Real

by Carol Cujec

  “I know how frustrated you must feel.” Dad put his arm around me. “But our fight isn’t over. The best thing to do is continue as usual.” He knelt down. “Don’t let the turkeys get you down, Cherry Girl.”

  Rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock.

  Mom held up the keyboard for me to type.

  My mind was dark.

  My heart was hard.

  My soul was shattered.

  Page 101: Vespa mandarinia . . . the Asian giant hornet . . . as large as a human thumb . . .

  Rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock.

  I felt numb. Hopeless.

  I was . . . a nonperson. Just like everyone thought.

  I did not exist anymore.

  Page 101: Vespa mandarinia . . . the Asian giant hornet . . . as large as a human thumb . . . can massacre a colony of bees, ripping their heads off . . . twenty heads per minute . . .

  Rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock.

  A drumbeat inside my chest hammered louder and louder as adults kept chattering at me.

  Their stings release a massive amount of venom . . . breaking down flesh . . . like being stabbed with a searing-hot . . .

  Air moved in and out of my lungs until a chokehold slowly gripped my throat, squeezing lightly at first and then increasing pressure on my neck, until my breath strained and a dust storm of fear gathered in my belly. Each breath became harder.

  Like being stabbed with a searing-hot sword.

  Three sets of panicked eyes crowded around my face, urging me with words I could not understand. The storm in my gut became a hurricane. With no warning . . . no countdown, my body exploded in full fury.

  Worse than a KETTLE EXPLOSION.

  Diagnosis: Hurricane Charity.

  Throat screaming. Arms thrashing.

  The keyboard was my first target. I whacked it out of Mom’s hand.

  CRASH

  It hit the wall. Keys broke off and scattered across the carpet.

  More faces pressed against the glass. I was a zoo animal on display for gawking tourists. A freak in a sideshow.

  I kicked the desk.

  BANG. BANG. BANG.

  I twirled and hit anyone and anything in my way.

  More faces in the window. Peter. Julian. Mason.

  The hurricane inside me could destroy you all.

  Skyler now in tears.

  Cry for the beast. Stay away or I will hurt you.

  Mom screeched. “Charity, try to control yourself! You’re going to get hurt!”

  Control myself? CONTROL MYSELF?

  You’ve lived with me for thirteen years. You know that I AM NOT ALWAYS IN CONTROL!

  I swung my arms. Crashing. Thrashing.

  It felt so good to give in to my body.

  Not think anymore.

  Not try so hard.

  More shouts and hands trying to pin my arms down.

  I was strong. I kept going.

  I am Godzilla, stomping out Tokyo.

  My eyes opened, blind to the terror in Mom’s face. Deaf to her words. I only wanted to crush and destroy and release my anger into the universe. My body knocked over a lamp. Books flew to the floor. Each hit and whack painted my arms and legs with bruises.

  I felt nothing.

  The door burst open.

  It was Jergen, Jergen with his smooth hair and starched shirt, his nose wrinkled with disgust. Like I was some radioactive swamp monster.

  My hand reacted without thought.

  Grabbing Celia’s snow globe.

  Whipping it toward him like a major league pitcher.

  CRASH!

  It smacked the wall an inch from his head. A splat of water marked the yellow concrete. Plastic snowflakes dribbled down and melted into the carpet.

  My arms fell to my side, and Dad grabbed me in a tight bear hug. My body sweat and bled and burned.

  We both panted.

  No one spoke.

  The office was in shambles.

  Celia’s face flushed and wet.

  Jergen’s white.

  All my muscles shook, and Dad tightened his grip, probably expecting another explosion. Instead, I did something I had not done since I was five. The day Mason moved away.

  I cried.

  My body sank to the floor and wet tears ran from my eyes.

  I gasped through the sobs. Water flooded my face and soaked Dad’s shirt. Mom and Dad sat on the floor holding me from both sides, their chests heaving.

  I cannot say how long we sat there.

  Time had stopped.

  Over and Out

  I opened my eyes, and I was in my bed. Maybe it had all been a bad dream, a terrible nightmare. No one else was in the room, but I heard whispers outside the door. I could not tell who was there. I closed my eyes, hoping to escape back into the nothingness of sleep.

  And I did.

  “Charity . . . Charity . . . we’re here. Everything will be okay.”

  I woke again to see Mom stroking my hair. I tried to shake off the sleep, but everything seemed foggy.

  “Charity, we’re worried about you, honey.”

  It was Dad’s voice now. He pulled me up a little and propped my body into sitting position.

  “You’ve been in bed an awful long time. You need to wake up and eat and drink something. I’ve got a tofu scramble ready.” He smiled. “Or maybe you wanna go right for the strawberry shake?”

  The thought of food made me want to barf.

  Mom inserted a straw into my mouth. “Let’s start with a little sip, honey. You must be dehydrated.”

  I managed to sip from the straw. It was a sweet, fruity flavor.

  “That’s it. Keep going.”

  I blinked my eyes, and the room came into focus. It was dark outside. Gram was sitting in a chair beside my bed, reading.

  “Well, if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty,” she said, smiling.

  Mom snuggled next to me and held up the keyboard. I remembered what I had done to the one at school.

  My soul is shattered. I will fight no more. Why did I struggle for so long?

  I pushed her arm away and curled into a ball. The world became dark again.

  I woke again to Mom’s high voice. With frantic eyes, she put a straw to my lips. I took a long sip. Dad’s face smiled and nodded. I could not understand their words. Did we speak the same language?

  I am a shadow in this world.

  I do not belong here.

  I wanted to escape to a world where all people were valued. A world where I was accepted and supported to be my real self, where I was no monster. Would that world ever exist?

  Chances of me fitting in anywhere, ever: zero.

  Dad picked me up and brought me to the sofa in the living room. Aunt Elvi and Aunt Kiki were in the kitchen making soup—standard operating procedure whenever anyone was sick.

  “Hey, kiddo.” Elvi knelt down by the sofa. “You gotta hang in there, ya hear? I mean, we all have to wade through the trashy days to get to the sunny days. I can tell you that from first-hand experience.” She planted a kiss on my cheek.

  Aunt Kiki hovered next to her. “Sweetie. You’re going to be fine, just fine.” She bit her red lip and caressed my forehead.

  I squinted at the bright sunlight. It burned my eyes. I melted into the cushions and buried my head.

  The world became dark again.

  When I woke, I was in bed wearing new pajamas.

  A dull light peeked through the windows. Sunrise or sunset? I had no idea.

  Hero snored at my feet.

  A warm body pressed against my back. I did not have to turn my head to know it was Mom.

  I sat up.

  Mom shook off her sleep and put her arms around me. Then she reached for
the keyboard. I pushed her arm away.

  Hero nudged his graying snout under my arm. I lay my cheek on his pudgy neck.

  Mom and Dad made me drink again, a gross chocolate shake this time.

  “This will give you energy to get back on your feet,” Dad said. “You need a few more of these before your stomach can handle a strawberry shake. But I’ve got extra whip on hand when you’re ready.”

  They got me dressed and tried to get me to walk, but my legs did not cooperate. I only wanted to lie in bed. After a few more tries, they finally let me be.

  I imagined my life locked in an institution.

  All of us throwaway kids wasting our lives together.

  Dark thoughts floated in and out of my brain.

  I heard Mom whisper out in the hallway. “She’s barely eaten in three days. She refuses to type. She’s . . . she’s given up.”

  More whispers. I closed my eyes and put my hand on Hero’s head. He was laying across my legs. His stubby tail wagged, tickling my knee.

  I could pretend I was asleep until they went away. I put the pillow over my head.

  The door creaked open.

  “Charity, there are a few friendly faces here to see you, sweetheart.”

  I did not move.

  Mom lifted my hand and gently moved the pillow to the side. I stayed limp, praying they would leave.

  Mom let go of my hand.

  Thank goodness.

  Then another hand was on mine, this one cool with long, slender fingers. I knew this hand. I opened my eyes.

  “My Charity. I came as soon as I could, but you know, France is quite far away.” I stared into Ana’s beautiful green eyes. She put a hand on my chest and breathed deeply, a long inhale and exhale, and my body followed her lead. We sat silently breathing for a long time. I felt some of the darkness leave with each exhale.

  “Querida, tell us what you’re feeling.” It was Celia. She stroked my hair.

  Ana held the keyboard and supported my arm. My hand felt limp. I did not have the energy to do this anymore.

  “You have worked too long and too hard on your words to give them up,” Ana said.

  “Please, Cherry Girl.” Dad looked as if he might cry.

  I turned away.

  Ana squeezed my shoulder. “I will never forget the first day you communicated with us. I felt your spirit trapped inside you. But even with all you’d suffered, you were electrified with hope and determination. I prayed your voice would break through all the obstacles standing in your way: the ignorance and pity of other people, the sadness of separation, the loneliness of silence. When you typed your first words, I imagined the spirits of countless children rising in jubilation, and a warm wind blew through my soul. I know it is difficult for you to see this sometimes, Charity, but you are one of the lucky ones. Your voice speaks for a million voices.”

  She held the keyboard and supported my arm.

  “Talk to us, querida,” Celia urged. “We’re listening.”

  My finger reached out to tap the letter I. Ana nodded. “Keep going.” Letter by letter, I typed my shame onto the keyboard. It felt like a scab being pulled from my skin. She read my words.

  I am a monster. They did right to kick me out.

  Celia held up her hand. “You have to accept that you are not your body. Your spirit is struggling with a body that often betrays you. I am not surprised that you exploded in anger, querida. I am amazed that you do not do it every hour of every day.”

  Ana nodded. “You know the kids at Lincoln are better off with you there.”

  I have lost the battle. I am too weak to keep fighting.

  Celia shook her head. “You may have lost a battle, but not the war.” She shook a finger at me. “You know what, Charity? I will be the first to tell you that life is not always fair. You were born with a disobedient body in a world that often treats you like a disease. But consider the many blessings you have. A brilliant mind and a courageous, giving soul. Two devoted parents. And a team of cheerleaders standing behind you, everyone from me and Ana to all your teachers and your friends at school. We are all part of Team Charity. You are setting an example for so many children. Your mission is to change the world, and I believe you can do it.”

  How can I help others when I am a charity case?

  Mom shivered when she heard this. “Charity, darling, is that how you see yourself, as a charity case? Don’t you know what your name really means?”

  I hung my head.

  Mom held my chin and lifted my eyes toward hers. “The definition of charity is ‘benevolent love of humanity.’ From the moment you were born, I sensed your beautiful, open heart.” She laid her hand on my chest. “Your name does not mean that others should pity you. You are the one opening your heart to the world.” Mom hugged me tight.

  “You can’t let setbacks bench you, Cherry Girl,” Dad said. “That’s not the Charity I know.”

  I am sorry for letting you all down.

  “But Charity, do you realize that was the first meltdown you had in over a month?” Mom said.

  “And under the circumstances, I’d say you had a good reason to blow your top,” Celia laughed. “We just need to work on your technique.”

  Mom kissed me on the cheek. “There’s no point looking backward with regret. We can only look forward. Celia said your teachers and friends have been asking about you. They want to know if you’re all right.”

  Did she tell them I was kicked out?

  “You have not been kicked out, querida. Tomorrow evening is the investigation hearing. We will make your case in front of the committee. You do not have to be there.”

  I breathed out pity and thought about how my life had changed since that day on the pier . . . when my foot dangled over the wild water’s edge . . . when my guardian angel saw me as valuable and saved me.

  Was I worth saving?

  Memories played in my mind like a high-def IMAX film—Mason finding his courage, Julian and the welcome table, Jaz cheering at pep rallies, Skyler twirling at the dance. Did I play a part in these small miracles? Maybe I can make a difference.

  Fact: I have a mission.

  I tugged on Mom’s arm. I needed to type more.

  I need to go to the hearing.

  “No, sweetheart,” Mom said. “You’re in no condition . . .”

  I pounded my hand on my leg.

  They have to see me to understand my struggle.

  Ana nodded. “Actually, I agree.”

  Mom let out a big sigh. “Then I suppose we have some work to do.”

  Final Words

  Thoughts swam through my head as Mom and Dad led me through the school parking lot to where Celia and Ana were waiting. Mom smoothed my hair and tucked my shirt into my pants, which were a little loose after the last three days.

  No matter how well-dressed I was, my shaking, rocking, twitching body would show I was different. The superintendent never met me, but she would have no problem picking me out in a crowd.

  We were surprised to see Celia dressed like Jergen, in a lawyerly suit with her cinnamon hair in a tight bun.

  “I want to look respectable in front of the committee,” she laughed.

  “Me too,” Dad said. “That’s why I ditched my shorts and put on actual pants.” He spun around to show off his khakis and button-down shirt.

  “Steve, this is serious.” Mom frowned. “Charity’s future hangs on what happens in the next thirty minutes.”

  He kissed her on the cheek and turned to Celia, dead serious. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “I’m not certain what they will accuse her of,” Celia said. “But we can testify that the essay they have is different from the one she submitted.”

  “In the end though, it’s our word against theirs,” he said. “And since Darcy’s dad controls the purse strings,
something tells me his word’s worth twice as much.”

  Even Dad’s sunny viewpoint was turning dark.

  I knew he was royally right.

  “The investigation committee is made up of three district staff members from other schools,” Celia explained. “They have never met Charity, so our hope is that they will be neutral judges.”

  Dad pulled open the heavy door, and our determined group filed into the hallway, dim and empty. Mom and Dad clutched my hands. All of us had sweaty palms.

  I stumbled forward, feeling a little like Dorothy approaching the Wizard of Oz.

  Voices echoed from the auditorium.

  My feet stopped in front of the door.

  Ana turned to me. “Charity, may I be your helper in the meeting?”

  Mom supported me. I typed, Yes please.

  “Thank you, Ana,” Mom said. “I would probably make her more nervous.”

  Ana squeezed my shoulders and peered into my eyes for what seemed like forever. She whispered, her voice ever calm, “Now is the time, Charity. You are ready.”

  I felt her peaceful energy surge through me, and my hands shook a little less.

  Mom checked her watch. “Now or never.”

  Celia gave me a thumbs-up. “All will be well, querida.” Then she swung open the door. About a hundred people sat in the audience facing the committee members, who were sitting at a table on the stage. I sensed a simmering anger in the room. Three frowning adults sat at the front table next to Mr. Jergen.

  My mind flashed to the snow globe nearly smashing his skull.

  Oh no.

  As we stepped forward, the auditorium erupted in chatter.

  “Quiet, please,” Mr. Jergen said, holding up his hand. He motioned to the front row. “Please have a seat.”

  I marched down the aisle holding Dad’s hand, my eyes focused down on the pigeon-gray carpet to avoid the angry eyes around me. I could not let them break Ana’s bubble of calm. Then my mind flashed to the disaster of Elvi’s wedding.

  I thought that was the most embarrassing moment of my life. Maybe that was only a warm-up act.

  I sat in a cold plastic seat, Dad still holding my hand and Ana on my other side.

  Darcy and her parents, a few seats down, did not even look at us. Mr. Warner wore his usual grumpy frown. Mrs. Bling-Bling spread her lips wide like a hyena ready to sink its teeth into a rotting corpse.