Fish in a Tree (9 page)

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Monday is vocabulary day, when Mr. Daniels goes
over the new words for the week. As far as reading lessons go, this isn’t so bad. All I have to do is listen as he tells us the word’s meaning, and I can usually remember it because I make mind movies about each one and that helps me remember.

I’ve always had one important rule in the classroom, which is to try to lie low. If I’m called upon, I’ll say, “I don’t know,” even if I do. I discovered that giving a teacher an answer makes them expect more from me, and then everyone gets disappointed. If they never get an answer from me, they stop asking.

But today, during vocabulary, Mr. Daniels brings up two words:
alone
and
lonely.
He asks for volunteers to explain the difference between the two.

It’s like my arm doesn’t belong to me when it goes up. Mr. Daniels stops midsentence and looks at me.

“Yes, Ally?”

What have I done? I try to figure out what I should say. Maybe ask to go get a drink? But the thing is that something deep inside me really does want to answer. Because I’m an expert on these two words. I know what they mean. And how they feel. Especially after that butterfly party.

Mr. Daniels’s eyes are wide, and they are waiting for me. “Ally?” he says. “It’s okay, now. Take your time.”

And it’s like he can see right into my guts. Knows how sad I am. Like he’s handing me a flashlight in a dark room.

I lock eyes with Mr. Daniels and I forget anyone else is even there. I say, “Well . . .
alone
is a way to be. It’s being by yourself with no one else around. And it can be good or bad. And it can be a choice. When my mom and brother are both working, I’m alone, but I don’t mind it.” I swallow hard. Shift in my seat. “But being
lonely
is never a choice. It’s not about who is with you or not. You can feel lonely when you’re alone, but the worst kind of lonely is when you’re in a room full of people, but you’re still alone. Or you feel like you are, anyway.”

I look at Mr. Daniels. He has his hands stuffed in his pockets and his face looks sad. I try to remember what I just said, but speaking in class has made me so nervous that my mind is doing its Etch A Sketch thing. Unable to play my words back. What did I say? Why does he look like that?

Staying quiet and having people think you’re stupid is better than talking and having people know for sure.

Mr. Daniels says my name.

“Huh?”

No one laughs. Not even Shay or Jessica.

“Well,” he says, “if I had a trophy to give out for the best answer of the year, I’d give it to you for that.” He throws his hands up as if to celebrate. “That was . . . well,
excellent
!”

I stare at my desk, wondering why he would say that.

“Ally?”

I look up. “Thanks,” I say, feeling like I have to move. Leave. Why is he acting like I won the Brain Olympics just because I answered a question? “Can I please go to the bathroom now?”

Mr. Daniels seems confused. “Uh, yeah. Sure, Ally. Go ahead.”

When I stand, Shay squints at me and shakes her head. She doesn’t even have to say anything and my brain plays the things she
would
say.

Even when I do something right, I feel like I’ve done something wrong. If I were a coin, I’d be a wooden nickel.

I
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Mr. Daniels asks us to write about our favorite
fictional character—a person we consider to be a hero—and be ready to tell the class about who it is. It’s funny how much trouble Albert has with this. He tells Mr. Daniels that looking up to a character that isn’t real is illogical, but Mr. Daniels tells him it will be good for him, which confuses the heck out of Albert. He mumbles all the way back to his seat. Albert never mumbles. He either talks or he doesn’t.

Oliver is in his seat listing the names of every superhero I’ve ever heard of. “Superman, Captain America, Batman.” He looks upset when he turns to Suki nearby. “Is Robin a superhero? I mean, his outfit isn’t scary. At all. And he has no special powers. But Batman doesn’t really, either. But at least Batman can drive the Batmobile and fly the Batplane. Robin just rides along. I don’t think I’d want to just ride along. What do you think?”

Suki opens her mouth but no sound comes out. It doesn’t matter, because Oliver has moved on. “Spider- Man. Maybe I’ll write about him.” He holds up his palm in Suki’s face. “He shoots webs. And he swings from buildings. That would be the BEST!”

“Hey, freak,” Shay whispers, glancing over at Mr. Daniels, who is working with someone at his desk, to make sure he can’t hear. “We don’t need to hear every weird thought in your tiny little brain. We’re trying to work.”

Oliver’s face is unmoving. Until he says, “If. I. Were. Aquaman. I. Would. Summon. The
piranhas.
To take you away. You could be their queen.”

Keisha starts laughing and Mr. Daniels finally looks up. “Keisha?”

She puts her arm down on her desk and leans her forehead against it. Trying to stop laughing. The more she tries, the more Shay glares. With Mr. Daniels watching, most everyone goes back to their work. After a while, even Keisha does.

But I keep looking around the room. I love how Albert can’t choose one character while Oliver wants to write about everyone.

However, I don’t love how much trouble I’m having writing about my character. Makes me wish that
I
were a fictional character.

• • •

When Mr. Daniels calls me up to his desk, he’s holding my paper. A teacher holding my paper is rarely a good thing. But Mr. Daniels doesn’t cover my papers with red ink like other teachers. They used to look like they were bleeding.

Mr. Daniels has written in green and he apologizes for not being able to read my writing. He says that my character sounds really interesting, but he’d like to know a bit more. “Will you read this out loud for me?”

Uh-oh. I take it, squeezing my eyes into slits. Trying to read my own writing. I wait for him to pressure me to try harder. To do something I can’t do.

He slides the paper out of my hand. “Well,” he says, “why don’t you just tell me instead of reading? First of all, tell me your person’s name.”

I feel such relief that I’m afraid to blink. I hate this pressure. But this time I’ve been saved. I keep my voice down so no one can hear. “It’s Roy G. Biv.”

“Oh, wait,” he says. “Like the colors of the color spectrum?”

I nod.

He stares. Before he can tell me I’ve messed up the directions, I say, “You said fictional, and I figured you meant a book character like Alice from
Alice in Wonderland
, but Roy isn’t real and there isn’t any other character that means as much to me as him. I love the colors and I use them in my art and art is about the only thing . . .” I stop before I confess to feeling like a failure at everything else.

“That’s clever, Ally,” he tells me. “I actually like that you chose someone who isn’t a book character, exactly. You think out of the box.”

I see a mind movie of me standing outside a huge glass box. Everyone else is inside it. Together.

“Do you know what it means to think out of the box?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“It means that you are a creative thinker. You think differently than other people.”

Great. Just once, I want to be told I’m like everyone else.

“It’s a good thing to be an out-of-the-box thinker. People like that are world-changers.”

Wait. His face doesn’t look like this is a bad thing. “Is that like setting the world on fire?” I ask, smiling a bit.

“Exactly that.” He nods.

Then he stares at me long enough for me to wonder what he’s thinking before sending me back to my seat.

• • •

The next day, when it’s time to tell the class who my character is, I begin by asking everyone what their favorite color is. It’s fun. I think this part of being a teacher would be cool. I’d rather eat crayons than do the rest of it, though.

I take out a color wheel that I made at home. It’s white cardboard and I’ve broken it into seven pie-shaped pieces. I figured out that each angle has to be about 51 degrees to have seven equal pie pieces. I used Travis’s protractor to draw the lines exactly. Then I colored each piece with a different Roy G. Biv color and I made them really dark. “What color do you get if you mix all the colors together?” I ask. Most kids guess dark colors.

“My favorite color is white,” I say, “because it is a mixture of all the colors.”

Albert nods a little.

Shay tells everyone that it makes no sense, but I know the answer.

“If you mix paint together, that’s true, but if you’re talking about just the colors, pure in nature, they make white when mixed together. I brought this wheel to prove it.” I feel like a magician. I show them the wheel with all its colors. Then I stick a paper clip that I’ve unbent through a hole in the center and spin the wheel. It turns white as it spins fast. As it slows down, the colors reappear.

Jessica leans forward. “That’s pretty cool.”

Shay looks at her with squinty eyes until Max agrees. Then she nods and agrees, too.

“Are you going to give that away?” Oliver asks.

I hesitate. “I wasn’t going to . . .” I look down at it. “But I guess I could.”

“You like that, huh, Oliver?” Mr. Daniels asks.

“I’d give it to my bus driver. She likes things with rainbow colors.”

“Well, that’s thoughtful of you, Oliver!” Mr. Daniels says.

I sit down at my desk, thinking about whether I should give the colored disc to Oliver. Jessica and Shay are talking behind me.

“Can I have another bracelet?” Jessica asks Shay.

“I don’t think so. I can hardly keep up with people wanting them. Besides, you already have enough.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind another.”

There is a pause and I want to turn around. But I’m not supposed to be listening in.

“
Listen,
” Shay says. “You have seven already. I have other orders to fill first. And besides that, you still owe me three dollars for the last one. I’m not giving you another until you pay me for what’s already on your wrist.”

Wait.
I whip around. I can’t help it. “You
charge
your friends for those friendship bracelets?”

“Eavesdrop much? Yeah, so what? You want one?”

Jessica leans forward. “Wait. You’re going to give
her
one?”

“No, idiot. I’m not going to
give
her one. She’s going to pay me. But you know what? Ally should pay more. A lot more.” She turns to me. “Ten dollars.”

I laugh. “Uh, no, thanks. I’d rather wear handcuffs.”

I can’t believe Shay charges her friends for something that’s supposed to stand for loyalty and friendship. And I can’t believe they paid.

“You are
such
a dope, Ally Nickerson,” Shay says.

I look over at Keisha and Albert and realize that I have been. I’ve been lucky all along but didn’t see it.

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Mr. Daniels is wearing a tie with little trophies on
it. Also, he has a goofy smile on his face. Even goofier than most days.

“Okay, my Fantasticos! There is one among you who is even more fantastic than usual—and that’s hard to do. So, we are going to celebrate. You see, when you all wrote those nature poems the other day, you had all been secretly entered in”—he puts his arms up and raises his voice—“the first annual Fantastico Poetry Award.”

Oh, great. Another thing for Shay to brag about. I look over at Albert and hope he will win instead. He’s hoping so, too. I can tell by how he pulls his chair in more, like he’s getting ready. I think that Suki has a good shot as well.

“So,” Mr. Daniels begins, “this poem is a splendid surprise. Great work. And I am very happy to give the first annual Fantastico Poetry Award to . . .”

I watch Shay out of the corner of my eye. If she wins, we’ll never hear the end of it.

What she does doesn’t make sense. She shows surprise, but it’s followed by disgust.

Mr. Daniels’s hand on my shoulder makes me jump.

“Congratulations, Ally,” Mr. Daniels says.

This can’t be. It’s too early for April Fool’s Day. I look over at Albert and Keisha, wondering if they put a poem in with my name.

Mr. Daniels takes a step back and says, “C’mon. Come claim your prize.”

Prize? I swallow hard.

Mr. Daniels stands at the front of the room, waving me up. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

I stand and walk toward him like the floor will swallow me up. I turn toward the class and he puts his hand on my shoulder.

He holds the poem in his hand. I look and see it is actually mine. Maybe I was just having a good day. I mean, it’s about time I have a good day for once, right?

Happiness seeps in. Have I really won an award? The thought of that would have been something for my Sketchbook of Impossible Things before now.

Me.

“So, Ally is our first poetry winner for her piece entitled, ‘Rain, Rain.’” He turns to me. “Do you want to read it, or shall I?”

The paper crinkles in my hand. “I’ll read it,” I say, happy that I have it memorized.

“Rain, rain falling down

Down, down on the ground

All the birds go in the trees

They don’t like the rain, you see.”

It doesn’t take long to say, but it took me a long time to write. But now it’s all worth it.

There is silence until Mr. Daniels motions to everyone to applaud. Albert and Keisha clap loudest. Mr. Daniels motions again and the applause gets louder. Oliver slaps his desk until Mr. Daniels’s pulling on his ear calms him down.

Looking out over the class, I remember some of the other poems I heard people working on. Really good poems.

And then the whole thing hits me. I finally get it.

Mr. Daniels holds out a certificate with fancy letters and swirls around the edges. He also holds a coupon for a free ice cream in the cafeteria, and I think how happy Albert would be if I gave that to him.

But I can’t reach out and take them. I look up into his face. He smiles and then he winks. I look out over my classmates, who have stopped clapping. Shay has pressed her mouth into a flat line. Most glance at each other with knowing looks. They all know but figure I don’t.

This isn’t a poetry award.

This is a pity award.

I look up at Mr. Daniels, who gives me a serious nod, as if to say,
Go ahead and take it. They don’t know.

Getting an award for not being smart enough to deserve it is the worst feeling I’ve ever felt. Like getting this certificate is going to make me pat myself on the back and, somehow, transform into a different person. I swear that I’ll never accept an award that I don’t deserve.

Never.

Keisha calls my name as I run from the room.