Out of My Mind

by Sharon M. Draper

  “Can I get a steak, Dad?” Connor asked.

  His dad clapped him on the back. “Sure, I think I’ll have one myself. For this one night, you get anything you want!”

  Connor’s eyes got large. “A whole chocolate cake?”

  “You’ll barf, boy,” his dad replied.

  “I want the pasta delight,” Rose told the waitress. “With extra cheese.”

  “Me too!” said Amanda.

  “May I have the spaghetti and meatballs, please?” Elena asked.

  Claire and Molly both ordered lasagna.

  When the waitress got to me and Mom, I was ready.

  “I’ll have mac and cheese, please,” I made Elvira say.

  The waitress looked a little surprised, since most of the machine was tucked under the table, but she was cool and acted as if she got orders from Medi-Talkers every day. “Sure, hon. Comin’ right up. You want some salad with that?”

  “No, thanks.”

  She gave me a real big smile, then took Mom’s order. Only my mom would order baked fish at an Italian restaurant!

  As we waited for our food, the cheerful mood continued. Our tables were covered with white paper instead of tablecloths, so everybody, including the adults, had been given crayons and markers.

  “Look at this—I drew a giant monster rabbit!” Connor said. He glanced at Rose’s drawing, then added large green teeth to his own. “And it’s gonna eat that wimpy bug you just drew,” he told her.

  Rose laughed. “Well, this is a poisonous spider, and it’s gonna bite your silly old rabbit!”

  Rodney and Connor then lined up all the salt and pepper shakers and started tossing sugar packets over the barricade with forks and spoons as catapults.

  But I noticed that Claire, who was sitting next to Rodney, was strangely quiet and didn’t even pick up a crayon.

  “Engage the enemy!” Connor cried. “Score!”

  “You weren’t even in my territory, man! Besides, you tossed the pink fake sugar stuff. You only get half a point for that stuff!”

  I sat and watched my teammates do such ordinary things. Drawing. Laughing. Teasing. Joking. I really tried hard to look like I was having fun too, but all I wanted to do was go home.

  When the waitress finally brought the food, forks became important for eating and the war ended suddenly. Conversation slowed down as everybody dug into their meals. Connor took a huge bite of his steak.

  “Mmm, this is the bomb,” he said with his mouth full.

  Mom’s fish looked a little, well, fishy, as she picked at it with her fork. She and I were thinking the same thing, I knew.

  My food sat untouched in front of me.

  Our family goes out to restaurants every once in a while. Actually, Penny is more of a problem in a restaurant than I am because she’s wiggly and excitable and she’s likely to throw her peas on the floor.

  Usually, eating out doesn’t bother me. Mom and Dad take turns spooning food into my mouth, and I ignore anyone who is rude enough to stare.

  But this was different. At school I eat in a special area of the cafeteria with the other disabled kids. The aides put bibs on us, feed us, and wipe our mouths when we’re done. With the exception of that sip of Coke at the competition, nobody on the team had ever really seen me eat. Rather, be fed.

  I didn’t know what to do. My food sat there getting cold. I looked at Mom. She looked at me. She picked up the spoon and looked at me with the question on her face.

  I nodded. Very carefully, she placed a spoonful of pasta in my mouth. I swallowed. I did not spill.

  I saw Molly poke Claire, and they exchanged looks.

  Mom spooned one more portion into my mouth. I swallowed. I did not spill. We continued, one spoonful at a time.

  I was so hungry.

  Nobody said anything, but I saw them look down at their plates with way too much attention. It got quiet. Even Connor stopped talking.

  Finally, even though my plate was still full, I pushed it away.

  “Would you like to take this home, Melody?” Mom whispered.

  I nodded yes, hugely relieved, and she signaled for the waitress, who also brought dessert menus.

  Being reminded of cake and ice cream cheered up Connor, who did not order a whole chocolate cake, but did order two slices. Rodney ordered apple pie, while Rose asked for pudding.

  Claire ended up taking her food home in a box as well. She had eaten almost nothing and barely said two words all evening.

  “So, what did you think about that final question? That was too hard!” Rodney said.

  “Piece of cake!” Connor replied, laughing at his own joke. He smeared whipped cream over his second piece of cake.

  “Did you see the hair on that announcer?” Amanda teased. “It never moved!”

  “Must have been made of plastic,” Rose said, laughing.

  “What are you wearing to the D.C. competition?” Rose asked Claire.

  Claire just shrugged.

  “I wonder if we’ll get to visit the White House while we’re there,” Amanda mused. “That would be awesome.”

  “I believe it’s on our agenda for Saturday,” Mr. Dimming replied enthusiastically. “I’m excited about that as well!”

  “So, what’s with you and Melody being best friends, Claire?” Elena asked.

  Claire didn’t answer, but she rubbed her hand over her forehead. “I don’t feel so good,” she said weakly. “Is it hot in here?” No one had time to answer, for at that moment Claire stood up suddenly, clamped her hand over her mouth, and stumbled from her seat.

  “Are you okay?” Mr. Dimming asked.

  Before he could finish the question, Claire threw up all over his new shoes.

  “Ooh, gross!” Connor said, obviously trying not to laugh.

  “Poor thing,” Rose said.

  “Whoa, what a stink, man!” Rodney covered his nose.

  Claire’s mom rushed her to the bathroom.

  Mr. Dimming rushed out as well, I guess to clean off his shoes.

  I wondered if Claire felt as embarrassed as I had while Mom was feeding me.

  Our little victory celebration was clearly over. Parents gathered coats and checks and paid their tabs. Claire returned from the restroom looking pale. No one mentioned the incident. We all headed for the steps.

  Hmmm, I thought. Claire gets sick in the middle of a crowded restaurant, yet I’m the one everybody looks at sideways.

  They all had to wait for me and Mom. We took our time.

  Push gently. Roll down. Bump. Top step.

  Push gently. Roll down. Bump. Next step.

  Push gently. Roll down. Bump. Third step.

  Five bumps down to the bottom of the steps.

  And I was still so hungry.

  CHAPTER 27

  The next morning Mom bounds into my room holding a newspaper. “Good morning, my rock star,” she greets me. “Guess what?”

  Rock star? She’s tripping. I turn to look at her. My face says, What?

  “You’re famous!”

  Huh?

  She gets me out of bed, straps me into my chair, unplugs the Medi-Talker from the charger, and hooks me up. Then she places the morning paper on top of it.

  There I sat plastered on the front page of the newspaper. In color.

  “Wow!” I type.

  “The article is all about the team winning the competition, but yours is the only picture they used. Interesting.”

  “Why me?”

  Mom smiles quickly. “Because you are unique and wonderful and lots more interesting than ordinary fifth graders, I guess,” she says. “The whole article seems to be focused on you.”

  “Team kids won’t like that,” I type.

  “I’m sure they’ll be happy for you, sweetheart.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  “Here, listen to this.”

  She reads me the article: “‘Spaulding Street Elementary’s talented academic team of fifth and sixth graders won the local Whiz Kids quiz
competition last night by a score of eighty-six to eighty-five. With stunning skill and knowledge, they answered questions far above their grade level to defeat seven other teams.’”

  “Makes us sound smart,” I tap.

  “And so you are,” Mom replies.

  “Math questions made me sweat.” I get clammy under the arms just thinking about them.

  Mom continues. “Ooh, here’s the part about you. Listen to this! ‘One outstanding member of the Spaulding team is Melody Brooks, an eleven-year-old who has been diagnosed with cerebral palsy. In spite of her physical challenges, Melody’s quick and capable mental abilities were able to shine as she led her team to victory.’”

  “They will hate me,” I type glumly. Butterscotch, who still sleeps in my room, nuzzles my hand. She always seems to know how I feel, but it doesn’t help this time.

  “Oh, don’t exaggerate. I think it’s a lovely article, and your friends should be proud.”

  “You don’t get it.”

  Mom ignores me and proceeds to get me ready for school. Two blue T-shirts—one to wear and one to pack, just in case. Two pairs of pants. She never picks out jeans. I decide not to argue. I have a feeling it is not going to be a good day.

  “What a great photo of you! I’m going to make sure I get extra copies of the paper,” she chatters cheerfully as she tugs on my socks before putting on my sneakers. “I’ve got to make sure everybody at work sees this.”

  Dad has finished dressing Penny, so he brings her into my room. When Penny notices my picture in the paper, she drops Doodle and shouts, “Dee-Dee!” She picks up the paper and kisses it.

  I bet I won’t get many reactions like that at school today.

  Dad leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so proud, I could pop,” he says softly. “I love you, Melody.”

  That makes me get all teary. Just once I wish I could hug my little sister or tell my dad I love him too. In real words, not through a machine.

  The reaction at school today is just what I expected. Words float out of lips that say nice things to me, but eyes tell the truth. The eyes are cold, as if I had beat the reporter over the head and forced her to print that picture of me.

  Even Rose acts distant. “Nice picture of you in the paper, Melody,” she says.

  “Thanks. Should have been all of us.”

  “I think so too,” Rose replies.

  I just sigh. I can’t do anything right. I don’t want to be all that—I just want to be like everybody else.

  When we get to Mr. Dimming’s class, he strides in wearing another brand-new suit—there must have been a two-for-one sale—and a brand-new smile. He looks like he might explode with happiness. He carries a stack of the morning newspaper with him.

  “I didn’t sleep at all last night,” he admits to us. “I am just so very proud of our team and our school!”

  He pauses while the class cheers for the quiz team. Rose, Molly, and Claire smile happily. Connor and Rodney take bows. A few kids even turn around and look at me with a smile.

  “Do we get free pizza or something?” Connor blurts out.

  “Absolutely!” Mr. Dimming replies. “The principal has declared that next Friday is Quiz Team Day, and the entire school is being treated to free pizzas and sodas!”

  More cheers from the class. Connor looks really pleased.

  Mr. Dimming continues. “And I want to give a special shout-out to Melody, who really helped us secure our victory! Let’s give her a special round of applause!”

  He begins the clapping and the class joins in, but it seems more polite than sincere. I guess I’m not as cool as free pizza.

  “Who saw the eleven o’clock news last night?” Mr. D asks, still beaming.

  About half the kids raise their hands. I had missed it—I had fallen asleep exhausted after we got home.

  “I taped it and TiVoed it and put it up on MySpace!” he tells us excitedly. “But now we must get back to regular class activities.” He sounds disappointed.

  “But how do we get ready for Washington?” Rose asks, obviously not ready to let him do that.

  Teachers are so easily distracted! I knew he’d bite on that one.

  Mr. Dimming smiles again and takes a deep breath. “We have only two weeks to get ready, Rose. I’ve prepared a packet for each of my team champs,” he says as he passes out the paperwork. “Take this home and bring it back tomorrow without fail. In it I’ve included information about how to redeem the free plane tickets and info about our hotel and schedule for the days we are in D.C. It also gives details about our practice schedule, which begins today. We will meet every day after school and half a day on Saturday.”

  “Saturday?” Connor asks, disbelief in his voice.

  I’m worried about that too. A whole half day? If Catherine can’t come, how will I get to the bathroom or eat?

  “I’ll bring bagels for breakfast, fruit for snacks, and we’ll order in burgers for lunch,” Mr. Dimming tells him.

  “Sounds sorta healthy,” Connor responds with a grin. “But I’ll be there.”

  “You skip a practice and you get bounced to the alternates, Connor. I’m in this to win.”

  “Why don’t you take a couple of days off, my man?” Rodney says to Connor. “I’d be glad to take your place. Slide you right out in a blink.” He sounds serious.

  “No way, man. I’ll show,” Connor says hurriedly.

  Molly raises her hand. “Mr. Dimming, do the alternates go to Washington also?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “So, should I buy a new dress just in case I get to be on the team?”

  “That’s up to you, Molly,” the teacher replies.

  Claire raises her hand then. “Mr. D, I think I know what Molly’s getting at. Since there are six people on the D.C. team instead of four, which of the alternates will you choose?”

  “We will use a point system,” he replies. “The students with the six highest scores from all our preliminary rounds will make the final TV team. Sound fair?”

  Claire looks satisfied at that, and she and Molly high-five each other.

  Mr. Dimming finally gets back to regular class work— the study of Spain and Portugal—and I do my best to do nothing to call attention to myself. No weird noises or kicks or grunts for the rest of the class, no answers to questions I know. I just sit in the back of the room with Catherine and hope the morning will pass quickly.

  I spend the afternoon in room H-5, where we watch Tom and Jerry cartoons for three hours. Can you believe it?

  After school Catherine feeds me a pudding cup and some juice just before it’s time to go to Mr. Dimming’s room for our first practice. She frowns as I finish my last sip of juice.

  “What’s bugging you, Melody?” she asks. “You should be on top of the world, but you’re acting like somebody just popped you in the nose.”

  “They don’t want me on the team,” I type.

  “That’s ridiculous. You were the star last night.”

  “That’s the problem.”

  “Without you, they would not have won!”

  “They’re scared of me.” I try to explain. “They think I look funny.”

  “You never let that bother you before,” she counters.

  It’s hard to put my feelings into words that will come out right on my talker. I know the other kids are uncomfortable with me on the team. There’s no other way to put it. My presence was cute at first, maybe okay for a local competition, but for the big game—on national television—that’s different. I’ll make them stand out, and not in a good way.

  I start typing again. “I make them look . . .” I hesitate, then type in, “weird.”

  “You’re the smartest person on the team!” Catherine exclaims.

  “I drool.”

  “So pack a box of tissues!”

  “I make funny noises.”

  “And Connor farts sometimes!”

  I have to smile at that.

  “No more of this feeli
ng sorry for yourself, young lady! Let’s get down to Mr. D’s room and kick some butt!”

  “Okay, let’s go,” I type.

  We roll down to the room, and I hold my head high. Well, at least as high as I can when it isn’t wobbling around. Nobody says anything more about the newspaper article, and practice goes on as usual. I answer most of the questions correctly, and by the time Mom picks me up, I feel a little better.

  But I do notice Rose and Claire and Molly whispering together as I leave. It could be about a new music video or a shopping trip to the mall . . . or it could be about me.

  CHAPTER 28

  How can they expect us to get ready in such a short time? Crazy! Plane tickets and permission slips. Paperwork and practice.

  Practice every day for close to two weeks. Study every evening with Mrs. V. Words. Cities. States. Countries. Capitals. Oceans. Rivers. Colors. Diseases. Weather. Numbers. Dates. Animals. Kings. Queens. Birds. Insects. Wars. Presidents. Planets. Authors. Generals. Laws. Quotations. Measurements. Equations. Definitions. My head has been spinning nonstop with facts and figures. But I’m ready now. Our team is ready.

  Mr. D kept his promise. The six highest scorers from all our practice rounds were announced at the last practice session a few days ago. Of course, just like the other kids, I had been keeping a mental tally of everybody’s points, so I was pretty sure I’d be one of the on-air contestants, not an alternate.

  Mr. Dimming almost glowed with anticipation as he made the announcement. He paced nervously. A little more and the man would be dancing!

  “Here we go,” he said. “I feel like I need a drumroll or something!”

  “Read the list—please!” Connor shouted impatiently.

  Mr. Dimming said slowly, “The six members of the championship Spaulding Street Elementary School quiz team are . . .” He paused. I thought Connor was going to throw something at him. “Rose, Connor, Melody, Elena, Rodney, and Molly. Claire and Amanda will be our alternates.”

  “I’m an alternate?” Claire gasped.

  “Molly beat you by two points, Claire,” Mr. D explained. “But you still get to come with us and cheer us on and tour the city.”

  “But it was me who helped her study!” Claire said, outrage in her voice. “That is so not fair!”