Out of My Mind

by Sharon M. Draper

  “Do I look okay?”

  Mrs. V looks me up and down. “Like a television star!” she replies. “Your mom tucked an extra blouse in your bag, just in case. Catherine knows what to do.”

  I’m glad Catherine will be going with us, and I think Mr. Dimming is glad as well.

  “Tell me the plan again.”

  “Your mom will pick you up from school, take you to get a bite to eat, and get you to the TV studio about fifteen minutes before the rest of the contestants. Penny and your dad and I will meet you there.”

  “TV folks won’t freak out when I show up?”

  “They are well prepared for you. Actually, it’s possible a few reporters might be there and want to talk to you.”

  “Me? Why?” I can’t imagine why any newsperson would want to talk to somebody who can only talk through a machine. How boring.

  “You’re a wonderful human-interest story. Other people might be interested in knowing more about you.”

  “They won’t make fun of me?” Just the thought of it makes my palms sweaty.

  Mrs. V takes my hand in hers. “Not at all. They’ll admire you, I’m sure. You are Spaulding Street Elementary School’s own personal Stephen Hawking. They’re lucky!”

  “Hope so.”

  “Here’s your bus. Have a great day, Melody. I’ll see you tonight.”

  I manage to get through the day without spilling anything on my clothes, and I’m relieved to see Mom when the last bell rings at school. After a quick meal of macaroni and applesauce in the car—smart Mom, nothing red—we head downtown.

  We find a handicapped parking spot right in front of the studio, and after the usual unloading the chair down the car ramps, seating me and strapping me in, then attaching Elvira, we roll inside. The receptionist, a chunky, pleasant woman with lots of makeup and frizzy hair, directs us to the staging area.

  I have to blink a little to figure it all out. Everything you see on TV is fake. I see the place where they film the news. When I watch it on television at home, it looks like the reporters are sitting in front of a huge window that shows all of downtown. But it’s just a painting, and it’s pretty small. So is the desk where the reporters sit. It seems so much bigger from home.

  I recognize a couple of the reporters who I watch every day. I can’t believe how skinny the morning lady is. On TV she looks normal-size. I’m going to look like a huge balloon when the cameras show me.

  Speaking of cameras, they are huge—like giant, black mechanical space beings on wheels. Guys with headphones and women with clipboards run around checking stuff. The back part of the studio is dark, but the place where the contest will take place is lit brightly. I can see where the teams will stand and the big buttons they’ll push for the answers.

  In another room, behind all the cameras and the action, are the benches where the audience sits. Some people have already started to file in. I can see them through a large glass window.

  I jump when Catherine taps me on the shoulder. “Fascinating, huh?”

  “For real,” I type.

  She and Mom chat a bit before a man wearing jeans and a Cincinnati Bengals sweatshirt approaches us.“Excuse me,” he says to me, “but are you Melody Brooks?”

  Surprised, I quickly hit “Yes.”

  “My name is Paul, and I’m the stage manager.” His huge hand swallows mine as he shakes it. “I’m glad you’re here early. Let’s see if we have you set up correctly. We’re really glad to have you participate.”

  He spoke directly to me, not Mom or Catherine! I like him right away.

  We roll across the studio, careful to avoid cords and wires, and enter the area where the competition will take place.

  “This is where the members of each team will stand,” he explains. “They each have four large buttons to push. Red is for the letter ‘A.’ Blue is for the letter ‘B.’ Yellow is for the letter ‘C.’ And ‘D,’ of course, is green.”

  I nod.

  “And here, Miss Melody, is where you will sit. Right next to your teammates. I have rigged a special answer board for you, so it’s adjusted to the height of your wheelchair.” He looks pretty proud of himself as he shows me the setup.

  “Wow!” I type. “This is perfect. How did you know?”

  “My son is in a wheelchair,” he says with a shrug. “I build stuff for Rusty all the time, but there’s no way he could do what you are about to do.” He kneels down so he can look me in the eye. “Knock their socks off, champ! Rusty will be watching.”

  “Okay!” I type. “For Rusty.”

  He rolls me behind my answer board and lets me practice with the four color-coded buttons. Because they are so large, hitting the right one is actually easier than using my Medi-Talker. I don’t even have to aim with my thumb—I can use my whole fist.

  When I hit the red button, the letter A lights up on the screen in front of me to lock in the answer.

  “Thanks, Paul,” I type. “Very, very much.”

  He winks, gives all of the buttons a quick punch to make sure they all light up, then tells me he’ll see me later.

  “I can do this,” I tell Mom and Catherine. “I’m ready.”

  The rest of our team starts to arrive. Connor, dressed in a black suit with a red tie, actually looks good. Rose, blushing and nervous, is wearing pale blue.

  “Hi, Melody,” she says. “Are you scared?

  “Nope! Not at all,” I type.

  “My mom made me wear this tie,” Connor complains as he rolls his finger inside his shirt collar to loosen it. “I hope I don’t choke on live TV!”

  If he does, at least the attention will be on him instead of me. What if I do something stupid or I start to drool and the camera does a close-up?

  Amanda, Rodney, Molly, and Elena—the alternates— look a little sad as they wander around the studio. They won’t get a chance to participate unless something happens to disqualify one of the four of us. I guess that includes Connor fainting or me convulsing.

  “Are you okay?” I hear Rose ask Amanda.

  “Yeah. But it’s just like I’m all dressed up with nothing to do.”

  “I feel you,” Rose says.

  “Break a leg,” Amanda tells her.

  “Really?” Rose smiles.

  “That’s what you’re supposed to say for good luck,” Amanda explains.

  “I know. But look at it this way. At the finals in Washington, there are six people on the team. So that opens things up a little.”

  “So go out there and win!”

  “Will do!”

  Claire and Molly make funny faces in front of the cameras, pretending they are on the air. Neither speaks to me.

  “Look, Claire!” Molly says, her voice, for once, in awe of something. “You can see your reflection in that camera over there!”

  “Do I look okay?” Claire asks, smoothing her dress.

  “You look great,” Molly assures her.

  “You know, it really ought to be you up there instead of Melody,” Claire says loud enough for me to hear.

  “Well, I’m ready if she messes up,” Molly whispers back.

  I just shake my head and think, Delete, delete, delete. No way am I letting their negativity mess me up. I have enough to worry about.

  Mr. Dimming hurries in then, wearing a brand-new navy blue suit, a fresh white shirt, and a red vest and tie. The whole team cheers, and Connor gives him a high five.

  He buzzes around for a bit, like a nervous bumblebee. He checks on details, wishes us all good luck, then goes to sit in the observation area. No teachers are allowed near the students during the competition. Catherine is allowed to stand in the back behind the cameras, just in case I have an emergency.

  Other teams start to fill the studio as well. One team, from Green Hills Academy, is all dressed in Kelly green sweaters. Not a bad idea, but the sweaters are ugly.

  Another team, from Crown Elementary, is wearing little fake crowns on their heads. That seems to me a little over the top.

>   Our team hasn’t done anything special. They don’t need to. They have me.

  CHAPTER 24

  It’s time.

  “Cameras rolling!” someone calls out. “In five, four, three, two . . .” He points at the man at center stage.

  The moderator, a slim guy with hair that looks like it has been glued into place, brushes a speck off his tuxedo, adjusts his red-striped tie, and begins speaking right on cue. “Good evening!” he says with that perfectly modulated voice that announcers seem to be born with. “My name is Charles Kingsley, and I’d like to welcome you to the Whiz Kids Southwest Ohio Regional Competition!”

  Cheers all around.

  “In two weeks the winner of this competition will travel to Washington, D.C., to represent our area at the national championships.”

  More cheers.

  “We wish the best of luck to all our young competitors!”

  The studio quiets.

  “The rules are simple,” Mr. Kingsley explains. “Teams will be asked twenty-five questions. Each correct answer from each four-member team is worth one point, so the maximum total team score is one hundred points.”

  He pauses so the cameras can show the scoreboard.

  Then he announces, “The two teams with the highest scores from all preliminary rounds will meet for what we call a ‘quiz-off,’ so point totals are critical. The winner of that final set of quiz questions will be declared our local elementary-school-level champion and will proceed to the nationals in Washington. The team that emerges as the winner will appear live on national television on Good Morning America the next morning!”

  Cheers and applause.

  “Our first two teams to compete tonight will be Woodland Elementary and Spaulding Street Elementary. Take your places, ladies and gentlemen.”

  The four contestants from Woodland and the other three members of our team walk to the testing area, waving for the cameras. Catherine rolls me to my position, makes sure I can easily reach the buttons, then she gives me a quick hug and walks away.

  “I’d like to take a moment,” Mr. Kingsley says, “to introduce a very special participant in our competition tonight. Her name is Melody Brooks.”

  The cameras all point in my direction. The studio lights are incredibly bright—and hot. I blink rapidly. I feel damp and sweaty.

  “Although the other contestants will stand, Melody will be seated as she answers the questions. We’ve made adjustments to our answer board so that she can access the buttons, but nothing else. I hear she’s a fierce competitor.”

  I try to wave, but I figure I look goofy and wobbly, so I pull my hand down.

  Rose stands next to me, with Connor in the middle and Claire on the far end.

  “I feel like I’m gonna throw up,” I hear Claire whisper.

  “Don’t you dare!” Connor hisses.

  “We’ll start with a practice round, so you can familiarize yourself with our button system. Everyone ready? Which of the following is a mammal?

  A. Cat

  B. Bird

  C. Turtle

  D. Spider.”

  Everybody, including me, pushes A, of course. The screens in front of us light up with the letter A.

  “Don’t you wish all the questions would be that easy?” Mr. Kingsley asks, chuckling.

  Yeah, right.

  “Remember two things,” he reminds everyone. “First, this is a team competition, and second, this is not a test of speed, but of accuracy. Teams get more points if all four contestants come up with the correct answer. And the two teams with the most points meet for the finals. Are we ready?”

  “Ready!” the seven contestants on stage answer.

  I start to hit the word ready on my board, but I decide to concentrate on the contest instead.

  “Round one will have twenty-five questions. Let us begin. Number one.”

  I tense. Here we go!

  “The average lifespan of an adult mayfly can range from:

  A. One minute to one hour

  B. Thirty minutes to one day

  C. One day to one week

  D. Two weeks to one month.”

  Bing! Bing! Bing! Bing! Everyone hits their buttons. Once the answers are locked in, the readouts are displayed. Everyone on our team answered B. One person on the Woodland team answered A.

  Mr. Kingsley smiles and says, “Woodland has three points and Spaulding now has four with all correct responses.”

  We can do this. I can do this. Bring on the next one!

  “Number two,” he intones. “The battles of Lexington and Concord in the American Revolutionary War were fought in what year?

  A. 1774

  B. 1775

  C. 1776

  D. 1777.”

  That one is a little tricky. I press B, however. So does everyone else. The score is now seven to eight.

  Mr. Kingsley continues. “In literature the word ‘oxymoron’ means which of the following?

  A. A combination of contradictory words

  B. The outcome of a sequence of events

  C. An implied reference to a literary or historical event

  D. A symbolic story or narrative.”

  I am fairly sure the answer is A, but that word could mean “big-headed crippled kid who thinks she can win in a national quiz competition.”

  When the answer is shown on the screen, Connor got it wrong, and so did two members of the Woodland team. So the score is now set at Woodland: nine, Spaulding: eleven. We’re still up, but we have twenty-two more questions to go.

  “The next question,” Mr. Kingsley says, “deals with math.”

  Oh, crap. I’m dead meat.

  “There are two thousand three hundred fifty-seven paintings in an art museum. The museum has one hundred twenty-four rooms. Which is the reasonable estimate for the number of paintings in each room?

  A. 10

  B. 20

  C. 60

  D. 200.”

  Yep. Dead, rotten meat. Let’s see—I’ve got to visualize a museum . . . and rooms . . . and lovely paintings. How many in a room? Not sure. Divide what into what? Not sure. I’m going to say sixty.

  When the answer flashes as B, I feel like an idiot. But Rose got it wrong too, and so did two kids on the Woodland team. The score stands at thirteen to eleven.

  By the time we get to the twenty-fifth question, I’m sweaty and thirsty, but I’m pumped. The lead bounced back and forth between the two teams a couple of times. Sometimes they were in front of us, and sometimes we forged ahead with points. I got most of the language arts answers right, but the math questions stumped me.

  Connor can’t spell, so he missed several of those questions. Rose is weak in history. Claire has trouble with science. The Woodland team was about the same— some kids good in some areas, others good in others.

  “We now come to the final question for our first two teams,” Mr. Kingsley announces. He clears his throat and begins: “A weather event that measured 6.5 on the Richter scale would be a/an:

  A. Tornado

  B. Hurricane

  C. Earthquake

  D. Tsunami.”

  Bing! Bing! Bing! Bing!

  I punch C and relax. I did not have a tornado spaz. Connor, Rose, and Claire all got the final question correct as well. Two people on the Woodland team answered “hurricane” instead. When the results are tallied, our team has a total of eighty-one points. Woodland ends up with seventy-seven.

  “Congratulations, Spaulding!” Mr. Kingsley says with a polished smile. “The two highest-scoring teams will meet for the final round later tonight. Good luck, and we hope we see you again.”

  Victory! For round one.

  As the show breaks for a commercial, we are all escorted to a special waiting room in the back. The students from Woodland look really disappointed. That’s it for them for the whole competition. All they can do now is watch as the second two teams head to the stage for their session under the lights.

  Mom, Dad, Penny, Mrs. V, and Catheri
ne are all waiting for me in the back room, hugging me and kissing me like I’ve won the lottery or something. Catherine does a little happy dance. Dad tells me he filmed the whole thing on his camcorder.

  “You rocked, Melody!” Mrs. V shouts.

  “I am sooooo proud of you, sweetie!” my mom says.

  “Can I have a Coke?” I type as quickly as I can. I feel breathless.

  Everybody laughs as Catherine rushes to find me a paper cup for the sodas that are sitting on ice in the waiting room for the contestants.

  Mom pours dribbles of the ice-cold Coke into my mouth, one sip at a time, making sure I don’t spill on my shirt. I am so thirsty, I don’t even care that people from the other teams are staring at me.

  Mr. Dimming, after talking to Rose and Connor and Claire, bounds over to us, beaming. “This is such a thrill, Melody! You were amazing out there! I’m so proud of our team and extremely proud of you.”

  “Thanks,” I tap. “What’s next?”

  “We wait for the next teams to compete, then we’ll meet and beat the other high-scoring team and pack our bags for Washington!”

  “Don’t pack yet,” I type with a grin on my face.

  “I’ve been packed for ten years,” he tells me. “I’ve just been waiting for the right team. This is our year. I just know it.”

  He wanders off to talk to other parents. I never thought about what teachers dream about. I had no idea what a big deal this is for him.

  Rose comes over and squats down next to Penny. “I like your hat,” she tells Penny, who is holding Doodle closely and wearing a blue polka-dotted hat with a red feather.

  “Wo-sie!” Penny says gleefully.

  “How’s my favorite baby girl?” Rose says in her whispery voice.

  “Wo-sie!” Penny repeats.

  “You did really good, Melody,” Rose says to me.

  “You too,” I type.

  “You think we have a chance for the finals?”

  “Yep!”

  “And Washington?”

  “Yep!”

  “And being on Good Morning America?”

  “Oh, yeah!”

  Claire stays on the other side of the room with her parents, but Connor ambles over and stands next to Rose.