“I know it’s early, but will you take a break and eat dinner with us now?”
“I need to finish history and Spanish first.”
“It’s just—” Mom sighs. “Your sister had a tough day. We had an emergency speech appointment this afternoon, because Henley peed her pants in the middle of class. She couldn’t ask to use the bathroom.”
“Did anyone notice?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
“What do you think?” Mom tilts her head.
I don’t pause for a second to think. I stand up and walk out of my room, because even though I’m mad at Mom and Dad and Dr. Gold and Ms. Curtis and everyone who said they would help make things better for me when they can’t, right now Henley does need me to be there for her and I don’t want her to be alone.
I sit down at the kitchen table. Henley doesn’t look up at me. She keeps her eyes on the plate in front her. I inch my chair closer to hers and wrap my arms around her. She folds into me. I run my fingers through her soft hair. Hilda is sprawled out under Henley’s chair, like she knows something is wrong and her job is to stay as close as possible. “It’s okay,” I whisper in her ear.
She shakes her head.
“You’re not the only one,” I say, because when bad things happen to me, it always helps me to hear I’m not alone.
“I am.”
“How do you know?”
“The Ellies said.”
“They’re wrong. Trust me. I’m older. I know,” I say.
“You peed, too?” She looks up at me.
“No, but I’ve done a lot of embarrassing things that made me wish I were someone else.” Henley shuts her eyes, drops her head, and leans into me. “The important thing is that you feel like you can ask for what you need, so it doesn’t keep happening.” As soon as I say it, I know it’s true. I just wish I knew what to ask for to make things better for myself.
She looks up at me like she’s thinking about what I just said. “I’ll try.” She nods. “It’s really hard.”
“I know.” I pull her closer. “I’m proud of you for trying to do things that are hard for you.”
“Thanks,” she says. “Me too.”
“Want to watch a show in my room while I finish my homework? We can eat dinner upstairs.”
She looks up at me and smiles. Then she shakes her head. “We can’t.” And points to Mom.
I’m about to say that I’ll handle Mom, but I stop myself. “Try asking,” I whisper to Henley, because even though I just want to make everything easier and do it for her, I know I’m hurting her when I do that.
Henley’s big blue eyes widen, like she can’t believe me, and I can’t really, either. But I nod. It’s what I need to do, even if it’s hard for me. I take her hand in mine and squeeze, because I want her to know she’s not alone, even if she has to do it herself.
“Can we please—” She looks at the floor. “Please.” She squeezes my hand back. Mom takes a deep breath, like she’s trying not to interrupt. “Can we finish dinner in Clea’s room?”
Mom grins at Henley. “Of course. I’m glad you asked.”
Henley smiles back.
Mom looks at me, and I can tell she’s proud that I helped in a different, more important way—in the way that Henley actually needs.
* * *
After Henley and Hilda go to sleep and I’m done with all my homework, I take out the chess book Dylan let me borrow, because I want to start reading about strategies that are going to help me impress Mr. Lee. There’s a piece of scrap paper tucked into the first page, folded twice. I almost throw it away, but I open it up just in case, which is really good because it turns out that it’s a note for me from Dylan.
I hope this book helps you make the top twelve. Text me if you want to talk tactics.
From,
Dylan
PS. You can do it.
I re-read Dylan’s note again, because I’m afraid that I read it too fast or wrong the first time, and maybe it’s not actually as nice as I think. But it is. He also wrote down his number. I save it. But then I get nervous that I’m going to text him by accident and he’ll know I like him, and I don’t want to make it obvious how I feel, unless he definitely likes me back. But I can’t stop thinking about the fact that his number is permanently saved in my phone. It feels big.
I’M GETTING READY for school when my phone starts buzzing. I hope it’s Red texting to say he’s sorry and he actually wants to be friends again, but it’s Sanam: Are we going downtown on Friday?
Do you think it’s weird if I go? I write back. Red sort of said it was.
No way. He’s being weird.
But it’s just for the top twelve.
I think it’s the whole team or like anyone who wants to hang out after school, she replies. + I didn’t play last week, and I’m going … if you are?
Yes! Let’s go together.
Done. PS. My mom can totes drive us.
* * *
When I get to school, I go straight to Mr. Lee’s room. My stomach aches, churning up my breakfast, as he shuffles through the stack of papers. I’m not going to think about what’s coming next. I stay focused on Mr. Lee’s secret T-shirt, which says Into the Woods, until he finds my test in the middle of the pile and puts it on the desk in front of me. There’s a big blue F at the top of the page.
My throat goes from dry to feeling like it’s closing up. It doesn’t matter that I knew the grade was going to be bad. Being prepared doesn’t make failing any easier. I need to say something to convince him I deserve another chance, or I won’t be able to play chess. “I studied a lot. I swear. I knew all the answers, but I started taking medicine yesterday for, um—because I have ADHD. It really hurt my stomach, and before I knew it class was over and I didn’t get a chance to finish. If I can just retake the test at lunch, I’ll do a lot better. I know I will. My stomach doesn’t hurt as much today.” I hold my breath and cross my fingers, because even though I’m not sure I can actually do any better if he gives me another chance, I need to at least try.
Mr. Lee sits down in the chair next to me and folds his arms across his chest, like he’s thinking hard about what I said. “I understand that you were in a difficult position. The problem for me is that you know if you don’t feel well during class, you can tell me and go to the nurse, and then I can let you retake the test. And I know ADHD is new to you, but Ms. Curtis explained that you’re allowed to have extra time if you ask. If you were feeling up to taking the test, all you had to do was tell me and I would have absolutely made sure you had enough time. That’s one of your accommodations.”
“I know I messed up.” My voice sounds strained. “Please just give me one more chance.”
Mr. Lee sighs. “I’m sorry—but I can’t make an exception this time.”
No! That’s not fair. “What about chess?” I ask.
“You’ll have to sit out and attend study hall until you get your grade back up to a C, but I know you will,” he says. “The good news is you have a paper due Monday, which is worth as much as this test. And what I can do is read yours and give it back to you by the end of the school day. That way if you get a B or higher, you’ll be able to pick up where you left off at practice on Tuesday. This is probably not what you want to hear, but missing the tournament will give you time over the weekend to hand in your best work. I know you can do an excellent job, and then you’ll be right back to playing chess.”
My chest tightens. There’s no way I’m going to be able to think about my paper while the rest of the team is at the tournament working together to win. Nope. That’s impossible. But I’m pretty sure nothing I say or do is going to change his mind, and I need Mr. Lee to read my paper right away, because I want to be at practice on Tuesday and show him I belong in the top twelve. “Okay,” I say.
“I look forward to reading your essay.” He picks up my test and walks back over to his desk.
The hallway is hot and crowded with happy, smiling peo
ple who didn’t fail their English tests. I try not to cry, but everything looks blurry and a few tears trickle down my cheeks. I brush them away as fast as I can. Red is standing by his locker. For a second, I almost forget we’re not best friends. But when he sees me, his eyes drop to the floor and he turns away, and then I remember we’re not even people who say, “Hey, what’s up?” We’re nothing.
Red starts talking to Vivi and smiling, like it’s a regular day for him and he doesn’t even care or notice or miss me at all. He’s happy he doesn’t have to deal with me anymore.
Everything I’m thinking and feeling is building up inside of me, and if I don’t walk faster, it’s all going to pour out, and I can’t let that happen, so I cover my mouth, holding my words in, and walk past him, down the long hall toward homeroom.
There are a few people in class when I get there. I sit in the front row by the window. I’m itchy under my thin wool sweater. I try to think about anything other than Red and English and how badly I messed everything up so I can breathe and be fine, but it feels like my brain is stuck replaying all the things I did wrong on a loop. It’s impossible to switch to a different channel. I close my eyes and force myself to focus on something happy and easy—like Christmas. I think about our tree with its sparkling lights and huge white snowflake ornaments that look like shimmering pizzelles, and how Henley’s face lights up when she watches the nutcracker turn into a prince, until I can breathe.
That’s when I realize—I stayed totally calm and in control. And even though it was only one time, I didn’t blurt out everything I was thinking, which means I can do it again. I’m pretty sure if I practice, it will get easier to be like that all the time.
* * *
I’m a few minutes early to science, so there’s no one in the lab when I get there, which is fine by me. I stare out the window, watching the leaves and clouds. The next thing I know, Sanam walks in and plops down at our table, dropping her bag and shoulders in one huff. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her look like this—defeated and small.
“I hate today,” she says.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I’m never moving to France or Canada or St. Barts or any place where people speak French, so I don’t get the point of learning it.” She slams her test down on the table so I can see the grade: C.
“I got everything right. I just—I can finally spell in English, most of the time, and now—” Her eyes look glossy. She shakes her head and takes a deep breath, like she’s pushing all the sadness back inside.
“I’m sorry,” I say, because even though I’d definitely trade my F for her C, I get how she feels, like she wants one thing to not be hard. “If it makes you feel better, I failed my English test.”
“Wait. I thought—” She looks confused. “Did you not end up taking medicine?”
“I did, but—it’s not, like, fixing me. It really hurt my stomach yesterday. That was basically the only thing I could think about during the test. And now I can’t be on the team until I get my grade up.”
“What? Not okay!” She sounds mad. “Fact: You just found out you have ADHD. You’re doing everything they’ve told you to do and they’re still taking chess away.” It feels good to hear Sanam say it’s not what I deserve.
“Well, not everything,” I say. “I didn’t ask for extra time. But that’s because it wasn’t going to help, and it’s embarrassing.”
“You know extra time isn’t just an ADHD thing, right? I mean, I get more time if I need it, and sometimes I do, especially if there’s a lot of reading and writing, because it does help—a lot. I know it feels like a big deal, but it’s really not.”
I think about what she said. “I guess I never notice when other people ask for more time.”
“Exactly,” she says.
“What are you going to do about French?” I ask.
“I’m going to suck it up and talk to Ms. Curtis and come up with a plan for the next test, aka what I always do.” She rolls her eyes. “Plus, I lied about not wanting to live in tres chic French-speaking places. I really love croissants.”
“I think I need to talk to Ms. Curtis.”
“You should. It helps.”
“I’m sick of everything being hard,” I say.
“I know! Like right now, even though I’m annoyed about getting a C, it’s mostly because I should have asked for help before the test. I just didn’t feel like being me this week. But I know what I need to do to get an A. You will, too. Trust me.”
I shake my head. “I’m not good at school or smart.”
“You don’t really know that,” she says. “I think that’s the kind of thing that changes. Like right now, I’m the worst at French, but I’m good at everything else. And I wasn’t always. I used to be bad at school, because I couldn’t read. So maybe I can be good at French, too. I mean, considering that you didn’t even know you had ADHD until, like, five seconds ago, I’m pretty sure you have no clue what you’re good at.”
“That’s true,” I say.
“The only way it won’t work out for you is if you give up, so maybe don’t do that.”
“I definitely won’t.”
“Okay. Good.”
“I hate that I’m missing two practices and a tourney,” I say.
“Me too,” she says. “But I’ll text you live updates. It will be like you’re there. Plus, we’re going downtown with the team on Friday.”
“I can’t,” I say.
“You have to. Everyone thinks you’re going. It will be way worse if you don’t show up.”
“I know you’re right. But also—Red is mad at me, so I don’t want to make it awkward for you, because, you know—of the secret.”
“He’ll probably be over it by then.”
I really hope she’s right.
“We’ll make it fun. I promise.”
She holds out her pinky. I wrap my little finger around hers, squeezing tight. It feels like we’re in on something together.
* * *
I don’t have anyone to sit with at lunch, because Sanam has her tutor and Dylan is with Red, who hates me. Even if everything were fine with Red and he were missing lunch for some random reason, I would never sit with just Dylan in the cafeteria, unless I wanted everyone in the entire grade to know I like him, which I don’t, so I go to the library between stacks of books. Even though I’m not hungry, I take out my PB&J, because I need energy to get through the rest of the day. The hardest part about eating after I take my medicine is the first bite. But I figured out that if I put the food up to my mouth and make myself try to eat, then it gets easier, because my body is actually hungry. It’s just that my brain is busy with other things. Once I start eating, I have no problem finishing my sandwich, banana, and all my cherry-flavored seltzer.
When it’s time for practice, the rest of the team walks past the library and over to the multipurpose room. I stay where I am for study hall. I try to use my time not playing chess to work on the outline for my English paper, but it’s hard to think about anything other than what I’m missing at practice.
After the bell rings at the end of the day, I go to Ms. Curtis’s office.
“Clea.” She smiles when she sees me. “How can I help you?”
“I got an F on my English test, and I know you can’t say I’m stupid, because you’re a teacher and that’s not allowed or whatever, but that’s how I feel—like an idiot. I can’t keep getting Fs, because then I won’t be able to play chess, and it’s the only thing I want to do, so I need you to help me not fail.”
“I want you to listen to me very carefully, Clea.” Ms. Curtis’s voice is soft and calm, like always. “When I look at you, I see a hardworking student who is capable and talented, who I know can excel in every subject. And I know that because you’re giving school everything you’ve got, even though it’s hard and frustrating and it feels unfair.”
“Then why isn’t it working?”
“It will,” she says. “ADHD is part of who you are
and everything you do. It’s how you process the world around you. It’s going to take time to figure out how to manage your symptoms and make sure they’re not getting in your way, and I know how hard that must be when you want everything to be fixed right now, but I think you’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself—”
“I’m not!” I don’t let her finish. “I got an F on my English test. That’s really bad no matter how you look at it. I need to stop messing up.”
“This is the time to mess up. That’s how you’re going to learn what you need to be your best, strongest self. Don’t be afraid of failing. It’s an opportunity,” she says. “I think it would really help if you used your extra time during tests, even if you don’t end up needing it. That way you won’t feel rushed, and you can stay focused on finishing, instead of panicking about not getting to all the questions.”
“I want to be able to do that,” I say, because I know I have to ask for the things I need, like Sanam said. “I’m pretty sure I can ask my teachers, but I don’t think I can do it in front of everyone in my classes. Maybe eventually. But that feels too hard right now.”
“That makes sense,” Ms. Curtis says. “One approach might be to remind your teacher at the beginning of the period before the test starts that you’ll need extra time and sort out the logistics in advance. That way you have the option, but you don’t have to feel the pressure to advocate for yourself in front of everyone while you’re focused on finishing your work.”
I think about her idea for a few seconds. “I’m pretty sure that would help.”
“Good.” She writes something in her notebook. “I know it might be hard for you to see it this way right now, especially because you’re missing chess, but if you’d done better on your test, you might not have realized what you need in order to be successful.”
I know she’s right. “I think it might be better for me to take my tests in a quiet room. Maybe just for a little while or on days I’m feeling really distracted.”
“Great idea.” Ms. Curtis writes that down, too. “You can always come to the learning center during tests and quizzes, and I’ll let your teachers know about the additional accommodation.”
Focused Page 14
