures of Peter Rabbit and Wild Things and a cat called Zoom while a kind voice told her about them. That must have been at her grandmother’s house in Victoria, before she turned three and went to live with Rae in Vancouver.
After that there were no more stories for years. But in grade two, after she’d learned to read, Theo had picked up a book called Charlotte’s Web in her classroom. She began it in free reading time, carried on secretly on her lap behind her desk, and finished it after she’d sneaked it home. She and Rae were in between apartments then, living at a shelter.
Theo had sat in a corner away from the other kids. She wept inside herself as the brave spider said goodbye and died. Those days immersed in Charlotte’s Web were like living in a brightly lit, safe room, like the fragrant warm barn where Charlotte and Wilbur lived.
From then on Theo escaped to that bright world whenever she could. Each of her schools had a library. At first Theo read the first book she grabbed from the shelf. She devoured picture books about George and Martha, chapter books about freckle juice and fried worms, and facts about building igloos and about faraway countries like India. Then one day she picked up Thumbelina and for a whole year she read nothing but fairy tales—thin and fat volumes about Cinderella and the Sleeping Beauty and the Seven Swans.