“We won!” she shrieks.
“OMG. Yes!” We hug and jump up and down in circles until I’m dizzy.
“Clea. Sanam.” Someone yells for us from the team room, halting our BFF-for-life victory party. It’s Dylan. “We’re all waiting for you.”
Sanam smiles at me with her eyes and then leads the way.
Once I’m standing next to him, Dylan puts his arm around my shoulder. It’s soft and warm. Then he leans in and whispers, “You rocked.” And out of nowhere, there are a million butterflies flapping their tiny wings inside my stomach.
The whole team and most of the families are already in the room.
“Great work, Clea. I knew you could do it!” Mr. Lee holds up his hand.
We high-five. “Thanks!”
Henley runs over and squeezes me tight. “Winner. Winner. Vegetarian chicken dinner! That’s you.” She points to me. “And you. And you. And you,” she says in her loudest voice and points to each of the people on the team, like she doesn’t care who hears her. It feels big and important, like a victory for Henley.
She grabs on to my hand. “Let’s go!” she says, pulling me over to Mom and Dad.
Mom hugs me first. “You’re amazing.”
“We’re so proud of you.” Dad holds on tight, like he wants to make sure I know how much he means it.
After the tournament, the whole chess team goes to The Hideout to celebrate our big win. The plan is that Mom, Dad, and Henley are going to drop Sanam and me off downtown. And while we’re hanging out with everyone, Sanam’s parents are going to bring a bag of her stuff over to my house, because our parents met at the tournament and obviously really liked each other and now she’s sleeping over tonight for the first time ever!
I’m standing in the hall by the bathroom, waiting for Sanam while my family goes to get our car, when Red walks up to me. “Can we, um, talk?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
He clears his throat. “I’m sorry I said I didn’t want to be friends anymore.”
“Then why did you say it?” I ask, because even though I want everything to be fine again, it’s not and I can’t just pretend. Not this time.
“Because I was sick of my dad letting me down and then saying sorry and expecting me to forgive him. And it kind of felt like you were doing that, too, but it wasn’t the same, because you actually felt bad about hurting me. And you were kind of having a hard time. My dad … he’s only saying sorry because he doesn’t want me to be mad at him. But he doesn’t really feel bad about anything he’s done. He likes Colorado and Barf. I was mad at him and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“And Dylan,” I say.
Red nods. “I know. I was a jerk to him too.”
“Pretty much,” I say.
“I’m sorry. I apologized to Dylan earlier.” Red taps his foot, like he’s nervous. “I really want to be friends again. Is there’s any chance you can forgive me?”
I think about his question, because I get that he’s sorry, but I want to tell him the truth. “I mean, I forgive you, but the thing is I’m never going to be perfect,” I say. “I’m doing my best and I think it’s pretty good. But if I only have a certain number of chances left and you’re keeping score, we probably shouldn’t be friends.”
“Because you don’t want friends who are waiting for you to mess up, so they can be like … see, you did it again?”
I nod. “I just don’t think that’s good for me.”
“I won’t do that ever again,” he says. “I promise.”
“Don’t promise. Just try really hard not to.”
“Okay,” he says. “I will.”
Red steps closer and hugs me. And I hug him back, holding on tight, because I really missed him.
“Finally!” Sanam squeals and then runs over and wraps her arms around both of us and it feels so good.
* * *
When Sanam and I get to the Hideout, I go straight up to the counter and order our hot chocolates—dark for me, milk for her.
Quinn is standing by the barista, waiting for her drink, when I walk over. “Just so you know, everyone is talking about how you cheated in that last round,” she says.
“Really? Well, I didn’t. But good try,” I say. “BTW, it’s too bad you didn’t get picked to play. That must be really tough.”
“You’re a loser if you think winning one match in one tournament changes anything.”
“It changes everything,” I say. And by the way she looks at me, I can tell we both know it’s true.
“Two hot chocolates,” the barista announces.
I pick up my order and walk away.
After Sanam and I finish our drinks, she disappears with Red. And I end up sitting alone in front of the fireplace. I keep looking around for Dylan, but he isn’t anywhere to be found, so I stare at my phone and pretend like I’m texting someone, even though everyone I know and text with is here.
“Hey.” Dylan appears next to me. “Can I talk to you? Like maybe alone?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Where?”
He tilts his head toward the door, like he wants me to follow him outside.
I get up, and then we walk out the front door and into the cold. We turn the corner onto a quiet side street. Once we’re alone, he stops walking and looks at me. I can tell he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, not right away. I bite down on my lip, because I don’t want to say anything stupid and ruin whatever might happen. I can see his hands shaking and for a second I think it might be because he’s cold, since we both left our jackets inside, but then I realize he’s nervous. Before I think it through and stop myself, I take a step toward him and slip my hand into his.
He wraps his fingers around mine and squeezes, like he doesn’t want to let go. My stomach flips.
“Do you, um, want to go out with me?” Dylan asks. “I mean, we don’t have to go anywhere. Or we can. I just mean, do you want to be my girlfriend?”
“Yes,” I say before he has a chance to say anything else or take back his question.
“Okay.” He smiles. “Good.”
I smile back at him. And then before I know it, his lips are on mine and we’re kissing. It’s soft and sweet and mint chocolate flavored, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with my hands, so I leave them exactly where they are, because I never want the kissing to stop. I want to stay like this forever.
* * *
Sanam and I change into our pj’s and pick out a movie. It turns out she isn’t really into magic, but she loves superheroes, which is new for me, but I’m on board. I like the idea of having top secret powers. We sink into the big sofa with all the snacks we can carry, and I’m about to press play and start Wonder Woman when she whispers, “Red kissed me.”
“No way!” I say. “Dylan kissed me. And asked me out.”
“Shut up. Wait—do you think the boys planned it?”
“No chance,” I say. “Actually I have no clue.”
Sanam takes a Twizzler and wraps it around her finger. “It was my first kiss.”
“Mine, too,” I say.
“I think I was bad.”
“You weren’t.”
“How do you know?” she asks.
“Because Red has never kissed anyone else, so as far as he knows, you’re the best kisser on earth.”
She smiles and then takes a bite of her licorice.
“Wait—now I’m kind of nervous I was bad,” I say.
“We just need to google,” she says, and starts typing into her phone. “Am I bad at kissing?” She pauses. “Okay—did you bump teeth? Or move your head all over the place? Or slobber?”
“No. And ew!”
She laughs.
I do, too.
She looks back at her phone. “Did the person you were kissing push away?”
“Definitely not.” I shake my head.
“Me neither,” she says. “And you didn’t have dry lips or bad breath?”
“Nope!” I say.
/>
“Then, we’re totally good at kissing!” she says. “Go us!”
Sanam is the kind of friend who makes everything better, even things that are already good.
ON MONDAY MORNING, Mom, Dad, and I have our check-in with Dr. Gold.
Everything in her office is the same. It still smells like gingerbread, the fancy chessboard is on her desk like always, and she’s wearing another one of her bright dresses. Only everything feels different, because I am.
“How’s it going?” Dr. Gold asks as soon as we’re all seated.
“A lot better. The plan is working. And you were right about telling my teachers what I need. It really helps. Oh, and one more thing: I played in my chess tournament and I won!” I can’t stop the words from flying out of my mouth. I’ve been so excited to tell her all of my good news.
Dr. Gold smiles at me. “I’m glad to hear that you’re feeling good and doing well, Clea. That’s wonderful.”
“We think so, too,” Mom says.
Dad nods.
“The only problem is that I have a lot of big assignments due this week and a history test. I’m sort of worried that it’s going to be hard for me to get everything done and play my best in chess.”
“How are you going to handle the competing pressures?” Dr. Gold asks.
“I made a list of everything I need to do, and I’ll go to the library at lunch, because that actually helps me a lot. But I think I have to ask Mr. Lee if I can sit out of practice on Tuesday so I have more time to study after school.”
“Clea, you don’t have to do that,” Mom says.
“We can come up with another plan,” Dad offers.
I love them both for listening to me and getting how important chess is, but I know what I need to do. I shake my head. “I’ll have a much better chance of playing well in chess and getting a good grade on my test if I skip practice, than if I try to do everything when I already know I can’t, at least not yet.”
“Are you sure?” Mom asks.
“It’s definitely not what I want to do, because there’s a chance that if I miss chess, I won’t be in the top twelve anymore, and being in the advanced group at camp is like the real deal. It means you’re officially good. And I wish I didn’t need extra time to study, but I do, so yeah,” I say. “I am.” Because deep down I know it’s the right thing for me, even if I wish it were different.
“That’s very mature,” Dad says.
Dr. Gold nods. “I understand that this is a difficult decision, but you’re making the smart, thoughtful choice to think ahead and balance your responsibilities. I’m impressed. And no matter what happens with camp, I think that Mr. Lee will be, too.”
I nod, because I know that’s definitely true.
* * *
When I get to school, I knock on Mr. Lee’s classroom door. “Clea, come on in,” he says. “How can I help you?”
I walk over and take a deep breath. His secret T-shirt says Arcade Fire, which I think is maybe a band, but I’m not sure. “I can’t come to practice on Tuesday, because I need extra time this week for homework. And even though chess is the number one most important thing in my entire life, if I get a bad grade in school, I won’t be able to play or go to camp, and I think taking a day off from practice is what I need.”
Mr. Lee looks at me and nods, like he’s really listening and thinking carefully about what to say next. He leans against his desk and crosses his arms. “Strong chess players need to think ahead about how to win. But they also need to anticipate how they might get tripped up along the way. That foresight differentiates good players from great players. And that’s exactly what you’re doing right now—planning out a strategy so you can do your best.”
“So you think I could be great?” I ask.
“You already are,” he says. “Keep up the good work. And thank you for letting me know in advance. That helps me a lot.”
“I will! Thank you! I’m going to work really, really hard in practice,” I say.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
* * *
I do my best in practice on Monday and Wednesday and give both games my all, finishing the week with one draw and one win. I’m not sure it’s enough to make the top twelve. I think that’s going to depend a lot on how other people played, since right now I’m on the cusp of being advanced.
By the end the week, I get an A on my Spanish project, a few check pluses on different homework assignments, and a B on my big history test! I feel like my study system is finally working and getting better every day. It feels good to keep improving.
When Mom pulls up in front of school on Saturday morning for chess camp, I know that no matter what happens, I did the right thing for me.
I’m about to open the door and get out of the car when Mom takes my hand in hers and holds on tight. “No matter what happens in there today, I think you’re good enough to be in the top twelve.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I wrap my arms around her.
She hugs me back. “I love you,” she says.
“I love you, too,” I say. Then I get out of the car and walk inside.
There’s a lump in my throat and a pit in my stomach, like when I first started taking medicine. Only as soon as I see Sanam standing by the door waiting for me, they both disappear, because even if I don’t make the advanced team, I know it will be okay.
“Tell me,” I say as soon as I’m standing next to her. “Just get it over with already.”
“You’re kidding, right?” She looks confused. “I definitely didn’t look at the list without you, because (A) um, no, I’d never do that, and (B) checking the list without you seemed like bad luck or something.”
I smile, because she’s totally right, and it feels good to have her on my side. “I’m scared,” I say. “I really want to make it.”
“I know. But if for some stupid reason you don’t, promise you won’t give up.”
“Never,” I say, because that’s one thing I know for sure I won’t do. Not now or ever. “Falling down and getting back up is sort of my thing.”
She grins. “It’s like your superpower.”
I smile back, because it’s true, and I like thinking about ADHD that way.
Sanam and I grab on to each other’s hands and walk over to the list. I breathe and scan the names:
Sanam and I scream at the same time, then hug and jump up and down.
I did it! I made the top twelve! It’s the best feeling I’ve ever had in my life, because even though it was hard to get here, I know that no matter what happens I can get here again and again and again. It’s a secret power that’s always with me now, making me stronger and better and smarter.
When I was in first grade, my parents took me to see a child psychologist, after my teacher called to tell them I was aggressive, unruly, and emotional. She said I couldn’t sit still, or wait my turn, and that I wouldn’t pay attention or follow directions. The child psychologist determined that I was frustrated and acting out because I kept falling behind in school. She recommended that I see a tutor, and so I did, twice a week for three years. The tutor drilled into me that I was responsible for my behavior and that I needed to be in control. She taught me—not so kindly—to cope with my symptoms.
I did not know I had attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, also known as ADHD, when I was a growing up. I thought I was slow and lazy, a forgetful person who made a lot of careless mistakes. And I didn’t want anyone to know I was struggling, so I created study systems. I drank coffee to help me focus. I spent every weekend, all weekend, studying. I worked harder and harder. I refused to fail, but I still did, and when that happened, I talked to my teachers and took responsibility. I blamed myself.
It wasn’t until I was twenty-one, a college graduate who had majored in English, and should have minored in theater—only I forgot to hand in the paperwork—that my parents told me my much younger brother had been tested for and diagnosed with ADHD. I remember the way they told me—like they were relieved to
have answers and a plan to support him. Like it was okay to need help. And in that moment I knew I needed help, too. Adulthood was different from school. There were new rules that I wasn’t used to and couldn’t remember. There were bills and deadlines and meetings where it was not appropriate to speak up, much less say everything I was thinking out loud.
One of the hardest moments for me was admitting that I’d been struggling for a long time and realizing that asking for help didn’t make me weak—it made me strong and honest and brave.
I wrote this book because ADHD is complicated and challenging, not just for the person with ADHD, but for their family and friends, too.
ADHD is a neurodevelopmental disorder that affects people of every age, gender, IQ, race, religion, and socio-economic background. While boys are three times more likely to have ADHD and tend to be identified sooner than girls, early diagnosis and intervention are important for all kids with ADHD. When left untreated, adults with ADHD are at higher risk for a variety of mental health challenges and the disorder can have a significant impact on their education, employment, and relationships.
While Clea is a fictional character, she represents a lot of real people. For story and timeline purposes, I took liberties with how long some things, such as testing and results, would take. There is no single test to diagnose ADHD, and there isn’t one way to manage the symptoms, but there are lots of options and support. Listed here are a few resources where you can read more about ADHD:
CHADD, The National Resource on ADHD
www.chadd.org
American Psychiatric Association
www.psychiatry.org
American Psychological Association
www.apa.org
Turn the page for a sneak peek at Alyson Gerber’s first novel, Braced!
I’M ON THE FIELD in my navy-and-white uniform, tapping my cleats lightly on top of the ball in front of me—right, left, right, left. The air smells like just-cut grass and brand-new rubbery soccer balls, and I’ve got that pre-game feeling: happy and sick to my stomach and laughing so hard my muscles hurt, all at the same time.
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