Fish in a Tree

  I think of all of the red marks that cover my papers from teachers. How I hate to get them back.

  Jessica laughs loudest. “What a weirdo, Albert!”

  “Furthermore,” he says, “any crew member of Star Trek’s starship Enterprise who wears a red shirt never appears in another episode. Frankly, I think you’ve made poor choices.”

  They all burst into loud laughter. “Albert!” Max says. “It’s only a TV show, dude. And not a very good one, either.”

  Albert’s arm stops dead on the way to his mouth with another Dorito. “Not a very good one?”

  “Albert,” Shay says, leaning forward a bit, “you go right ahead and ignore what you look like. But it’s the rest of us who suffer; we have to look at you.”

  “Actually,” he says, “I don’t take my appearance lightly. I take you lightly.”

  And with that he turns and is gone before she can pull out some other mean thing. And I wish I was more like Albert. Seeing him shuffle away in those sneakers makes me want to be better. I’m not perfect, but at least I’m not mean.

  And then my heart sinks, because I realize that I just was.

  I guess I did it because I was lonely. Now I know that there are worse things than being lonely.

  CHAPTER 12

  What’s Your Problem, Albert?

  Light from the hallway pours into my room as my mom opens the door. “Hey, honey.”

  “Hey.”

  “I came in to check on you. You seemed very quiet at dinner tonight. Something going on?”

  “Mean kids at school.”

  “Oh, Ally Bug. I’m sorry you had to put up with that. What happened?”

  “Well . . . the kids who were mean?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was kind of one of them.”

  “Oh,” she says with a sigh. “I’m surprised by that, Ally. Tell me what happened.”

  “Those girls that came into Petersen’s that time? Well, they asked me to have lunch with them. I sat at their table but then they started being mean to this kid named Albert about his clothes.” I look up into her eyes. “And I went along with it. I feel bad about it.”

  My mom brushes my forehead with her fingertips. “You’re not a little girl anymore, Ally. So it’s not too soon to decide what kind of person you want to be. Of course, I know what kind of person you are. And I love you for it.” She kisses me on the forehead. “You made a mistake. Everyone does. Just do your best to make it right, that’s all. The words ‘I’m sorry’ are powerful ones.”

  “Yeah. Okay. I’ll make it right with him.”

  “That’s my girl,” she says, kissing my forehead one more time before leaving.

  • • •

  The next morning at school, I am wondering how I can make things right with Albert. I’m drawing a pigeon wedding in my sketchbook. I don’t know that Keisha is standing behind me.

  “You drew that?”

  I move my arm to cover it.

  “Why would you cover it? If I could draw like that, I’d put a commercial on TV about it.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble. I don’t know why I’m embarrassed, but I am.

  Keisha sits in her chair as I stare at her head full of thin braids, thinking it must take three days to do all that—so beautiful. I just love it. Not like my boring hair that just hangs there. I reach out to touch her hair. She turns toward me all of a sudden. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh . . . I . . . Sorry. There was a mosquito.” Sometimes I can’t believe the things I do. It’s like my arm has its own brain.

  “Uh-huh,” Keisha says.

  Just then, Albert walks in, and he looks upset. I want to be able to tell my mom that I made things right with him, so I go over.

  “Albert? Are you okay?” I ask, wondering if he’ll tell me to strap myself to a rocket and light the fuse.

  “I have a problem.”

  “I’m sorry about the cafeteria thing,” I blurt out.

  His eyebrows rise. “That didn’t bother me. No need to apologize.”

  “It didn’t bother you at all to have a table full of people make fun of you? You’re kidding.”

  “Why would I be kidding?”

  Can it be that he really doesn’t care what people think of him?

  We just stare at each other. If that didn’t bother him at all and this new problem really does, then it must be really bad. Maybe it has to do with the bruises he has all the time.

  “Can I help?” I ask.

  “No offense. But I don’t really think so.”

  “Okay,” I mumble.

  “It’s just a problem that I can’t get out of my head. I feel like I won’t be able to relax until I find an answer.”

  “Do you want to talk about it? I know sometimes when I have a problem, I talk it out with my brother or mom. Even if I don’t find an answer, I feel better anyway.”

  “Well . . .”

  I wait.

  “I’ve just been wondering . . . if an insect is flying inside a moving train car, is it traveling faster than the train itself? And if the insect flies in the opposite direction that the train is moving in, is it then traveling more slowly than the train? Obviously, if the fly is on the wall, it is moving at the same speed. As long as it isn’t walking. But the movement within movement is a puzzle to me.”

  Oh.

  He turns to me. A little intense. “You can see the problem here.” He doesn’t ask. He tells.

  I know he doesn’t really think I can help. Who knows if I could possibly figure out the science part of what he’s talking about. But my mind shows me that insect in that train car.

  It’s a dragonfly with brilliant greenish-blue wings and tiny goggles over its eyes.

  The car is old with dark wood walls and dark green curtains. Like from Grandpa’s Westerns. And the people have old-fashioned clothes. I see them like they’re with me now. Some of the men are sleeping. One is waving the dragonfly off with a newspaper, not even noticing its tiny goggles. Ladies with the most beautiful dresses sit there, too.

  And I see a girl who is with her mother, and her mother keeps asking the girl if she is enjoying the ride and the girl keeps saying yes, being sure to have a happy-sounding voice.

  I don’t know everything about that girl, but I do know that she has a lot more to worry about than an insect on a train. She doesn’t fit in. She’s all dressed up in fancy clothes and has to pretend to be someone she’s not. She wants to muck around. Help build fences. She wants to ride a horse the real way—not sidesaddle like her mother insists.

  When I come back from my mind movie, Albert has already walked away. But I don’t care. I can’t help thinking about the girl on the train and how she feels—like she wants to do so much but she’s held back, and it makes her feel heavy and angry. Like she’s dragging a concrete block around all of the time. I’d like to help her break free from that.

  CHAPTER 13

  Trouble with Flowers

  It’s the night of the holiday concert, when we sing about Santa and dreidels and Kwanzaa. The best part is getting a new dress.

  I stand in front of a mirror looking at my dress and my first shoes with a heel on them. Thinking about the shopping day I had with my mom. We even went to A. C. Petersen’s for lunch. I liked how she stayed with me in a booth instead of having to go wait on other people.

  I love to sing, but I don’t like our music teacher, Mrs. Muldoon. Max calls her Minefield Muldoon because you never can tell when she’ll blow up over something. Oliver calls her that, too, but he acts it out by leaping into the air and yelling, “Muldooooooon!” as he lands on the floor and rolls. He doesn’t stop, though. He goes from a roll right to his feet again. Like a cat in a cartoon.

  Shay is making fun of Albert because his clothes don’t fit. “What’s with the pants, Albert?” she says
. “Did you get that outfit in the third grade?”

  Keisha whips around fast. “Why do you always try to pull people down?” she asks.

  “Because some people deserve it, that’s why,” Shay answers.

  “Deserve to be pulled down? Really?” Keisha asks.

  Albert straightens his tie, which is the only part of his outfit that fits. He’s even wearing his sneakers with the backs cut out. “You know,” he says, “logically, if a person was to pull another down, it would mean that he or she is already below that person.”

  Keisha lets out a laugh so loud that Mrs. Muldoon shoots her a look. Keisha covers her mouth and tries to squelch the sound. “That is perfect, Albert. Man, you really are a smart dude.” She turns to Shay. “You, on the other hand, are so low, you could play tennis against a curb.”

  Shay’s eyes narrow, but before she can say anything, Mrs. Muldoon appears and tells us to line up.

  For the spring concert last year, before I had a growth spurt, I had to stand in the front row. I liked when Travis called me a dime among pennies. But this year, I get to stand toward the back of the line with the taller kids, right next to Keisha. I look over at her. I love how she stuck up for Albert. She had the guts that I didn’t in the cafeteria. I wish I could be braver.

  We all stand, waiting to file into the auditorium. “Oh, Mrs. Muldoon, I love your dress!” Shay says.

  Mrs. Muldoon lights up like a bulb. “Why, thank you, Shay. Your parents have raised such a nice young lady.”

  “Oh, thank you very much, Mrs. Muldoon.” Shay smiles, but when she turns away toward Jessica, she rolls her eyes. And she keeps glaring at Keisha.

  I decide I won’t think about how mad she makes me and I’ll think, instead, about how all the girls get to carry a bouquet of flowers. That’s the good news. The bad news is that they have been donated by Jessica’s father, the florist. It’s nice of him, but Jessica hasn’t stopped bragging about it.

  Mrs. Muldoon walks down the line, handing out the most beautiful bouquets I have ever seen. Like the ones that brides carry. Dark red ribbons that wind around the stems like a barbershop light pole. Ribbons dangle from the bottom, too. She hands my bunch to me, and I smile thinking of how much my mom will love to see me with them.

  Keisha leans in to smell them and runs her fingers over the tops of the flowers. Then one of the white buds falls off and bounces off the top of her shiny black shoe.

  Mrs. Muldoon is there in a second. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I just . . .”

  Mrs. Muldoon grabs the flowers from Keisha’s hands.

  Keisha looks up. “No. Please don’t. I didn’t mean . . .”

  “These flowers are a gift, and if that’s how you’re going to treat a gift—with a complete lack of respect and gratitude—then you, Keisha Almond, will be the only girl without flowers.”

  “But Mrs. Muldoon,” Keisha says, “I really didn’t—”

  Mrs. Muldoon holds up her hand like she’s stopping traffic. “I don’t want to hear it. You will have no flowers and perhaps you will remember in the future how a lady behaves.”

  “See?” Shay says to Jessica. “People do get what they deserve.”

  I stand behind Keisha, but I wish I could see her face. I wait for her to say something back. But Keisha doesn’t say anything. Although I can’t see her cry, I hear her sniff and see her brush her cheek with her fingertips.

  And I watch a mind movie of me being the only girl without flowers marching in to see all the parents. And the look on my mom’s face. How she’d be the only sad parent in a sea of smiling ones. And how I’d feel like I was less than everyone else.

  No one should ever feel like that.

  I feel my fingertips dig into the center of my bouquet to separate the thick stems. It takes some twisting to work half the flowers out of the fancy ribbon, but I put some muscle into it. Stems crack and leaves and petals fall, spinning in the air. Landing all around my shiny new shoes.

  Mrs. Muldoon has turned around to stare. Her mouth is open wide enough for a bird to build a nest in.

  I hold her gaze as I hand half the flowers to Keisha. “Well, she can have some of mine, then.”

  In the end, neither of us had flowers when we walked into the auditorium.

  But we had bigger smiles than anyone else.

  CHAPTER 14

  Boxed In and Boxed Out

  “Okay, my Fantasticos! As you know, today is Fantastico Friday, and we are going to end our day with a challenge. I’m going to break you up into groups. Each group will be given a shoe box wrapped in elastic bands—which you will not remove—with a mystery object inside. Your job is to guess what the mystery object is.

  “You can do anything to the box to figure it out except open it. There are four numbered boxes that will rotate from group to group. You have ten minutes with each box, so be sure that you write down your guesses. At the end, we’ll open them up to see what each object is.” He claps once, loudly. “Any questions?”

  Everyone looks excited. Most glance around the room, probably hoping they will be with Albert. He’ll get every answer right.

  But I end up in a group with Max, Suki, Oliver, and Jessica. I briefly consider going to the nurse. Especially when I have to stare at all of Jessica’s friendship bracelets. I wonder if each bracelet is from a different friend. I glance down at my empty wrist.

  Box number one is dropped on our table. Oliver grabs it and shakes it hard. Jessica folds her arms and rolls her eyes—her response to anything not done or said by Shay. I look across the room. Shay is in a group with Albert. She’s holding the box and talking. What a surprise.

  “Yeah,” Max says, taking the box from Oliver. “My turn.”

  I’m surprised when Suki speaks up first. “Oliver. We all need a turn, so we must plan. Ten minutes and five of us. Two minutes each.”

  I think about the nurse again. I could lie on that comfortable bed and think. I’ve come up with some of my best sketchbook ideas pretending to be sick down there.

  Max has been shaking the box. He throws it into the air once and catches it. “Whatever’s inside is heavy,” he says.

  Oliver says, “Maybe it’s a kangaroo.”

  Jessica looks at him in disgust.

  Oliver shrinks. “I was just kidding,” he mumbles.

  This makes me mad.

  Max hands it to Jessica, who gives it a little shake and says, “I think it’s a wooden block. Like maybe one of those alphabet blocks.”

  “When will it be my turn again?” Oliver asks.

  Suki is taking some kind of notes or something. Looking up at the clock, she says, “Oliver, you have twenty-five seconds of your time left only.”

  Oliver takes the box back and sniffs it and tries to hear something by pressing his ear to the top.

  Mr. Daniels calls from the other side of the room, “I love that, Oliver. Creative investigation!”

  While I wait for my turn, I wonder why Oliver always smells like graham crackers. Finally, I get the box and put it up to my ear and tilt it. Whatever is inside rolls rather than slides. “It must be round. And Max is right about it being heavy.”

  I tilt it again with my palm on the side of the box. “I think it’s a baseball,” I say, handing it to Jessica.

  She does the same test and surprises me by saying, “I agree. Feels like a baseball.”

  “Wait,” I say, taking it back. I tilt it again quickly and the object hits the end hard, and then lightly. “It bounces,” I say. “Would a baseball bounce?” I ask, turning to Max.

  “Naw. I don’t think so. Maybe it’s rubber. Like a lacrosse ball.”

  After Suki tests the box, she writes down our answer.

  Then we get the second box. The second item slides rather than rolls. I can tell because it doesn’t move if the box is tilte
d a little but, once tilted more, will move all at once. And I can feel it scraping along the bottom. It’s weird, but I can almost see it. It’s heavier than an alphabet block, but I think it is a shape with all flat sides.

  Oliver tells me that it’s cool I’m so good at this. I forget to say thank you because I’m shocked. But then I also forget to be nervous, talking to everyone and feeling like . . . like I can do this as well as everyone else, and it is the best. The best feeling ever.

  Suki hands the box to me. “Your turn to go first.”

  The third box is harder, but I guess it’s in the shape of a Magic Marker but much bigger and heavier, as it slides one way and rolls the other.

  I glance over at Albert, who is listening to Shay talk again. Keisha is doing the talking in her group, but she is making everyone laugh. I wish I knew what they were saying.

  When Mr. Daniels delivers the fourth box, he stays.

  While Max tries to figure out what’s inside, Jessica constantly compliments him on everything short of breathing. Max tells us that he thinks it’s something light because it doesn’t hit the sides hard.

  When it is his turn, Oliver looks up at Mr. Daniels.

  “So, what do you think there, Oliver?”

  I can see Oliver wants to be right. He tilts and shakes and decides it’s a quarter. Mr. Daniels nods and pats him on the back. “That’s an excellent guess, Oliver. Well done.”

  “Am I right?” Oliver asks.

  “You’ll have to wait and see.” Mr. Daniels shrugs.

  “Can’t you just tell me now?”

  “Sorry, bud.”

  Oliver seems disappointed. Then he looks up at me. Holding out the box, he says, “Here, Ally. You’re the best at this.”

  Jessica’s face looks like if she let out all that pressure, she’d fly into the air like a rocket to the moon.

  “Ally?” Mr. Daniels asks.

  “Huh? Uh, sorry. Sometimes when I think, I forget to talk.”