“Can you drive me to the Pet Hut?”
“Glad you’re feeling better.” Nana stretches. “Go grab my purse.”
She drops me off and tells me she’s going to get a Frappuccino and a People magazine, and that she’ll be back in an hour.
Noah sits behind the counter. I’m starting to think he might live here. He looks up from the giant textbook he’s reading. “Hey, your friend is outside somewhere.”
There were no plans to meet today. For a second, I worry that it might be Windy, but she would have mentioned it in 1 of her 39 texts.
I use my sleeve to open the interior door. The dogs bark and growl, but it doesn’t seem as loud as usual. Maybe I’m getting used to it.
I knock on the office door. No answer. So I let myself in, and Pi jumps on me. His paws leave dark smudges on my sweatshirt.
“You don’t have very good manners.” I rub his head. “But I’m happy to see you, too.”
The stack of adoption papers on the desk is only 4 sheets tall. I quickly enter the data into the system. I like that the Pet Hut is now all caught up on paperwork. Pi lies in my lap as I work.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” I ask when I’m done. He knows the word walk, and he jumps from my lap and dances circles by the door. I slip on his harness and leash, and we go outside.
Levi is on the trail with an animal that looks more like a bear cub than a dog.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. “I thought you were sick.”
Pi and the bear sniff each other—backsides, mostly. I guess middle school could be worse. This could be how we make new friends.
“I wasn’t…I’m not sick.”
“Was it because of the stupid party?” He sticks a finger in his mouth like he’s gagging.
I shrug.
“Because of Maddie?”
“I already knew she was a jerk. But now that Maddie and Windy are friends again, I might as well—”
“Wait. What? Maddie and Windy friends again? No way.” His dog tries to pull him down the path.
“I swear it’s true.” Now I make the gagging motion. “They were besties all weekend.”
“That friendship didn’t last long,” Levi says. “Windy ate her lunch in the bathroom today after Maddie said something to her.”
Gross. The bathroom. It’s hard enough to eat in the bacteria-filled cafeteria. I almost feel sorry for Windy. Then I remember lying on that germ-infested cot, listening to the girls talk about me.
“So, what did Maddie say?” I ask. “Not that I care.”
“Don’t know. Don’t want to know.” He shakes his head, and then his shoulders drop. “And Windy wouldn’t tell me. I did ask. She’s annoying, but ya know, she’s still a friend.”
“Well, she’s not my friend anymore.” Saying those words hurts. I don’t exactly have friends to spare. But if I can’t trust her, what’s the point?
“So, she told them all that you’re Lightning Girl?” Levi gives me a sympathetic smile, and I can feel my neck get hot.
“What did you hear?”
“I heard that you’re smarter than Einstein. That you’ve already graduated from college. And that you can move stuff with your mind.” He wiggles his fingers in front of my eyes.
“Who said that?”
“Does it matter?” He shrugs.
“Ugh.” I pull Pi closer to me. “I knew this would happen.”
“What? That kids would talk about you for being different? Wait like 5 minutes and they’ll talk about someone else.”
“This isn’t going to go away. It’s not like I wore the wrong brand of sneakers or dropped a tray of spaghetti in the cafeteria. I’m a freak. I scare people.”
“Pi is scarier than you.”
“You don’t get it.” I start walking back to the building. There’s no use explaining.
“Lucy!”
“Leave me alone!”
“Whatever!” Levi yells after me. “You’re the 1st person who has ever felt different. You’re the 1st freak to ever set foot in East Hamlin Middle School. Congratulations, Lucy Callahan. You’re so special!”
Nana gives me a ride to school the next morning because I accidentally miss the bus. I consider accidentally falling out of the car, but that would probably hurt. When I get to school, I practically run inside. I don’t want to see Windy. I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to pretend that we are friends. Or that we were ever friends.
I throw my coat and my lunch in my locker and go right to room 213. The door’s closed. I’m in such a hurry I open it without using a Clorox wipe. However, I do cover my hand with my sleeve. Once in my seat, I start working on the homework that’s listed on the whiteboard. I keep my head down and let my hair hide my face. I wish the lightning strike had given me the superpower of invisibility. Sometimes, disappearing is the best solution.
“Lucy!” Windy shrieks when she walks in. “You’re back.” She makes it sound like I’ve been gone for weeks.
I don’t look up from the math problems.
“You didn’t text me back.”
I shrug.
“You didn’t have fun at my birthday party,” she says. “Did you?”
Levi groans and slams down his books in the seat next to me. “God! If I have to hear any more about that stupid birthday party…”
“Don’t be jealous.”
“I’m not,” he says. “Not at all. It’s actually the number 1 thing I’m thankful for, that I did not have to live through your party.”
Windy ignores him. “Lucy, do you want to come over after school?”
“No,” I say.
The 1st bell rings, and Windy finally makes her way to her seat. She doesn’t say hi to Maddie, and Maddie doesn’t even look at Windy.
Mr. Stoker starts class with a review of the homework. He asks for someone to give the answer to the 2nd question, and Maddie raises her hand.
“I don’t have the answer,” she says. “I just want to say that Lucy Callahan should not be in this class. It’s not fair to the rest of us. She has already taken this class. She’s taken high school classes. Why is she here?”
“That’s not appropriate,” Mr. Stoker warns. “Keep those opinions to yourself.”
Maddie makes pouty duck lips and rolls her eyes, basically sharing her opinion without talking. And for the 1st time, I realize that I don’t care what she thinks.
“Well, I agree with Maddie,” Jennifer says. “It’s not fair.” She smiles at Maddie, who nods.
“This is a class for 7th graders. You all belong here.” Mr. Stoker speaks slowly in his deepest voice.
“I’m uncomfortable working in front of her,” Maddie calls out.
“You’ll have to get over that,” Mr. Stoker says. He taps the marker against his palm.
“She messes up the class curve.”
“I don’t grade on a curve.”
“She makes fun of me for not understanding this ‘baby class’ math,” Maddie continues. “She makes fun of all of us.”
I do not. I’ve never said anything.
“Leave her alone,” Windy says. “She doesn’t make fun of you.”
“Excuse me! If anyone interrupts me again,” Mr. Stoker snaps, “we will be having this conversation after school. Thank you.” He turns back to the homework problem, and the class is finally quiet.
I ignore the lesson and Mr. Stoker. Maddie has successfully ruined my favorite class. Instead, I doodle in my notebook. I write the word freak and trace an outline around it over and over until I hit the edge of the paper. For someone who is supposed to be smart, I can’t figure out how to get Pi adopted, and I can’t figure out Windy. Why did she tell my secret to someone who is always mean to her? She chose Maddie over me. Maddie.
I put my arms across my desk
and lay my head down. I’m useless.
Then I hear Maddie say my name with her usual disgust.
I look up.
“Enough, Madison,” Mr. Stoker says. “I’ve warned you. You’re staying after school to discuss this.”
But Maddie keeps talking. “I find it very insulting when Lucy acts like this class is beneath her. She doesn’t belong here.”
“Shut up, Maddie,” Levi says.
“Levi. None of that.” Mr. Stoker points at him like he’s accusing someone in court.
“Just stop,” Windy says. “Please.”
“I will not stop.” Maddie sits up straighter. “She thinks she’s better than us. I can’t believe—”
“What do you want from me?” I shout. And the entire class freezes. Even Windy and Levi. Even Mr. Stoker. “I’m good at math. But what does that matter?” I point toward the whiteboard, at the problems that Mr. Stoker was in the middle of explaining. “Number 7, x equals 11. Number 8, x equals -1. Number 9, x equals 5.” I give all the answers.
Mr. Stoker doesn’t look surprised. “Lucy, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.” I shove my chair back and get up. In 3 steps, I’m standing in front of Maddie. She shrinks into her chair. I’ve never scared anyone in my life. Not until now.
“What’s your phone number?”
She tilts her head like Pi does. But it’s not cute on her.
“What is your phone number?” I scream.
“555-993-9225.”
“The sum is 54. The product is 5,467,500. The square root of 5,559,939,225 is 74,565.”
I look around the room. Now Mr. Stoker does look surprised, like most of the class. Maybe even horrified. Only Levi smiles.
“I’m good at math. I’m great with numbers. But I don’t know why this bothers you, Maddie. That is something I can’t figure out.”
She scowls.
“You try to put me down and make me feel bad. But there’s nothing you can do that feels worse than having a sick dog and having a friend who…having someone you thought you could trust turn on you. Losing that person is what stinks.” My nose starts running. I take a gulp of air like I’m drowning. “You don’t matter to me.”
Maddie stares at me. Her eyes fill with tears.
“You don’t matter to me,” I say again. Then I point to Levi. “He matters.” Then Windy. “She matters. Or she used to. Until…”
Windy blinks hard, but I turn back to Maddie.
“You are nothing to me. You’re just nothing. A big fat 0.” I swallow hard and take a breath. “So stop trying so hard to ruin my life.”
I need to get out of here. Away from Mr. Stoker and Windy and even Levi, who doesn’t get it. Without taking any of my stuff, I run to the door. As it closes behind me, I think I hear someone call my name. I think it’s Windy.
My heart crashes against my ribs. I can hear it in my ears and feel the thumping all the way to my feet. This should feel like a victory. I’ve confronted the enemy. It doesn’t. I run down the hall and shove open the doors that lead to a small courtyard. The cool air fills my chest. I kick the stone bench that’s engraved ELIZABETH MERRITT. JULY 19, 1993–FEBRUARY 12, 2005.
She lived 4,226 days. My stupid brain calculates Elizabeth’s life without my ever giving permission.
What am I going to do?
I tap my foot 3 times. Maybe I’ll get into NCASME. It was a mistake coming to this school. Nana’s mistake. You don’t need to be a genius to calculate that I don’t belong here.
My breathing is almost back to normal when the door bangs open, and I jump.
“You can’t be out here!” It’s the assistant principal. “You should be in class.”
“Sorry.”
She steps closer.
“I didn’t feel good,” I say. “I needed air.”
She holds open the door. “Let’s talk in my office.”
I spend the next 17 minutes answering questions and promising I will talk to a guidance counselor if I have any further issues. “I will.” Then I’m finally allowed to call Nana. I tell her I have an awful stomachache and a headache and convince her to pick me up.
“Are you okay, Lucy?” Nana asks as we drive away from the school.
“Fine.” I stare out the window and count.
“I thought you were sick.” She glances at me.
“I am sick.”
“Well then, what’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just sick. I need to go home.” I wish Nana would stop talking.
“Okay. You can go home today. But we need to figure out what’s making you sick, and soon, because tomorrow I’ve got my bowling league. If you call me during bowling, I will not answer. I’m not missing it for anyone. Not even you.” She tries to grab my hand, but I pull away.
“I said I’m not going back.”
“The team captain is Mike Renwood. He’s single and has hair.” She keeps talking like I didn’t say anything. “Well, some hair. Put it this way, for an over-60 gentleman, he’s a 10 out of 10.”
I know Nana is joking around. She wants me to groan or roll my eyes or say gross. But I’m not in the mood. She doesn’t understand. I swear I’m not going back to that school.
When we get home, Nana demands that I sit at the kitchen table. I do my routine, and then she pops a thermometer in my mouth. While we wait for it to beep, she pours me a glass of orange juice. I’m not thirsty.
“The lady from the office said there was some yelling in math class. Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head.
The thermometer beeps 3 times when it’s done. Nana pulls it out of my mouth.
“98.6. Perfectly normal. Lucy, what’s going on?”
I’m not perfectly normal. I’m a freak. “Nothing is going on.”
“Fine. Do you want to play a game?”
“No.”
“Watch TV?”
“No.”
“I need to run to the pharmacy. Do you want to come? We could stop for milk shakes.”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.” Nana grabs her purse. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, you’re going back.”
The thought of sitting in Mr. Stoker’s class again really does make my head pound. He’s going to be disappointed or maybe embarrassed. And I never want to be in the same room as Windy again. Ever.
I watch from the window as Nana drives off to the pharmacy or wherever. The apartment walls feel like they’re pushing in. I pace. 3 steps to the right. 3 to the left. 3 to the right. 3 to the left. The air stinks of kitchen trash. I’m gagging. I stomp to my room and slam the door. No one is around to hear it. My computer boots up, and I get on MathWhiz. Not many people are on in the middle of the day.
Numberlicious is debating some simple trig in complicated terms. He/she is an idiot. He/she doesn’t deserve to be here.
LightningGirl: Numb, you don’t know what you’re doing!!!!!!!!!!
Numberlicious: Hey LG what’s up
LightningGirl: Do you know anything at all? You’re taking a stupid simple problem and making it complicated. You’re a moron.
Numberlicious: CALM DOWN!
As fast as my fingers can move, I type up his/her mistakes and incorrect assumptions. And not only on this problem, but on every issue he/she has taken on in the past week.
My eyes are focused on the keyboard. When the computer beeps in protest, I look up and see a warning.
Numberlicious has blocked you from the conversation.
“Fine!” I spend the rest of the day telling others—everyone—what they’re doing wrong. I get blocked 3 more times.
Nana comes home, but she leaves again. Something about going to the library or bank or post office. I don’t bother to listen.
My
cell phone buzzes in my pocket. There’s no one I want to talk to, but I look at the screen anyway. It’s Uncle Paul. I know Nana must have told him to call me. You talk to her. She won’t listen to me.
Why does Nana get to leave? I want to leave. I hate this apartment, and I hate East Hamlin Middle.
With nothing stopping me, I stomp out the front door. It closes behind me, and the lock clicks. I don’t have keys or Clorox wipes, only my phone. Without thinking, I walk down the steps, through the parking lot, and past the bus stop at the end of the street. I turn right and jog across the 4 lanes of Route 68. Cars blare their horns. I hate them, too.
This area of town isn’t meant for pedestrians. I tread through knee-high weeds, stepping over bottles and other garbage, heading to the Pet Hut. Not that I planned this. There’s no way to accurately calculate how long it will take me. I don’t know the exact distance or my walking speed. It doesn’t matter. I have nowhere else to be.
The strip mall I pass is vacant except for a pawnshop. A guy stands outside smoking. He waves with his free hand. I want to run. Instead, I recite the digits of pi to keep myself calm.
3.14159…
It works. I walk faster, stumbling over trash and broken pieces of pavement.
But then I come across the remains of a cat. It looks like it’s sleeping except for the dried brown stain beneath it. The blood is the color of the number 55.
I can’t step over the poor cat. I’m frozen on the side of the highway.
3.1415926535…
The world fades until a big rig whips by me. The wind trailing it makes me stumble backward.
I pull out my phone. I call Levi.
“I’m scared,” I say as soon as he answers.
“Lucy? What’s wrong? Where are you?”
I tap my toe 3 times. “I’m going to the Pet Hut.”
“Where are you?” he asks again.
“On Route 68. I’m walking to the shelter.” I try not to sound terrified. My voice still shakes.
“What? That’s stupid. Where’s your grandmother?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m going to call Windy and see if Cherish can pick you up.”
The Miscalculations of Lightning Girl Page 16