Fish in a Tree (15 page)

S
e
t
t
h
e
W
o
r
l
d
o
n
F
i
r
e

After the teasing that Albert has taken for his shirt,
Keisha and I decide to do something for him. The teasing hasn’t seemed to bother him that much, but it bothers us.

So we made our own shirts to go with his.

We walk up behind him while he is organizing his papers into piles. “Albert, do you like our shirts?” I ask.

He turns around and stares. At me, with a shirt that says
Steel,
and Keisha, with a shirt that says
Magnesium.

I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Albert truly confused.

“Okay,” Keisha says. “Get it? They match your shirt. But not the genius guy alone on the rock in space with his robots thing, because I told you I thought that was a bit creepy . . .”

Albert is still confused, so I interrupt. “The shirts match because the three of us together are going to set the world on fire. Like Mr. Daniels says.”

“Yes,” he says, “flint, steel, and magnesium are commonly used together for fire starters. I get it.”

The corner of Albert’s mouth twitches, which is like someone else doing cartwheels down the hall.

Without thinking, I yell to Shay across the room, “Hey! You tease one of us, you tease all of us!”

Shay has an expression like she’s just smelled rotten meat and it makes Keisha and me laugh really hard.

Then I pat Albert on the back. “Just wanted you to know that you can always count on us.”

“Well, that would make you either a set of fingers or an abacus.”

“Uh, Albert.
Seriously?
” Keisha shakes her head and then leans forward. “It means we think you’re a cool dude.”

“We’re
allies.
” I smile.

He goes back to arranging his papers.

“Yes, I know,” he says softly. “I am most grateful.”

T
a
l
e
s
o
f
a
S
i
x
t
h
G
r
a
d
e
S
o
m
e
t
h
i
n
g

Travis drives me to school because the project
I did for our book report is too hard to take on the bus. I’ve always used my art for projects at school, but this is a three-dimensional scene on a piece of wood. A scene from
Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing.
The book that Mr. Daniels gave me to read.

“What’s gotten into you?” Travis asks. “Since when do you smile like that on a Monday morning?”

I’m going to school feeling proud for once. So I just sit there continuing to smile.

“Hey,” he says, hitting me on the side of the leg. “I’m happy to see you so happy about school, Al.” He laughs a bit. “To be honest, I wouldn’t mind feeling some of that.”

• • •

When I get to class, lots of kids surround me. I guess it’s because the project is so big.

Shay is the first to come over. She looks at the kitchen scene I have made mostly of paper, including a working light over the sink that Travis helped me make.

“How did you do that?” Shay asks, pointing at the lit light over the sink.

“There’s a battery underneath.”

She looks disgusted. “And
you
made that?”

Oliver comes over and grabs for the light. “Cool!” Before I can move, he knocks the wire, which makes the light go off.

Shay begins, “Oliver, you’re such a—”

“Leave him alone,” I interrupt. “If I don’t care, you shouldn’t.”

Shay and Oliver are both wide-eyed but for different reasons. Oliver smiles a little.

“It’s okay, Oliver. I’ll fix it.”

Shay is squinty-eyed for a bit and then laughs in a way that is louder than normal. She’s pointing at my project. “I read that book like . . . four years ago. And there aren’t any soldiers in it,” she says, pointing at a picture hanging on the wall of the room I made.

Max comes over. “What’s up?”

“She has a picture in here that has nothing to do with the book. Book report, Ally? Should be about the book?”

“Well,” I say, feeling a little warm all of a sudden, “most houses have art on the walls, so I figured I’d decorate the room and drew a picture of my dad in his uniform.”

“Wait!” Max brightens. “Your dad is in the army?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s cool. What does he do?”

“He’s a captain with a tank division.”

“Your father drives tanks?
Seriously?
That’s awesome!”

I look up. “Thanks.”

He holds up his fist to fist-bump me. And as he walks away, he tells the other guys about my dad.

From the look on Shay’s face, she can tell that her insult backfired on her.

Then Mr. Daniels comes over. He’s wearing a tie with books on it. “Wow, Ally! That is amazing!” He leans forward and drops his voice. “I am really proud of you.”

My response is stuck in my throat. I watch a series of movies in my head, trying to see a time when a teacher has said this to me. There isn’t one.

“Ally?” he says.

Still, I can’t speak. Usually when I find myself unable to speak, it’s because I’m humiliated. I like this feeling a lot more.

M
y
B
r
o
t
h
e
r
’
s
Q
u
e
s
t
i
o
n

I’m working on pictures of cupcakes that talk for
an ad campaign for Keisha’s business. She asked me to help her. It feels great to have someone ask me for help.

As I draw, I think about my sketchbook and how I love it but don’t draw in it as much anymore. It used to be the only thing that made me happy. Now I have other things, too.

I hear Travis chewing gum in the doorway before I see him. Without looking up, I say, “Mom told you to stop chewing gum like a goat. The whole room is not supposed to hear you.”

He goes silent. Weird.

I finish erasing a line and look over at him. He looks kind of stiff. Hands stuffed in his pockets. Then he takes one hand out and brushes his chin with his fist.

“Travis? What’s wrong?”

“I just wanted to ask you a question.”

“You want to borrow money or something?”

He does that half smile of his and shakes his head. But I can see the seriousness.

“You can ask me anything you want, Travis. What is it?”

He comes over and sits on the side of the bed. “That teacher of yours. Mr. Daniels. What does he do after school with you?”

“You mean chess?”

He shakes his head. “No. The reading. What does he do? I mean, do you just sound out words and stuff?”

I put down my pencil. “Well, we talk about words, but it’s not the same as other teachers. Like we never use paper. Ever. He has me write letters in blue or pink sand. Or sometimes in shaving cream.”

“Really? So you can read now?”

“Well, not yet. But it’s getting easier. It can be like running up the side of a building sometimes. I get so tired. But I am doing better.”

“So it helps? What he does?”

“Yeah. It’s more fun than learning the old way. Sometimes it’s boring because he’ll do a list of words that have some of the same letters in them. Like
light
and
might
and
night.
He writes the letters that repeat in every word in red and the rest in black. Then he makes the words into pictures so I can remember them better.”

I flip my paper over. “Here. I’ll show you.” And I write
sun
with all these little lines around it pointing outward to look like the sun.

“And that really helps you remember it?”

“Yeah, and he also has these sheets of plastic that I can see through but are different colors. He puts those over pages and it makes the headaches better. It’s like turning the brightness down on a computer. It’s weird.”

“No more headaches from reading?
Really?
”

“Well, I still get them, but they’re not nearly as bad. Like a little stick hitting my head compared to a baseball bat.”

Travis smiles and then stands up. “Well . . . I’m glad he’s helping you. And I’m glad that you have Keisha and Albert, squirt. You’re doing great.”

“You’re doing great, too, Travis! Not long before you’ll open up Nickerson Restoration, right?”

He nods once and turns to leave. He doesn’t talk about the neon sign he’ll have or the big rolling tool cases or anything. I miss hearing his mouth running like a motor about all his plans.

“Travis?”

He turns. “Yeah?”

“
I
could try to help you?”

“Naw,” he says, brushing his chin with his knuckles. “I don’t need you to do that. I was just wondering.”

F
l
y
i
n
g
T
i
g
e
r
s
a
n
d B
a
b
y
E
l
e
p
h
a
n
t
s

“Well, Ally,” Albert says to me at lunchtime. “Before
I really knew you, I used to call you ‘the Flying Tiger.’”

“Oooh, Albert! That’s a great name,” Keisha says. “Like fierce. Like nobody messes with her, right?”

I wish that described me, but it doesn’t. Why in the world would he nickname me that? I thought that Albert paid more attention to things. I look up and he is watching me.

“Well,” he asks, “aren’t you wondering why I called you that?”

I shrug.

“It’s not an insult. Just my observation.”

I shrug again. “Fine. Tell me, then.”

“Before the United States entered World War Two, there were a bunch of American pilots in China. They were called the Flying Tigers. They flew those planes with the shark teeth on the nose.”

“Wait!” I say. “My dad and brother love those planes!”

He nods once as I try hard to shake out the mind movie of me as an airplane.

“They did not have many planes, so they would repaint them every few missions. Change a bit of the design and the numbers so that the Japanese would think there were far more of them than there really were.”

I sort of know what he means.

“I’ve watched you. Trying to figure out how to repaint yourself for other people all the time. Trying to make them think one thing about you when the opposite was true. Like with the teachers. Always getting sent to the office.”

Wow. I can’t believe Albert noticed all this.

“Okay,” Keisha asks. “Do you name everyone like that?”

“I like analogies. They interest me and help me understand.”

“What about me? Did you have a nickname for me?”

He hesitates.

“Okay, Professor. Spill it,” Keisha says.

He bites his lip.

“Listen. You better tell me and tell me now.”

“The Baby.”

“
What?
The
Ba
by? Are you
kid
ding me? She gets a great name like the Flying Tiger and you called me
the Baby
? What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

He turns red. “I didn’t want to offend you.”

“Well, it’s just a little too late for that. I’m going to send you into space. Where no man has gone before. No kidding.”

Is Keisha quoting
Star Trek
now? The girl has lost her mind!

“I called you the Baby because when you’re quiet, you’re taking everything in. But when you want something, you’re loud about it and usually get your way pretty fast.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh, man, Keisha. That is just too perfect.”

She folds her arms with a bit of a “humpf” but then begins to laugh, too.

“Albert, do you have one for yourself?” I ask.

When he doesn’t say no, I know it means yes.

“Tell us!” Keisha says.

“I’m the Elephant.”

“Because you’re big?” I ask.

“No,” Keisha says. “Because he has a good memory.”

“Elephants do have good memories,” he says. “But that isn’t why I chose it as my symbolic name.”

“Then why?” I ask.

“Well . . . I’ve become a pachyderm.”

“Is that a religion?” I ask.

His face twitches a bit. “No. An elephant is a pachyderm. It means an animal with a thick skin.”

I guess we’re all pachyderms, then. Or we pretend to be.

His finger picks at the side of his thumb. “Elephants feel a wide range of emotions, but their behavior remains constant. On the outside, happy and sad often look the same.”

I can’t remember the last time I had nothing to say about something. All this time, I thought that Albert was the science guy with as much feeling as a pinecone. But I was wrong. All that watching he does. All that thinking. He really does understand things. He definitely gets me.

G
r
e
a
t
M
i
n
d
s
D
o
n
’
t
T
h
i
n
k
A
l
i
k
e

Mr. Daniels looks really happy as he makes an
announcement to us one morning. “Today, my Fantasticos, we are going to jump from our social studies unit and talk a little bit about some famous people. People I bet some of you know.”

He takes out pictures and stands them up on the tray of the board. They almost cover the length of it, and I worry that we will have a test or have to write about our favorite.

Mr. Daniels seems electric. “I’ll say the name and then you tell me if you know why they’re famous, deal? No need to raise your hands. Just call out.”

Wow. He’s breaking the biggest teacher rule ever.

He points to the first picture. “Thomas Edison.”

Wait. I know who that is. I squeak out, “He invented the lightbulb?”

“Great, Ally. But if you know, don’t answer like a question.
Declare
your answer!”

I imagine myself at a podium in front of thousands of people, arms in the air, declaring my answer.

“What about this one?” he asks.

Max says, “Alexander Graham Bell, who invented the telephone. I did a report on him.”

“Most excellent work,” Mr. Daniels says.

The next one is George Washington. Everyone knows that one.

“Henry Ford?” he asks.

“He invented the car!” I declare.

“Well, he did begin Ford Motor Company, but he didn’t invent the car. He perfected the moving assembly line, which was a very clever way to build a lot of cars fast.”

“Oh.”

“Ally, how do you know about these inventors?”

“My mom bought a DVD called
Schoolhouse Rock.
It has a cartoon about inventors.”

“Ah, yes.
Schoolhouse Rock
is awesome. Next one? Albert Einstein!” He says this one like he’s introducing someone on a game show.

Albert raises his hand.

“Yes, Albert?”

“Albert Einstein was born in Germany on March 14, 1879. He is considered the greatest human mind to ever have lived in the fields of physics, mathematics, and philosophy. He changed all of science with his ideas. My father says that the field of science was like Pinocchio as the puppet, and Einstein changed it into a real boy.”

“Does he really?” Mr. Daniels laughs. “That’s brilliant. Is your father a scientist, Albert?”

“Yes, sir. He named me after Albert Einstein, so I know a lot about him.”

Keisha whispers to him, “Is that why you style your hair after him?” She turns to me. “That boy has never even seen a comb.”

“Style my hair?” Albert asks, confused.

Mr. Daniels walks back toward the pictures. “I have a feeling that Albert’s father is quite a scientist indeed.”

We go through the rest of the pictures.

Leonardo da Vinci, famous painter of the
Mona Lisa.
Also a gifted inventor.

Pablo Picasso, another famous painter, who created a modern style that no one had ever seen before.

Patricia Polacco, talented illustrator and author.

Whoopi Goldberg, hilarious comedian and actress.

Henry Winkler, famous actor and author.

Muhammad Ali, world heavyweight champion in boxing.

John F. Kennedy, thirty-fifth president of the United States.

Winston Churchill, prime minister of England during World War Two. His intelligence and grit kept the Nazis from taking over England. In fact, all of these people had grit to spare.

Grit.
I like that word.

John Lennon of the Beatles.

Walt Disney, creator of Mickey Mouse.

Then Mr. Daniels stands back. “Don’t you all agree that this is a stunning group of talent? Is there anyone here that would be willing to stand up and say that any of these people were stupid?”

Everyone shakes their heads.

“Albert gave us a great rundown of Albert Einstein. But did you know that he was kicked out of school when he was young? His report card said that he was too slow to amount to anything. He couldn’t memorize the months of the year. In fact, he had trouble tying his shoes. But . . . he was and remains one of
the
greatest minds we’ve ever seen.”

I remember when I had a hard time tying my shoes. Travis sat with me for a long time teaching me the baby way where you make the rabbit ears.

I stare at Einstein’s picture with his crazy white hair that looks like he had an accident with a light socket. How could he figure out something like time travel and not know the months of the calendar?

Mr. Daniels says, “Some people say that John Lennon is one of the most gifted, spiritual musicians ever.”

He walks over and points to Walt Disney. “What about this guy? Did you know he was told by a teacher that he wasn’t creative enough?” He moves over. “How about Henry Ford? He was born understanding how an engine should work. He just
knew
without studying it.”

Hey, that’s like Travis.

He walks toward the windows. “Knew exactly how it should go together. He never went to school for it, but he was such a genius with machines, he worked as Thomas Edison’s engineer for a while. He built his first car by hand by building a motor and putting it in between two bicycles. And with his idea of using a moving assembly line, he ushered in a new world.”

He walks back toward the board.

“You know what all of these people have in common?” he asks the class. Then he stands in front of my desk and looks me dead in the eye. “Many believe that they all had dyslexia.”

I feel it in my gut. In fact, I feel it everywhere.

He smiles a bit. “That’s right. As children, they struggled to read even simple words and, based on some other clues as well, most experts now believe that they had dyslexia. But, of course, we know their struggles weren’t because they were stupid. It’s just that their minds worked differently. And thank goodness they did, because otherwise we may not have telephones or lightbulbs or stunning works of art.” He smiles. “Oh. And we wouldn’t have Mickey Mouse.”

He is quiet for a while. I think he’s letting it sink in.

“So, then . . . for your homework, I have an extra- credit assignment.” He turns on the smart board and there’s writing:

Ju jt nvdi ibsefs up sfbe
xifo zpv epou ibwf uif dpef.

The class is already complaining that they can’t read it. Complaining that it makes no sense.

“It’s a code,” he says. “Each letter stands for another—extra credit for anyone who can crack it. It isn’t exactly like reading with dyslexia, but it will give you a taste of how hard it is. How long it takes.” Then he looks at me. “And how
smart
you have to be to persevere.”

He dismisses us and everyone starts to get ready to go home. But I’m still staring at the pictures of all those famous people and wondering if they felt like me when they were young. Did they feel stupid? Did they wonder what would become of them?

Mr. Daniels squats next to me. “Ally?”

Although the room is loud, it’s like the sounds are far away.

“Are you okay, Ally?” Mr. Daniels asks.

I turn to him and have to clear my throat before speaking. “It’s true? All those people there . . .” I look back at their pictures. “All of those people couldn’t read, like me?”

“Indeed,” he says, smiling. “Not that they couldn’t read. They just needed to learn a different way, that’s all.”

He puts an oval-shaped piece of metal in front of me. “This is a paperweight,” he says. “It’s a gift for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes. Look.” He points at each word as he reads them. “
Never, never, never quit. Winston Churchill.
”

I pick it up. It’s heavy.

“I’m not giving it to you as a reminder, because I know that you will keep at it. I’ve really gotten a sense lately of how hard you’ve had to work to learn what you have. And,” he says, laughing, “you’ve fooled a lot of smart people. So, how smart does that make
you
?”

I swallow hard.

“I’m giving it to you because I want you to know that I’ve noticed. And that you’re going to be okay, Ally.” He leans forward a bit. “
Better
than okay, actually.”

My head swims with all that’s changed.

In school.

And in me.