“We were actually really lucky,” I say, realizing, perhaps for the first time, just how true this is. “We had friends who helped us along the way. We were never truly on our own.”
“Wow,” he says quietly.
I’m quiet for a moment, too, stuck in some of those memories. My thoughts flash briefly to my Paper Things. But even that ache has dulled, like the wound is already starting to heal.
“Anyway,” I say, “that’s why I want to make it easy for kids to make hats. And I was kind of hoping that you’d work the hat table with me.”
Daniel looks serious, and I’m afraid he’s going to say no. Is it because he’s embarrassed to be seen with me in such a public place?
“It depends,” he says at last. “Will you jump off the bleachers with me?”
“No way!” I say. “I already told you —”
Daniel holds up a finger to stop me. Then he pulls out my note, which is nearly worn to tatters, and reads aloud:
“I have thought of two activities for numbers seven and eight, and if you’ll do those, I’ll do two of your items with you. OK?
7. Help Arianna Hazard get a leadership role.
8. Help Arianna Hazard apply to Carter.”
“But we didn’t do either of those things,” I point out. “I never got a leadership role and we never filled out my application to Carter.”
“Yeah, but you’re on your way, right?”
This time I don’t argue with Daniel. I may not have an Eastland leadership role or a completed application to Carter, but I’ve found my own way to be a leader, and for the first time, I understand why Daniel is less concerned than the rest of us about where he goes to school next year. You can be your best self no matter where you are.
“So you’ll do it?” he asks.
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
My stomach is très rolly as I walk to school on Friday morning. I’m worried that Mr. Chandler is going to be furious. I’m worried that Daniel won’t join me at the table in front of the whole school. But most of all, I’m worried that I’m going to throw up again.
“Hello, there, Ari!” a voice calls to me as I near the bus stop. I look around and spot Reggie — and Amelia — across the street.
“Reggie!” I shout, waving happily. “Hi!” I wait till the road is clear and then dash across to Reggie’s side of the street.
“How have you guys been?” I ask, scratching Amelia behind the ears. Her tail swings wildly.
“Can’t complain,” Reggie says, which is something I like about him. He’s always looking on the bright side of things.
“The weather’s warming up,” I say, raising my face a bit to greet the morning sun. “That makes everything better.”
“Indeed, it does,” he agrees. “And it makes for good paper wishplane flying.”
I look at him curiously.
“You haven’t heard?” he asks. “I’m working at the different shelters here in Port City. I happened to tell someone who works at the men’s shelter about your plane, and the one I made for your friend — you know, the one who wanted the bike?”
I nod, encouraging him to go on.
“Well, as it turns out, there’s this program to help folks set goals and then take baby steps toward making them happen. I sit down with individuals — or sometimes families — and listen to their hopes. Then I help them fold a wishplane — one chosen especially for them. I guess the people who hired me think that it’s helpful for people to zoom in on a goal —”
“And launch it into the air!” I finish for him.
Reggie laughs. “Yup, literally!”
“That’s so cool!” I say, hoping this means that there’s more money for dog food for Amelia — and maybe even a little left over for Reggie.
“Say, that’s some hat you’ve got there,” Reggie says, just now noticing the hat I’m carrying.
“Oh, this,” I say, laughing. “It’s a crazy tradition at my school, but one that’s super fun. My mom actually made a hat just like this one when she was my age,” I say proudly.
“Can I see it on you?” Reggie asks, his eyes kind.
“Sure!” I say, and I model the hat for him.
“It’s beautiful,” he says. And I know that he means it.
Suddenly all that nervousness from earlier just kind of melts away. My hat is beautiful, and it’s a direct connection to Mama and to the whole history of Eastland Elementary School. Whatever happens today, however much trouble I get into, I know it will all have been worth it.
“I better go. But it was good seeing you, Reggie. You, too, Amelia!”
“Bye, Ari,” Reggie says. “Thanks for everything.”
Hearing Reggie thank me has the same effect as hearing Mr. O. tell me that he was impressed with my paper on Louisa May Alcott. However silly I might look on the outside, inside I am positively glowing.
I might not be nervous about Crazy Hat Day anymore, but I can tell that lots of other kids are. I see a group of kids getting off the bus with their hats in their hands — unlike on past Crazy Hat Days, when everyone would proudly sport their silly hats from the moment they left their houses till the bus dropped them off back at home.
Keisha is standing front and center by the double doors. She’s wearing a bright-red crab hat with boingy eyes waving on top, and she’s encouraging everyone to put their hats on, too. “C’mon, guys! Show your school spirit! Show Principal Chandler that we value our Eastland Tigers traditions!”
I have to say, Keisha’s enthusiasm is catching. I watch as a bunch of kids put on their hats, looking braver after hearing Keisha’s motivating words. No wonder she got assigned three leadership roles — and no wonder Sasha wants to be her friend. Keisha actually seems pretty cool.
Before you know it, more kids have hats on than don’t. Even the first- and second-graders!
I find Daniel lingering in the main hall.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, but I’m smiling. Together we set up the crafts table and start calling out to the kids who don’t have hats.
“Hats here! Come make your crazy hats!”
“We’ve got stickers! We’ve got pipe cleaners! We’ve got toys! Whatever your hat needs, we’ve got you covered!”
A third-grade girl wanders over. “My mom wouldn’t let me wear a hat to school,” she says.
“Well, you can make one here if you want.”
She spots the fake flowers and brightens, though she still hesitates.
Other kids wander over to see what we’ve got, but none will start creating. None, that is, until Matthew Stone, one of the soccer stars, comes over. He’s wearing a camouflage hat, but it’s not exactly crazy. So he starts gluing aliens to it. “Check this out!” he shouts to a group of his friends. His friends wander over and start gluing things to their hats, too. Then more kids come over and start decorating their hats or making new ones, each one crazier than the last.
I’m helping the third-grade girl attach some pipe cleaners to her hat when I look over her shoulder and see Mr. Chandler coming. He’s walking down the hall, and there’s no question: he’s headed straight to our table.
“Mr. Chandler! Mr. Chandler!”
Before Mr. Chandler reaches our table, his secretary comes up behind him and waylays him.
“You’d better get outside,” she says, panting slightly. “There’s a reporter from the Port City Times talking with Keisha Cooper. And she’s got a photographer with her, too.”
I crane my neck, trying to see out the row of windows behind me, but all I can see are trees and students milling around.
“Why don’t you go check it out,” Daniel says to me. “I’ll watch the table.”
The morning bell rings, but word has spread about the reporter, and rather than heading to their classes, kids pour outside, eager to mug for the camera.
I push my way through the throng until I can see Keisha, who’s standing very straight and speaking to a reporter w
hile she takes notes.
“This is an act of civil disobedience,” Keisha says. “As you know, Henry David Thoreau and Rosa Parks both acted on their ideals and helped raise awareness of the need for change. We’re all wearing crazy hats today to bring back Eastland Elementary’s traditions, to let Principal Chandler know that even though the traditions might not appear on academic tests, they’re still important. They give us common experiences and help us feel like we’re part of a community.”
“Now, listen here,” a voice says, directly behind me. It’s Mr. Chandler! He directs a few students to get out of his way and suddenly he’s standing next to me.
The reporter quickly thanks Keisha and then turns to Mr. Chandler. “Mr. Chandler, what do you make of this student protest?”
The photographer snaps a few photos of Mr. Chandler. I step back, hoping I’m not in the shots.
“As I’ve explained to students and faculty alike, these so-called traditions are frivolous and disrupt learning. Just take a look around! Valuable learning is being disrupted at this very moment. Students are not in class, where they are supposed to be; instead, they’re making hats in the hallways and trying to get their picture in the newspaper!”
“Isn’t it possible,” says the reporter, “that important lessons are being learned by this protest?”
“‘Protest’ is a rather grand word for this . . . display,” Mr. Chandler says. “But why don’t you come and talk inside, so that our students can get to their required classes.” Then he turns and directs all of us back to our classrooms.
I slip away from the crowd and rush back to the table to tell Daniel what happened. I’m in the middle of my story when his eyes go big and he points behind me.
I cringe and turn around slowly, expecting to see a glowering Mr. Chandler.
Instead, I see the news reporter and photographer.
“What’s going on here?” the reporter asks.
She looks nice, but all I can focus on is her pencil poised in the air, ready to take down my every awkward word.
“This is a station for kids to make a crazy hat if they don’t have one,” Daniel says, leaning forward on the table.
The reporter scribbles in her notebook, and the photographer clicks away. “Has this table always been a part of the Hat Day tradition here at Eastland?” the reporter asks.
“No,” says Daniel. “Ari came up with the idea. She’s actually the one who started this whole campaign. A few weeks ago, she organized a secret spring blizzard, where we decorated the hallway with paper snowflakes just like we used to do for the first snowfall. Right, Ari?” he says.
The reporter swivels back toward me, but I’m still frozen.
“Ari, tell them why you wanted to reestablish the traditions,” Daniel urges.
I think back to our spring blizzard and how Daniel had wanted me to tell Mr. Chandler why the Eastland traditions mattered so much — not just to me personally but to all of us. I threw up before I got the chance to explain things to him. But right here, right now, with the reporter looking at me, I realize that this might be my one chance to tell my story.
And before I can change my mind, I start talking.
“I know what it’s like to be an outsider, to feel like you don’t belong. For six weeks, my brother and I were, well, homeless. We slept on couches and at the shelter and even in a car. We did the best we could, but my grades still suffered, and I even lost my best friend because of it. Because I was too embarrassed to tell anyone what was really going on. Because I didn’t want to be different. One of the best things about the Eastland Elementary traditions is that they let everyone feel like part of the same community, just like Keisha said. And I wanted to make sure that everyone who wanted to be a part of Crazy Hat Day had that opportunity — whatever their lives are like or whatever group they belong to. We’re all Eastland Tigers, and this is our way of saying that.”
The reporter smiles and nods at the photographer, apparently signaling that our interview is over. She asks Daniel and me for our names — she even makes us spell them — and then they hurry off toward Mr. Chandler’s office.
I turn to Daniel, my cheeks suddenly burning. “Did I really just tell that reporter that I was homeless for six weeks?”
Daniel smiles. “You did! It was awesome! I wish I was half as brave as you are, Arianna Hazard!”
I laugh. “I guess I am brave!”
“Yeah,” he says, “but brave enough to jump from the bleachers?”
I spend the rest of the day waiting for Mr. Chandler’s voice to come over the loudspeaker to call me and Daniel down to his office. I also keep expecting him to demand that students remove their hats — or the teachers to demand it — but no one does, even though the reporter is long gone.
Then, during social studies, the intercom hums to life, and Mr. Chandler’s gruff voice crackles into Mr. O.’s classroom: “Attention, students. After discussing the matter with the members of the Port City School Board, I have decided to reinstate the Eastland Elementary traditions. Those of you wearing hats today may continue to do so. In addition, we will be holding the fifth-grade library sleepover sometime in May. Permission slips will be going home with all eligible fifth-graders at the beginning of next week.”
A roar of cheers and applause can be heard from all the classrooms in the fifth-grade wing — and probably everywhere else in the school, too. We did it! We really did it!
Amid the excitement, though, something gives me pause. What exactly did Mr. Chandler mean when he said “all eligible fifth-graders”?
As I leave school, Sasha is standing outside the doors. Her time as patrol leader is up and she is back to being one of the walkers. I can’t help but hope that she’s waiting for me.
She is.
As surprised as I am that she’s waiting for me, I’m even more surprised that she’s alone, with no Linnie or Keisha in sight.
“Hey,” I say, feeling oddly shy around my former best friend.
“Hey,” she says, falling into step next to me. We walk together in silence for a ways. I feel like she wants to say something to me, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what it could be.
“So . . . Fiona overheard you talking to that reporter this morning,” Sasha says.
My stomach drops. I didn’t remember there being anyone else except Daniel in the hallway when I was being interviewed — but then again, I hadn’t really been able to see anything but the camera.
“And . . . ?” I ask finally, unable to stand the silence.
“And,” Sasha says, as we meander toward Head Start together, “she says you told the reporter that you were homeless.”
My skin prickles with shame, but I hold my chin up and look Sasha in the eyes. “I did. Because I was.”
Sasha stops and stares at me, challenging me with her eyes.
“What happened? Did Janna lose her condo? And why didn’t you tell me?”
“Gage and I moved out of Janna’s place for a while. They needed a break from each other, and I went with Gage. But it was harder being on our own than we’d realized it would be.”
Sasha puts her hands on her hips. “You still haven’t said why you didn’t tell me. Did you think I’d be mean about it? That I wouldn’t understand?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, shrugging. “Maybe.” I think about reminding her of the time she and Linnie and Keisha whisper-talked about how greasy my hair looked and how I smelled, but I decide not to. “But mostly I didn’t want you to feel bad for me — again. I’m so tired of being poor Ari.”
We continue walking without saying anything. “You know, I get how you were feeling,” Sasha says at last. “I got sick and tired of being Ari’s shadow.”
“My shadow?”
“You’ve always been the better student, the teachers’ favorite. So, when your grades started slipping and I got the leadership role but you didn’t, I thought maybe it was my turn to be the one in the spotlight.”
“And you thought I wa
s ignoring you? That I was angry because you’d started to get some recognition?”
“Something like that.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Sasha,” I say. “That’s no way to treat a best friend.”
I wonder if Sasha is going to correct me, to tell me that she’s my former best friend, but instead she says, “If we all get into Carter, do you think you could learn to be friends with Keisha, too?”
I think about how cool Keisha was this morning, getting kids to wear their hats and speaking eloquently to the news reporter. “Sure,” I say. “But I doubt I’ll get in to Carter. I haven’t even sent in my application yet — and I’ve just announced to a reporter that I was homeless for six weeks!”
Sasha screws up her face at that. “They can’t deny you a spot because you were homeless. That’s, like, unconstitutional or something. And applications aren’t due till tomorrow. There’s still time.”
We part ways at the Laundromat, just like always. As I watch Sasha head home, I realize that she’s right. It’s not too late — not for Carter, and maybe not for us.
At Head Start I show the kids my crazy hat, and of course they want to make hats, too. Since Fran and Carol weren’t prepared to make hats today, Fran persuades the kids to make crowns instead. She helps them cut a jagged strip from construction paper that the kids can decorate with pom-poms and glitter. Then she staples the crowns to fit their heads. By the end of the afternoon, all the children have crowns, and their cheeks and noses are sparkling with glitter.
I’m just about to leave for the day, when Carol asks if perhaps I’d like to come to Head Start in the mornings during the summer. I hadn’t thought of working past graduation, but it occurs to me that Janna might want to keep on working as a nurse, and coming to Head Start would give me something to do while she’s at work. I tell her I’ll check with Janna.
Paper Things Page 18
