Sticks & Stones

by Abby Cooper

  “So … why?” I finally asked.

  “Well, when I was growing up, no one knew what CAV was. I was treated like some kind of freak by everyone I knew—strangers, my so-called friends, even my own family.” She paused and pursed her lips like she was trying to decide whether to go on. “When I was eighteen,” she said slowly, “I read about a man named Dr. Patel who was doing research at the University of Chicago, and I decided to pick up and move all by myself. It was my only hope.”

  My family had moved here for Dr. Patel, too, but it’s probably a lot different moving somewhere as a baby, when you don’t even know where your toes are, than as an adult, when you’ve got a whole life in a different place.

  “Scary,” I said. She didn’t reply. Getting information out of her was almost impossible, but I tried again. “Was that scary?” I asked.

  “It was. He helped me a little, but it’s harder when you’re older. You get used to being treated a certain way, and you believe that’s how you deserve to be treated. So I was a very sad person, despite how I had started using the prescription creams and whatnot.” She finally continued without me pressing her, “I started teaching, but that first day, I saw these young faces in front of me and all I could see were the faces of the kids who were so horrible to me growing up. Elyse … I wasn’t the best teacher to you. Or to any of the classes who came before you.”

  It was hard not to nod.

  “I figured maybe if I could make kids scared of me, even if they thought negative things about me, they wouldn’t say so. At least, not to my face.” She laughed a little, and I thought about how I had called her an EVIL GENIUS at the fund-raising show. If she had heard, it would have itched her like crazy.

  “When Mr. Todd gave me my students’ files this year and I read about you having CAV, it broke my heart. You’ve gotten medical attention since you were young, but I can’t imagine life has always been easy. I thought if I could help you out, maybe give you some anonymous suggestions, things I wish I’d have done when I was your age … I don’t know, maybe your year would be a little less … itchy.” Her voice trailed off.

  “But,” I said, “if you knew I had CAV, and you have CAV, why didn’t you just tell me? You could have given me suggestions without the anonymous part.”

  She took a long breath. “I should’ve, but sometimes it’s hard to talk about. Mr. Todd figured out what I was doing a while ago, and at first he was concerned, but then he was supportive once I explained how it was helping you.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “You were super helpful. You made me Explorer Leader!”

  She gave me a long look, and the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile. “No,” she said. “You earned it, Elyse. I just gave you some ideas. You’re the one who made it happen. And it was always more about feeling better anyway.”

  Had I made it happen? All this time, it just felt like I was following directions. But maybe she was right—I’d performed in the fund-raising show by myself. I’d led the planning meetings on my own. I’d gotten myself out of the wilderness. She gave me ideas, but I did it, and felt way better about myself in the process. Holy. High. Heels. Maybe she was a good teacher after all. The best, really.

  “I actually want to thank you,” she went on.

  Now we were both grinning. I thought of my letters to myself. If I had told myself that I’d be alone in a room with Ms. Sigafiss—smiling—I would have never believed it in a million years. But here we were.

  “By writing to you and watching you grow, I realized how much I love helping students individually. That’s why I told Mr. Todd today that I’m leaving Whitman Middle so I can go to school to learn to be a counselor. I got into a program and was planning to start this summer, but I decided I didn’t want to wait a minute more. Life’s too short. If I leave now, I can start spring quarter with other new students next week.”

  “Wow! That’s really cool, Ms. S.”

  There were so many more questions I wanted to ask her. So many things I wanted to say. But I could tell she was getting antsy. While she was talking, she had been picking up all the stuff from her bag and looping her scarf around her neck.

  “It’s time for me to go,” she told me, reaching for the door handle. “I can’t wait to feel better about myself, to be okay. Like you are, Elyse. Thank you so much.” And with a quick wave, she walked through the door and left me standing there, jaw on the floor. She just left, just like that. And then she was gone, and that was it.

  I wandered out of the classroom in a daze. Ms. Sigafiss had CAV and had written the notes. My head was spinning all over the place. But when I saw Liam perched against a locker out in the hall—all by himself—everything about Ms. Sigafiss cleared out for a second to make way for one major thought: Get him!

  For once, I wasn’t afraid of what might happen or what Liam might think of me. I had broken up with Nice Andy with my voice and not with a wimpy note. I had rescued myself from the wilderness. I had figured out who wrote the blue notes. I was OKAY, even if Liam didn’t like me or what I had to say.

  “Liam,” I said in a voice so firm that it even surprised me. “We need to talk. Why did you ditch me in Minnesota?”

  “I dunno.” He shrugged. “I felt like it.”

  He felt like it?

  Sometimes I felt like painting the walls of my house with hot-pink nail polish. That didn’t mean I actually did it.

  “Really? That’s why?”

  He looked down at his feet and tugged at his collar like it was choking him. Was that sweat I saw, too? Was Liam nervous? Around me?

  “No, that’s not why. I just got scared after I told you the truth, okay? I didn’t want you going around blabbing to everybody that I wrote you that note. I thought if I could get back first, I could tell Mr. Todd that you were saying crazy things, that you were sick from the cold or something. I was going to lead him to you, I swear. I would never have left you out there forever.” Now Liam’s eyes were big and wide, looking right into mine, like he was worried I was going to storm down the hall and go tell Mr. Todd everything.

  Well, I wasn’t a tattletale. But I also wasn’t happy. He still hadn’t said the one thing I wanted to hear: I’m sorry. But the truth would have to be good enough.

  And finally throwing away that stupid gum later wouldn’t hurt, either.

  35

  A SPECIAL ONE

  As soon as I got home from school, I told Mom what I had learned about Ms. Sigafiss, and we rushed off to Dr. Patel’s office.

  “Well,” he said after I divulged my discovery. “I cannot confirm or deny that, but it is, perhaps, slightly possible that you may or may not be on to something.”

  It still didn’t make sense. “Why wouldn’t she just be really nice all the time?” I asked. “People would’ve called her good names instead of bad ones, and then she could be happy.”

  “But that’s not a guarantee,” Dr. Patel said. “Just look at you.”

  I rolled up my sleeves and pant legs. My limbs were decorated with mostly awesome words, but there were still a few bad ones hanging on. BULL IN A CHINA SHOP. CLUMSY. SLOWPOKE—from yesterday when I wasn’t walking fast enough in the hall for some seventh grader’s liking.

  Maybe there would always be something to itch.

  I thought about Dad, and how upset he was over the mistake he made so many years ago. You could probably call Dad a WORRYWART. I wondered if he thought of himself that way. Even if the word wasn’t on his body, maybe it was written in his mind. Maybe everyone had itchy words in their minds, sometimes. Even Liam and Andy and Jeg and Ami. Just because you couldn’t see the words didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  “Acting the way she did may not have inspired compliments, but it may have ensured that no one insulted her to her face, either. If your teacher is the other person, that is,” Dr. Patel said.

  He was right. We all thought she was weird, but no one would dare say so to her face.

  “Being afraid of bad names is no way to live,”
I said after a minute. “She’s so much older than me. How do I know that but she doesn’t?”

  “People deal with things in their own time,” he said. “She may not be ready to face it yet. Does this mean that you’re no longer afraid of bad names, Elyse? Sixth grade is only the beginning, you know. I’m afraid you’re still in for some obstacles.”

  “Well,” I said, “I think there’s always going to be something itchy on me. But it doesn’t have to ruin my life every time.”

  “Hmm.” Dr. Patel went over to his computer and typed in a few things. “You’re an interesting case, Elyse Everett. And a very special one.”

  “I hope Ms. Sigafiss figures out someday that she’s a special one, too,” I said.

  “So do I,” Dr. Patel replied. “So do I.”

  36

  SHORT SLEEVES

  Hey girl,

  Ever since Ms. Sigafiss left, I’ve been thinking a lot about the me I really am and the me other people see. Ms. Sigafiss helped me understand that both things exist. She would always be nicey-nice to our parents, like she was the best friend and teacher ever in the history of friends and teachers, and then she’d be all mean and scary with us.

  But she also had CAV. And acting the way she did was how she chose to deal. She was protecting herself in the only way she knew how.

  I think I might be a little like her. I acted like a doing person when I was around other people, but I secretly wanted to be a thinking person (and I kind of was, when I was by myself) because that’s the real kind of person that I am, even though that person likes to eat lunch in the bathroom sometimes and do a whole bunch of other things that most people find super weird.

  I’ve been thinking about it, and people can just be one person, too, like Mr. Todd. No matter who he’s with, he’s always talking about blue stuff and making us laugh without trying to.

  I don’t know what he’s like when he goes home after school, but I bet he goes home to a whole house filled with blue furniture, and he probably makes his mom and dad and friends laugh a lot.

  The good news is, I think I can mix being a doing person and being a thinking person and be one super-awesome person who thinks and does. And I can be the kind of person who eats lunch with people sometimes and eats lunch with books and be quiet other times. And I can be the person who has AWESOME and COOL and OKAY stamped on her arms no matter what, because I really am all of those things when I let myself just be.

  The goal for the rest of the year?

  I don’t even need to say it, do I?

  I know what I need to do.

  Go get ’em.

  April El

  * * *

  When I emerged from my room in a light purple short-sleeved T-shirt, cute knee-length dark denim cutoffs, and no socks, Mom almost cried. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the hall with her right behind me, looking over my shoulder. And I was adorable! For once, my hair was doing exactly what I wanted it to. It was perfectly straight, resting just beneath my shoulders, held back by a sparkly black headband. My eyes had somehow changed from mushy seaweed green into an actual nice green that you’d see on a blossoming tree somewhere in the spring.

  Was it possible? I knew I was awesome and cool—but had I also turned, dare I say, pretty?

  Mom confirmed it, even though her opinion doesn’t really count.

  “You look gorgeous!” she said with little tears glimmering in her eyes. “I’m so proud of you, sweetie.”

  GORGEOUS nestled into a comfy spot on my shoulder. I lifted my head higher and straightened out my back so I was standing up very tall. I felt like I could float all the way to school.

  Dad said, “I hope rush-hour traffic isn’t too bad this morning.” But then he added, “Elyse … you really look fantastic. Mature and grown-up and absolutely beautiful.”

  A huge grin spread across my face as the good new words sprang up all over the place.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Mom snuck around us and went upstairs. I thought she was going to come back with a sweater for me in case of an itchy emergency. Dad and I went into the living room and sat down.

  But she didn’t come back with a sweater. She came back with fifteen zillion tubes of goopy cream in a big basket.

  “Mom,” I groaned. “I know we should be prepared, just in case, but this seems like a little much.”

  “I’m giving these to you,” she said, placing the basket in my lap. “There’s no reason to keep them in my bathroom. You know when you feel like you need it and when you don’t, sweetie. Right?”

  “Well, yeah,” I said, but something was confusing. She was saying one thing, but on the trip she’d acted a lot differently. “Do you really think that? Because you only came on the trip to make sure I put the goop on. That’s why Mr. Todd invited you … so someone was there to keep an extra eye on the Explorer Leader. To make sure bad words didn’t stop my Explorer Leader-ing and turn the whole trip into a disaster.”

  “Elyse, no!” Mom’s eyes got huge. “Mr. Todd just thought it might be fun for you and me to go together. You know, we’re always so stressed, so serious. Always going to doctor appointments. He thought we could use a special getaway.”

  Looking into her eyes, I realized she was right. We were so serious. If Mom made a this-is-so-fun face, I probably wouldn’t even recognize it.

  She was right about another thing, too: it had been a very special getaway, but not in a way that had much to do with her.

  I looked at the basket in front of me. They were all there: the thick kind, the thicker kind, the water-resistant kind, the kind with extra moisture …

  I felt Mom’s gaze, and it occurred to me that maybe I had something to give her, too.

  “I’m not mad at you, you know,” I said. She raised an eyebrow. “Because of the CAV gene. It’s not your fault. And it’s fine, having CAV. I’m fine. I really am. And I think we should start having more fun together, too. Maybe we could take a trip sometime, just the two of us.”

  Mom exhaled loudly and enveloped me in a big bear hug, scattering the creams all over the place. Now that I was looking at her more closely, I could practically see GUILTY on her skin. She didn’t have CAV, but she still probably had words in her mind—imaginary itches, just like Dad’s—that never really went away.

  We picked up the creams, but we didn’t hurry.

  “I think a trip would be great,” she said.

  I patted her leg, and then we hugged again.

  Before I left for school, there was one more thing I had to do. Grabbing my laptop from the kitchen, I plopped down on the couch, went online, and created a new group: I Have CAV and It’s Okay.

  Maybe I’d be the only member for a while, but I hoped people would join eventually. At least they’d know it was there. That had to help.

  When I walked into school a half hour later, arms glistening in the gross artificial school light, I had never felt more ready for anything in my life.

  Heads turned and people stopped right where they were—even if they were in the middle of the hallway—to look at me. It was creepily quiet, but there was a lot going on. Fingers pointing. Mouths whispering. Bodies huddled. Everybody staring.

  “I remember those words,” I heard someone whisper.

  “That’s what Ami was telling us about,” someone else hissed.

  “That’s the quiet girl from elementary school with that disease! SNAV? FLAV?” another person said.

  “CAV,” I replied. The girl’s face got red, like she didn’t realize I had heard her.

  Someone came up behind me and poked my arm.

  “Ouch!” I yelped. That poke would have hurt anyone, words on arm or not.

  “What’s up with this creepy person?” the guy asked the crowd.

  CREEPY popped up before their eyes. I scratched it once, but then made myself drop my hands at my sides.

  “Whoa. Creepy,” he said again. CREEPY got a little bigger and throbbed a little more.

  “WHOA! CREEPY!”
he yelled, and a bunch of kids came over and laughed. CREEPY got bigger and itched even more. Now it was at the level of itchy that definitely demanded cream. The serious goopy kind of cream that I had left at home.

  Take a deep breath, I told myself. You’re not creepy. You’re okay. It’s okay.

  “I have to go to class,” I said to the group surrounding me. And I pushed my way right through them. And, surprisingly, they didn’t follow me.

  Those kids were a little like the Minnesota wilderness, I thought. Tough. They were tough. They tried to break me.

  I didn’t have to let them.

  Olivia smiled at me when I took my seat in Mr. Todd’s class.

  “Look at you!” she said. “You look so awesome.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Elyse!” Mr. Todd greeted me. “Wow, look at those. Incredible. Looking sharp. Not blue at all.”

  A lot of people turned to look at me. Some whispered to each other and some stared, mesmerized. I held my arms out in front of me and kicked out my legs, kind of like I was doing a magic trick and this was the grand ta-da moment. The sunlight shone on them through the window, making them brighter and better.

  “Wow, your arms are awesome!” Hannah B. said.

  “Looking very cool!” Andy gave me a thumbs-up.

  “Nice legs!” said Mike. Kevin punched him in the stomach lightly and they both started laughing.

  “Do they hurt?” Paige asked.

  “Nope,” I told her. “Sometimes they itch, but I’m okay.”

  Liam walked up to my desk from the back of the room and dropped a blue Post-it on top of my books. I looked at him, then down at the note, then back up at him again.

  “Open it,” he said.

  I did.

  Sorry for everything.

  I smiled. “It’s okay,” I told him.

  “Hey, guys! I got my ears double-pierced this weekend,” Ami announced to the crowd gathering around my seat. She turned her left ear toward us. Sure enough, there was her regular piercing, and now there was another sparkling silver stud on the cartilage part of her ear.