Mrs. V had called Catherine and explained the situation, told her to stuff information into my head along with the macaroni at lunch. So the next morning Catherine, of course, jumped right in.
While we were in room H-5, Catherine hooked me up on the earphones. I listened to an old audio cassette on volcanoes. It was scratchy and skipped a little, but it gave me information. Volcanoes were named for the Roman god Vulcan. I could’ve figured that one out myself. I found out about lava and ash. I learned about how the whole city of Pompeii got covered up when Vesuvius erupted. Surprisingly interesting stuff.
I listened to tapes on Australia and Russia, on constellations and on the planets.
“You learning anything from these oldies but goodies?” Catherine asked as she slipped in another tape for me. It was on diseases.
“Info always good,” I typed.
“I feel you,” she replied. “Are you still upset about what happened in Mr. Dimming’s class?”
“Deleted the memory—need room for facts,” I took the time to type.
She gave me a thumbs-up.
“I’m a little scared,” I admitted. “Suppose I mess up?”
“You can do this, Melody,” she said sternly as she adjusted the earphones. “You certainly have enough smarts to be on the team.”
“Go away while I take the test,” I typed. “Keeps Claire quiet.”
“Gotcha!” Catherine said. She held her hand up to slap my palm. It wasn’t much of a slap—more like a mushy grab—but we were on the same page.
Except for lunch and recess, I listened to tapes and worked with Catherine the rest of the day. She quizzed me on facts and dates and kings. And math. That might be hard for me. Words float easily into my head. But numbers seem to sink to the bottom like rocks. I don’t know why.
“Let’s do it again,” Catherine said gently as I got mixed up on a math problem about trains and their speed.
Nobody rides trains anymore! Who cares?
But she kept at it until it made sense to me. I discovered that if I make numbers into a picture story in my mind, the answers come easier. I changed the figures to words. Magic!
Instead of going out for inclusion classes, I shook my head and told Catherine I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay and study instead.
Evidently, I wasn’t missed. Nobody sent a frantic message to room H-5, wondering why Melody wasn’t in class today. Nobody peeked their head in the door to see if I was absent or sick or maybe having a convulsion in the middle of the floor.
Nobody seemed to notice at all.
CHAPTER 19
The week zipped by. I studied at school every day with Catherine, after school every day with Mrs. V, and every evening at home as well. I reviewed words from all the levels of my board. I practiced spelling long words and matching facts and dates. I made up my own games. Mom quizzed me about flowers and medical terms. Dad asked me questions about economics and retail management and sports. I swallowed it all.
Sometimes I sit in my room and just type in new sentences for Elvira to say. One letter at a time. It takes hours. But once an entry is in, all I have to do is push one button and the whole sentence will be spoken for me.
I guess the question I get asked the most, in a lot of strange variations, is: “What’s wrong with you?” People often want to know if I’m sick or if I’m in pain or if my condition can be fixed. So I prepared two answers— one that is polite but kind of wordy, and one that is a little smart-mouthed. To those who are genuinely concerned, I push a button to say, “I have spastic bilateral quadriplegia, also known as cerebral palsy. It limits my body, but not my mind.” I think that last part is pretty cool.
To people like Claire and Molly, I say, “We all have disabilities. What’s yours?” I couldn’t wait to use that one. When I showed Mrs. V, she laughed so hard, she snorted.
Now it’s the Saturday before the tryouts, and Mrs. V and I are sitting outside on her front porch. I’m wearing a light jacket, but it’s one of those rare warm February days that fools the hyacinths into thinking spring is here. I want to warn the little buds and say, Wait! It’s gonna snow next week. Stay put for another month! But every year the early spring flowers shiver in the last snow of the season.
We watch wisps of clouds hover over us. A canary-colored goldfinch is perched on the railing, looking at the empty bird feeder dangling above it. If he could talk, I bet he’d ask for thistle—and more warm days like this.
“What would you do if you could fly?” Mrs. V asks as she glances from the bird to me.
“Is that on the quiz?” I ask, grinning as I type.
“I think we’ve studied just about everything else.” Mrs. V chuckles.
“I’d be scared to let go,” I type.
“Afraid you’d fall?” she asks.
“No. Afraid it would feel so good, I’d just fly away.” It took me a long time to type that.
She is quiet for a very long time. Finally, she says, “You are a bird, Melody. And you will fly on Monday when you take the test.”
I hear our front door slam shut next door, and I wave to Mom and Penny as they wander over to the porch. Butterscotch, clearly happy to be unleashed, bounds next to them, sniffing the base of every tree.
Penny walks with such determination, her face alternating between frowns and smiles as she concentrates on marching down the path between our two houses, then climbing the front steps with both hands and both feet. She’s wearing her puffy winter jacket and the hat of the day—a blue straw thing that is scrunched and crooked from her sitting on it so many times. Poor Doodle, of course, drags behind her.
“Dee-Dee!” she cries as she finally gets to the top step. I’m still boggled by how easily she does stuff.
I touch the sleeve of Mrs. V’s dress as I think about what she asked me. “Freedom,” I type, pointing at Penny. “Freedom.”
Mrs. Valencia nods. She understands.
“What a glorious day!” Mom says, breathing deeply. “You think we’re done with winter?”
“More cold coming,” I type.
“You’re right, but it sure is a nice preview,” Mom says as she unzips Penny’s jacket. “How’s the study team progressing?”
Butterscotch rests at the bottom of the steps. I swear the dog looks like she’s smiling.
“Good,” I say through my Medi-Talker.
“Violet, you’re amazing,” Mom says. “The time and effort you’ve put into teaching her and getting her ready for this test, and . . .” She breaks off, blinking hard. “You must have taught her thousands of words.”
“Nobody seems to be amazed that Penny is soaking up and learning thousands of words,” Mrs. V replies with a shrug. “Melody is no different.”
Mom nods in agreement. “I know you’re right, but— but . . . it’s just so much harder for Melody.”
“No, it’s harder for us. We have to figure out what’s in her head.”
I’m getting tired of them talking about me like I’m in another room. I turn the volume on my machine up loud. “Let’s have cookies.”
“Cookies!” Penny repeats.
Mrs. V stands up. “I hear you, Penny babe. Let me find us some sweets!” As she heads into the house, she turns to Mom and says softly, “Miz Melody here has always had a special place in my heart.”
“Heartburn!” I type.
That gets them both laughing.
Mrs. V returns a few minutes later with a plate of hot chocolate chip cookies and two servings of milk in red sippy cups decorated with Disney princesses. I hate to admit it, but a sippy cup makes it easier for me to drink.
“Cookies!” Penny screams. She reaches for the plate, but Mom pulls her arm back.
Mrs. V gives Mom two cookies on a paper towel. Mom blows on one, then gives it to Penny, who proceeds to stuff the whole thing in her mouth.
“Look at my little Penny pig,” Mom says, laughing.
Mrs. V breaks my cookie into segments, then places a piece in my mouth. Although I’
m a caramel lover, these cookies must have been made in chocolate heaven. I swallow while Mrs. V gives me sips of cool milk. Cookies smoosh down so great with milk—I don’t even have to try to chew. I’d love to have enough control to feed myself, but that’s on my list of things I’d wish for— along with walking, and taking myself to the bathroom, and—oh, yeah—flying.
Interrupting my thoughts, Mrs. V asks, “What continent produces the largest crop of cacao beans, which give us this chocolate?”
“Africa!” I type.
She nods and gives me another sip of milk. “And which state produces the most milk?”
“California,” I reply.
“I think you’re ready, Melody!” Mrs. V announces.
Mom reaches over and strokes my cheek. “You’re going to rock on Monday!”
“Then what?” I type.
“Then you run for president!” Mrs. V interjects.
“Yeah, right,” I tap out.
Just then Dad pulls into our driveway. Boy, does our big old car need a trip to the car wash!
“I guess Chuck got off early today,” Mom says, looking pleased. “Maybe we can get an early dinner.”
Dad gets out of the car, stretches, and waves at us.
Penny’s face lights up. “Daddy!” she calls out. Standing up, she looks at us with a devilish grin.
“Don’t you dare!” Mrs. V warns, in her “I mean it” voice.
Penny ignores her. “Go bye-bye in car!”
She loves to ride in the car. It doesn’t matter where— the store, the post office—as long as she gets to ride in her little car seat in the back. Doesn’t make much sense to me—she falls asleep as soon as we turn the first corner.
She hurriedly bumps down a couple of the porch steps, then two more, waiting for a reaction from Mom.
“Penny Marie Brooks, you bring your little buns right back up here!” my mother cries out. When Mom uses all three names, it’s serious.
Penny reaches the bottom of the steps, looks back at us, smirks, and says, “See Daddy! Gotta go to work!” Then, as fast as her short little legs will carry her, she bolts for Dad.
Mom, of course, has other ideas. So does Butterscotch, who jumps up, gives three short barks—almost like Mom using three names—and calmly walks in front of Penny to block her path.
“Good dog,” Mom says. “Come back here, little cookie face!” By this time she has hurried down the porch steps and retrieved my sister. “This child,” she says to my dad, who is ambling over to us, “is an escape artist! I need four sets of eyes with her!” She wipes the chocolate off Penny’s face and nuzzles her.
“Good thing you’ve got Butterscotch,” Dad says as he brushes the top of the dog’s head. “How’s my shiny copper Penny today?” Dad kisses Mom on the cheek and takes Penny from her. Penny manages to rub the rest of the chocolate from her hands onto the front of Dad’s shirt.
“Just what I always wanted,” Dad says as he glances down. “Chocolate-covered clothes!” The napkin Mrs. V passes him only smears it more. Dad just laughs.
“Go work, Daddy?”
“Daddy just got home. Give me a break, kiddo.” He hands Penny gently to Mrs. V, then sits with Mom on the porch swing. “And how’s my favorite Melody?” he asks me.
“Super,” I type on my machine.
“Ready for your competition?”
“Yep!” I tap.
Dad gets up and squats in front of me. “You’re going to ace that test and make that quiz team!” I can tell he means it.
I believe in me. And my family does. And Mrs. V.
It’s the rest of the world I’m not so sure of.
CHAPTER 20
I was right about the weather today. I hope the little crocus buds have tiny wool blankets because the temperature dipped back down to the thirties, and our classroom was chilly when we rolled in this morning.
The public-address system blared the usual Monday-morning announcements about bake sales and soccer practice. Most of the time nobody in H-5, not even Mrs. Shannon, pays much attention to them. The craziness of our morning usually takes over.
Mrs. Shannon had managed to get us a Wii game system—I don’t know how. Willy loves the baseball program. I have learned to keep out of his way while he pretends to hit the ball as he watches the screen. Sometimes his swings go wide. “A hit!” he’ll cry out with triumph, then he’ll try to run the bases in the classroom. Even Freddy can’t keep up with him.
I usually sit in a corner with my headphones on, trying to tune it all out.
But today I listened carefully to the bulletin. My heartbeat sped up and I jerked my arms with excitement as I heard the principal say, “All students who wish to try out for the Whiz Kids quiz team, please report to Mr. Dimming’s room after school.”
I stayed nervous all day. I didn’t tell Rose what I planned to do. I thought about it, then decided not to. Suppose she said it was a stupid idea? I didn’t think I could take that.
Then I spilled tomato soup all over the front of my blouse at lunchtime. Even though Catherine tried to clean it up, you just can’t get red stuff out of a white shirt. I felt like a slob. I wish I had thought of that this morning. I could have told Mom to pack a change of clothes for me. It’s still hard to remember that I can say stuff like that now.
I didn’t go out for inclusion classes all day—I wanted to study until the last minute—but as soon as the last bell rings, I grab Catherine’s arm. “Hurry!” I type. “To Mr. D’s room.”
Even though I am in the electric chair, we set it to manual so she could push me. I am too nervous to drive.
When we arrive at Mr. Dimming’s room, a group of kids from my history class are already there, whispering together and going over note cards. They look up in surprise when Catherine wheels me in.
“Hi, Melody,” Rose says. “What are you doing here?” Her voice doesn’t sound as friendly as usual.
“Quiz team,” I type.
“She can’t be on the team,” I hear Claire whisper to Jessica, wrinkling up her nose. “She’s from the retard room!”
Molly thinks that’s really funny. She screeches like a blue jay when she laughs.
I decide to ignore them even though I feel my anger rising. I have to stay focused. Several more students file into the room, from both grades five and six. I don’t know the sixth graders very well—they have different recess times. I wonder if they’re smarter. They’ve had more time to learn stuff.
A few kids point at me and whisper. When Mr. Dimming hurries in carrying a stack of papers sealed in plastic, he scans the room to see who’s here. He frowns slightly when he sees me, but he sets the test papers on his desk and greets us all.
“Welcome,” he says. “I’m so glad that so many of you have chosen to try out for the competition this afternoon. It’s going to be challenging as well as fun. Are there any questions before we get started?”
Connor, of course, raises his hand.
“Yes, Connor,” Mr. Dimming says with a good-natured sigh.
“Uh, will we get pizza and stuff during practice like last year?”
“Don’t you think you need to make the team first?” his friend Rodney yells out.
“Rodney is right. Let’s do one thing at a time.” Mr. Dimming lifts the stack of test papers from his desk and holds them like a treasure.
“I hold in my hand the official test questions from the national Whiz Kids headquarters in Washington, D.C. I will be reading the questions to you, just as it’s done in real competitions, and then—” He stops and stares.
Everyone looks around to see what has interrupted him. It’s me.
Mr. Dimming taps the stack of papers for a moment, clears his throat, and addresses Catherine. “You know, I don’t think it’s appropriate for Melody to be here. This is not a recreational activity just for fun. The purpose of this meeting is to choose our official team.”
He isn’t even speaking to me. He’s looking right over my head at Catherine, as if I were
invisible. Now I am really mad.
I turn up the volume on my machine—very loud. “I am here to take the test.”
Mr. Dimming blinks. “Melody, I don’t want your feelings to get injured. The test is very hard.”
“I am very smart.”
“I just don’t want you to be hurt, Melody.” He sounds sincere. Sort of.
“I’m tough,” I type.
“You go, girl!” Rose suddenly says from the front of the room. A few other kids clap their support.
That makes me feel a little better. Just a little.
Catherine speaks up. “By law, she cannot be excluded. You know that, sir.”
“Yes, but—”
“Read the questions to the students just as you had planned. They’ll write their answers on notebook paper. Melody will record her answers, then print them out for you.”
“How do we know you won’t be helping her?” Claire asks.
“Because I won’t be in the room,” Catherine replies. “Too bad, because you might need some help!” Catherine grins at her, but Claire just looks away.
I tell Catherine, “Go now.” I almost push her away. “Thank you.”
“Your mom is coming to pick you up?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck, Melody. You’re my champ, no matter what, you got that?”
“Got it!” I wave as she leaves the room.
Mr. Dimming shrugs his shoulders and continues with the directions. “There are one hundred quiz questions. I will read each prompt one time and each answer only once. You will have thirty seconds to record each response. Please write only the capital letter: ‘A,’ ‘B,’ ‘C, ‘D,’ and sometimes ‘E.’ Are there any questions?”
Claire’s hand shoots up.
“Yes?”
“How do we know Melody doesn’t have answers stored in her machine? Us normal people aren’t allowed to use computers.”
“Why are you so worried about Melody?” Rose answers before Mr. D has a chance to. “Are you scared she’ll get a higher score than you?”
“No way!”
“Then be quiet so we can get started.”
Mr. D smiles at Rose. “Students, get out two sheets of paper. One to write on. One to cover your answers. We believe in honesty, but an extra sheet of paper can’t hurt.”
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