Real

by Carol Cujec

  I wanted to shout.

  No, please stay! Please listen!

  Isabella clung to me. “No, Mommy. I want to play with Charity.”

  Mom pleaded, speaking faster. “Charity has told us about abuses there. She was slapped and kicked and locked in a time-out closet for hours at a time. They’re not doing right by these kids.”

  Mrs. Moore’s face turned red to match her hair. Her voice filled the room.

  “My daughter will never be a normal child. I will not be throwing her to the wolves for your daughter’s amusement, or whatever sick game this is.”

  Mrs. Moore grabbed Isabella’s hand and yanked her away from me.

  My voice hollered.

  GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! AHHHHHHHHGH!

  Mrs. Moore bolted out the door, and all my hope sank into my sneakers.

  Pep Rally Princess

  “It’s entirely lame.”

  Jaz complained nonstop about the football pep rally.

  “I can’t believe Celia is forcing us to make posters. As if we actually support this sort of chauvinistic anti-intellectualism.”

  She liked using big words when she was angry.

  Pep rally. It sounded like a happy tradition. But I was not happy ever since Isabella’s mom pulled my friend out the door. If only Mrs. Moore could see Skyler bouncing up and down, her paintbrush dabbing a giant yellow poster board.

  “Here, Cherry Tree, you paint something purple.” She handed me the paintbrush already dipped in paint, and I made a few angry squiggles on the canvas.

  “Good job! You made a purple sky!”

  “I mean, we’re a junior high,” Jaz said. “It’s not like we’re headed to the Super Bowl. Why does everyone take this so seriously?”

  Skyler guided Jaz’s brush to paint delicate poppies in a grassy meadow.

  “Skyler, this poster is not exactly following the pep rally theme,” Jaz said. “But I like it even better. Let’s paint some dog poop nuggets in the grass to show how much this whole tradition stinks.”

  Peter pointed to Jaz and laughed at her joke. “Poop nuggets . . . HA! Good one!”

  Celia walked over with wide eyes. “Skyler, querida, you are such a wonderful artist. I am afraid you are wasting your talent on this cheap poster board. I will get you some canvas panels to paint on next week.”

  Skyler tackled Celia with her famous choke-hold hug.

  “Wanna hear a joke? It’s a good one.” Peter jumped over to us. “What do vegetarian zombies eat? Broccoli brains. HA!” Next, he rattled off a story about a talking snail followed by five fart jokes.

  Thank goodness Julian approached with a message for Jaz. His electronic voice spoke with a British accent today.

  “Your heart cries for being left out.”

  “Left out? Give me a break. I don’t want anything to do with this beauty pageant.” Jaz angled her wheelchair toward me. “You’ll see, Charity. Students vote for eight girls to be on the football team’s Princess Court to smile and wave in front of everyone before the game, but the election is a total joke. I mean, they’re supposed to be picked based on good character and academics, but it always turns into a popularity contest.”

  Jaz turned back to Julian.

  “I suppose it’s a coincidence that all the cheerleaders are the ones who get elected. Not to be mean, but a lot of them couldn’t get through the first twelve pages of a Tolstoy novel, let alone the twelve hundred pages of War and Peace I read last summer.”

  Julian’s iPad replied,

  “Then use your golden voice to fight injustice.”

  Jaz whispered. “Already done. I wrote an official complaint letter to Jergen, reminding him of the guidelines for electing the Princesses. Not that it will do any good.”

  Jaz twirled her chair and waved her hand like a queen. In a silly high voice, she said, “Who wouldn’t want to be a princess? Greetings, my lowly subjects.”

  Peter grabbed his stomach and fell to the floor laughing.

  Ana arrived to help me type my science lab report.

  First a note to Jaz, I typed.

  Jaz wheeled closer.

  See you at the poop rally!

  She burst out laughing, but not as hard as Peter, who rolled on the floor for the second time today.

  …

  At 1:45, all classes let out for the pep rally. Ana led me to a seat on the bleachers, handing me my animal flashcards on a key ring to keep my hands occupied. My hands flipped through them automatically.

  Seahorse, flip, sloth, flip, toucan, flip.

  Jazmine pulled up next to me. “Got your earplugs?”

  She was not kidding—twelve rows of bleachers, about fifty kids per row. Six hundred voices screamed when the bouncy cheerleaders—Darcy and Lilly included—jumped and hollered.

  “Let’s make some noise!”

  Their black and yellow hair ribbons waved in the air with each bounce.

  “Hoo-rah-rye! Hornets fly! Hoo-rah-roop! Hornets swoop! Hoo-rah-ring! Hornets sting!”

  “Will you listen to that pathetic rhyme,” complained Jaz. “Shakespeare is weeping.”

  I continued to sulk and flip my flashcards. Sulk and flip, sulk and flip.

  Tiger, flip, sea star, flip, beaver, flip.

  Peter leaned over to us. “See the one with pink hair?” He pointed to Lilly. “She’s my girlfriend.”

  “You’re delusional,” Jaz barked. “That girl wouldn’t talk to you if her pink hair caught fire and you were holding a bucket of water.”

  Jaz could be heartless sometimes. Still, I hoped Peter stayed away from Lilly.

  Meerkat, flip, zebra, flip, falcon, flip.

  Even with all the chaos, my body stayed in control as the school band played. I saw the smart kid Stuart up there. His cheeks inflated like balloons as he honked his tuba, and his long legs bent in rhythm with the school’s fight song.

  Skyler held her poppy-field poster high as the whole auditorium sang along . . . or, rather, shouted along. “We will win this game, fighting for newfound fame. Our team will fight with all its might, the Hornet you can never tame!”

  Gorilla, flip, giraffe, flip, rhino, flip.

  Everyone cheered at jet-engine decibels when Coach George announced the members of the football team. They all lined up in uniform behind him.

  Coach held up his hands for silence. “Now, what you have all been waiting for . . . ”

  “Here we go again,” Jaz whispered.

  Coach turned in our direction, smiling and nodding.

  Is he looking at us?

  Skyler smiled and waved back at him.

  “The members of this year’s Lincoln Hornets’ Princess Court.” His big, white teeth flashed us again.

  Why would he look at us?

  My heart thumped louder.

  Hypothesis: He is going to parade me up there—the charity case—maybe to feel less guilty about calling me a mascot.

  Elephant, flip, flip, flip.

  Oh, no.

  Coach announced each girl to the sound of a drumroll. As Jaz predicted, all of them were wearing cheerleading uniforms . . . so far.

  I prayed—please do not call my name.

  Each princess did some cute cheer move like pumping her arms in the air or moving her hips side to side.

  Please do not call my name.

  “Lilly Carter!”

  Lilly trotted toward coach and launched into a double handspring. The crowd roared.

  Please do not call my name.

  “Rachel Lenox!”

  Rachel held both her hands on her cheeks as if she never expected this in a million years.

  Please do not call my name.

  “Darcy Warner!”

  Darcy strutted forward and pumped her fist in the air. Then she held both hands to her ears
for kids to cheer louder. Everyone stomped the bleachers and chanted her name, “Dar-cy! Dar-cy! Dar-cy!”

  “And our final member of the Princess Court . . .”

  I held my breath and prayed hard.

  Please do not call my name.

  “Erica Zimmerman!”

  Whew!

  Breathe in relief.

  All eight girls stood there, each one a thousand volts of perkiness, smiling and waving at the crowd.

  “What did I tell you?” Jaz said.

  Coach George held up his hand again, wearing a big smile, like he’d already won the football game. “Hornets, Hornets, we’re not done yet.”

  He looked over at me again.

  “This year, we decided to choose one special student to be an honorary member of the Princess Court.”

  “Special” student? Please, no!

  My body rocked back and forth, back and forth.

  “This student has distinguished herself by overcoming countless obstacles to do things that most of us take for granted.”

  Please do not explode in front of the entire school.

  I tried to freeze myself into a statue, but my body shook harder.

  Page 51: Wet dogs can shake 75 percent of the water off their fur in less than five seconds.

  Ana knelt down next to me. “Charity, are you okay?”

  A KETTLE EXPLOSION was approaching fast.

  Ana grabbed my hand and helped me up for a quick getaway.

  Coach announced, “Please welcome our special princess . . . Jazmine Cooper!”

  My feet stopped. I turned around.

  Jaz looked like she was going to barf. Her face went white. Her small body shrank down into her wheelchair.

  I would not wish this sort of honor on anyone. It was a pity prize.

  Jaz sat frozen as the applause died down.

  Coach George brushed his nose with his hand. “Uh . . . will Jazmine Cooper please join the members of the court up front?” He waved his hand for her to come.

  Students applauded again . . . less loudly.

  Jaz moved her hand to control her wheelchair. Instead of rolling forward, she rolled herself backward a little.

  A few people laughed.

  Skyler scrunched her nose, confused. “Go, Jazmine, go! You won. Coach called your name.”

  I wished Jazmine could fly like a bluebird into Skyler’s field of poppies, where she did not have to be paraded like a strange specimen. Was this Jergen’s idea of being nice? Or was he getting back at her for complaining about the Princess Court?

  Celia knelt beside Jaz. They whispered to each other. Jaz shook her head.

  My eyes were glued to the scene. I could not stop myself from gawking along with all the other gawkers. Then I realized something—my negative attitude stopped me from seeing it before.

  Jaz had only one choice—dare to be included.

  I jumped and clapped to get her attention. Jaz turned to me with a look of terror. I nodded at her.

  I believe in you, Jaz.

  She nodded back. Then with the look of a soldier going into battle, Jaz faced Coach. She inched her chair forward to join the other princesses. Then she picked up speed. In the middle of the gymnasium, she stopped to twirl her chair and wave like a queen. The gymnasium burst into applause. She put her hand up to her ear imitating what Darcy did. Kids screamed louder.

  Darcy folded her arms, looking annoyed as Jaz made a tour around the circumference of the entire gym. The crowd roared and chanted her name—“JAZ-MINE! JAZ-MINE! JAZ-MINE!” Then she aimed her chair straight for the center of the princess lineup and raced forward. Darcy and Lilly leaped to the side to avoid getting run over.

  More laughter and applause from the audience.

  Coach George announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome this year’s Princess Court!”

  The EPIC kids jumped and clapped, seeing Jazmine in the middle of all those cheerleaders. I jumped too. Leave it to Jaz to make poppies out of poop nuggets.

  Diagnosis: Delusional

  Stuart tapped his pencil on the table and ran a hand through his messy, brown hair. “What experiment should we choose?”

  My new science lab partners, Stuart and Rachel, were drama-free so far. Stuart was different than most kids—I mean that in a good way. He loved learning, and he treated me like a real person. A person with a brain.

  No more messages from Sassygirl72 on the gossip app. Was I now accepted as a student at Lincoln?

  Probability: uncertain.

  “I think we should let you choose the project, Charity,” Rachel said. “I mean, you were stuck in those boring classes for so long. Your brain must be bursting with brill ideas.”

  With her hazelnut hair woven in a side braid, Rachel was fashionable without being snooty about it.

  Neither of them seemed to mind that at that moment I was stacking my puzzle pieces on top of each other and click-clicking my tongue in rhythm with music in my head.

  10, 11, 12, 13 . . .

  Click. Click-click. Click-click-click.

  Rachel twisted the fake diamond bracelet on her wrist. “Something that makes us look super smart but isn’t super hard.”

  Stuart nodded. “Okay, so something between exploding a bottle of soda with a mint and curing lung cancer.”

  26, 27, 28 . . .

  Click. Click-click. Click-click-click.

  Rachel snapped her fingers. “Hey, do you think Harding would let us explode soda bottles?”

  Stuart smacked his forehead. “What do you think?”

  I nudged Ana to help me.

  We could genetically engineer a new species of tomato. One that tastes like sour cherry gummy worms.

  “Oh yeah,” Rachel said. “That would make me eat my vegetables for sure.”

  “Technically, tomatoes are a fruit,” Stuart said.

  32, 33, 34, 35 . . .

  Click. Click-click. Click-click-click.

  Rachel socked him gently in the arm. “You’re totally earning your nerd reputation today, dude.”

  Stuart observed me. “Charity, does your autism make you sensitive to smells? We may want to avoid strong-smelling chemicals.”

  Rachel jerked her head back. “Stu, that’s so rude. You don’t talk about someone’s . . . you know . . . affliction to their face.”

  I typed, with Ana’s help.

  Better to talk to my face than talk behind my back.

  “Gee, I guess you’re right.” Rachel scanned the room. “Not that I would ever do that, you know.”

  My nose should be ok, Stu. Thanks for asking.

  Right when I reached out my hand for a fist bump, a sound pierced my eardrums.

  EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

  I swept my tower of puzzle pieces to the floor and slapped my ears with both hands.

  EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

  Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

  Rachel put a hand to her mouth and gasped. “OMG, is she hitting herself?”

  Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

  “What’s wrong, Charity?” Ana pulled a hand away from my ear to type, but the sound penetrated like an electric eel. I pulled my hand away and pounded the black lab bench.

  Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound.

  What’s happening? Another fire alarm?

  EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

  No. All eyes were on me. I was the only one hearing it.

  I slipped out of my chair. My knees hit the tile floor.

  “Charity, walk with me.” Ana’s voice sounded as if it was under water.

  I screamed. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

  How could no one else hear it?

  EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

  A million miles away, I heard voices. My lungs scr
eamed harder.

  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

  “Is she breathing?”

  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

  “Somebody call 911.”

  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

  Firecrackers in my brain.

  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

  Then, nothing.

  The noise was gone.

  Ana’s hands cradled my head. She wiped drool off my cheek with a tissue. I released the death grip on my ears and opened my eyes. Her face came into focus.

  “Charity, can you hear me?”

  The entire class was standing above Ana. Their expressions ranged from worried to disgusted. Mr. Harding pulled me to a stand. “Maybe it’s best if she goes to the nurse’s office.”

  Ana nodded and led me away. On the way out, I glimpsed two girls bent over laughing. Darcy and Lilly.

  Mom drove me directly to the hospital’s urgent care, where they performed a hearing test. Mom helped me type my responses, and the doctor ruled out a hearing problem.

  Then the conversation got weird.

  The doctor scrunched up his nose. He had about four strands of hair combed over the bald part of his head and glued in place with gel. Did he think that would cover it up?

  “Was your daughter under any particular stress at the time?”

  Even now that I could communicate, the Thinkers were still talking about me instead of talking to me.

  Mom steadied my arm so I could answer.

  Always stressful to live in my body.

  “Does your daughter ever hear voices?” he asked Mom.

  “Do you ever hear voices, sweetheart?” Mom repeated.

  I typed:

  Yes. Whenever people talk.

  “Charity, you know what the doctor means. When people aren’t talking do you hear voices—that is what you mean, isn’t it?” Mom looked at the doctor, a new wrinkle added to her forehead, thanks to me.

  He turned to Mom. “Sounds like an auditory hallucination—she is hearing things that are not there. Hallucinations like this can indicate a serious psychological disorder. Has your daughter been seeing things that aren’t there as well as hearing things?”

  Honestly, some of these Thinkers are as sharp as bowling balls.

  “Why are you saying she’s having hallucinations at all? You didn’t let her answer.” As usual, Mom’s voice got higher as she became more jittery.