Dad is a mess. He keeps dropping things like forks and keys. He starts to talk, then forgets what he was going to say. He hasn’t shaved.
“Go and get yourself together, Chuck,” Mrs. V finally tells him. “A hot shower and cold glass of orange juice will do you wonders. When you go see Penny this morning, you don’t want to scare the child, do you?”
“Uh, you’re right,” Dad replies. “You’ve got Melody covered?”
“I’ll see she gets on the bus. Now scoot!”
He bounds up the stairs to the bathroom.
“Penny better?” I tap on my board.
“Yes, oh, yes! When I spoke to your mom this morning, she told me that they have taken her off the IV already. Penny was eating applesauce, complaining about her cast, and asking for Doodle, which I’ve got cleaned up and ready for her. Penny is going to be fine, Melody. Just fine.”
I inhale deeply. Mrs. V spoons eggs into my mouth, but my stomach roils with worry.
“Her leg?” I ask.
“Her leg is in a cast. It’s big and clunky and will annoy the heck out of her, but the doctors have said that when she gets stronger, she’ll even be able to walk with it.”
I’m glad Mrs. V is always straight up with me.
“Wheelchair?” I can’t think of anything worse than a teeny baby wheelchair.
“No. They want her to move around as much as possible.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Her head?” I ask.
Mrs. V understands. “No brain damage, Melody. None.”
I exhale slowly. “You sure?” I spell out.
“Absolutely. I saw her myself last night. She bumped her head when she fell, but the car hit her leg. It didn’t touch her head at all.”
The school bus honks then, so Mrs. V wheels me down the drive to meet it.
She checks my backpack, adjusts my foot straps, and gives me a big hug.
“You ready, Melody? Ready to face the quiz team?”
I nod. After what had almost happened, facing a bunch of snotty fifth graders will be easy.
Gus looks at me with concern as he lowers the bus lift.
“How’s your little sister?” he asks me. “That is so scary!”
“Gonna be okay,” I type. “Thanks.”
I realize right then that news like that travels fast. Everybody at school will probably know as well.
Gus wheels me onto the lift and pushes the button to raise it as I wave good-bye to Mrs. V. The ride to school is strangely quiet—none of the usual squeaks and grunts from the students who ride the special bus.
When we get to school, the air is chilly, so the aides take us directly to room H-5. As we get settled, I look at my friends there through different eyes.
Freddy, who wants to zoom to the moon.
Ashley, our fashion model.
Willy, the baseball expert.
Maria, who has no enemies.
Gloria, the music lover.
Carl, our resident gourmet.
Jill, who might have once been like Penny.
Not one of them even knows how to be mean.
And me, the dreamer who tries to escape room H-5, a kid with a computer named Elvira. I don’t even know where I belong anymore.
Catherine comes in then, wearing a new outfit that is actually cute and stylish. Tan slacks, black sweater, and a vest.
“Nice outfit,” I tell her.
“Thanks! And I did it all by myself.”
“I have something for you.” I point to my book bag.
She reaches into my bag, digs around, and finds the card that almost led to tragedy. After she reads it, she blinks back tears.
“No, Melody, thank you!” She leans over and hugs me. Then she looks serious and says, “Mrs. Valencia called and told me all about what happened with your little sister. How’s she doing?”
“Better,” I type.
“You know, you probably saved her life,” Catherine tells me.
“What?”
“Seriously. Your screaming and yelling slowed your mother down. Gave her time to figure out why you were acting like you had hot potatoes in your pants.”
“Could not stop Mom,” I stab out on my machine.
“You did exactly the right thing. I’m so proud of you.”
“Really?”
“Really. Especially after all you had been through at the airport. You want to talk about it?”
“No,” I type, and look away.
Maria comes over to my chair and gives me a big hug. “You did good, Melly-Belly,” she says. “Real good.”
I’m not sure if she is talking about the quiz team or something else, but my eyes get all drippy and my nose starts to run.
I wish I could give her a big squeeze back to let her know how good she has made me feel. But I just tap, “Thanks.”
I’m never sure how much Freddy is aware of what’s going on in the world around him, so he surprises me when he zips over to me and asks, “Melly go zoom in plane?” He looks excited, maybe even envious.
“No, Freddy,” I type. “No plane. No zoom.”
His face scrunches up into sadness, then he drives away.
Mrs. Shannon comes over next and squats beside me. “Your head must be near ’bout ready to explode from all that’s happened in the past few days.”
“Boom,” I type. But I don’t feel like smiling.
“Let’s talk at lunch. Okay, Melody?”
“Okay.”
“Are you going to your inclusion classes?” she asks.
“Yes,” I tap. I’d thought about this all weekend— when I wasn’t thinking about Penny. I’d decided I wasn’t going to hide.
“I want you to know I’m very proud of you.” She gives me a big thumbs-up and then gets our morning routine going.
As it turns out, Miss Gordon is absent today, so the first inclusion class I’m set to attend is Mr. Dimming’s.
“Are you sure you want to go?” Catherine asks me. Instead of answering, I power my chair toward Mr. D’s door. Catherine rests a hand on my shoulder as I whir in.
A small brass-colored trophy sits on Mr. D’s desk. The room is quieter than normal.
Mr. Dimming clears his throat. He shifts from one foot to the other. He runs his finger around the collar of his dim white shirt—he’s back to his old, well-worn brown suit. His old shoes as well.
Finally, he says, “Hello, Melody!” His voice sounds fake cheerful.
I do not reply.
He wiggles so much, he looks like he has to go to the bathroom. I just watch him. No kicks from me. No weird sounds. I am amazingly calm.
I glance over at Rose, but she is looking in the other direction. No one seems to know what to say.
At last I break the silence. I turn the volume up loud on my machine, then type out, “Why did you leave me?”
Somebody should have been there with a video camera proving that, yes, a fifth-grade classroom can be absolutely, totally quiet.
Faces search other faces, each one willing another to speak.
Eventually, Rose stands up. She looks directly at me and says, “We didn’t plan to leave you, Melody. Honest.”
I look her dead in the eye and wait.
I don’t react at all. I just wait.
She continues. “We all went out to breakfast early that morning—”
I interrupt. “Nobody told me about that. How come?”
None of them answer. Their silence says what their words cannot—it’s better without me.
I blink real fast.
Claire finally stammers, “We figured you’d slow us down because you have to be fed and stuff.”
It’s so quiet, I swear I can hear my own heartbeat.
“You threw up. Nobody left you.”
“Ooh, snap!” I hear Rodney whisper.
Claire stares down at her desk.
“Who took my place?”
Claire lifts her hand slightly, but she won’t look at me.
Rose scrapes at a spot on
her history book. “We finished breakfast really fast because we were all excited, so we got to the airport extra early.”
Connor stands up then. He looks uncomfortable. “So when we got to the airport, they told us that the noon flight had just been cancelled but that we could make the early flight if we hurried.”
Molly speaks next. “So we checked our stuff real fast, then rushed—I mean, ran like track stars, even Mr. Dimming—down to the gate to get that early flight.”
“Nobody thought about me?” I ask.
Silence again.
Finally, Elena says, “I did. I was the first one to board the plane. Just as I gave my boarding pass to the agent, I reminded Mr. Dimming that you were missing.”
Mr. Dimming again twists from one foot to the other. “I was so busy—trying to count heads and check seat assignments and deal with everybody’s carry-on bags— so I asked the kids to call you at home. I knew Rose, at least, had your number in her cell phone.”
All eyes shift to Rose. She looks at the floor, then slowly, she looks at me. A tear runs down her cheek. “You couldn’t have made it there in time anyway. I . . . I picked up my phone to call you. I flipped it open, then I looked at the rest of the kids on the team.” She pauses.
I could imagine them standing there, thinking about the chance to be on Good Morning America, with that huge trophy . . . and me.
Rose continues in a whisper. “We looked at each other. Everyone made just a tiny head shake—no.”
All of them? I shiver.
Rose sniffles and whispers finally, “So I closed the phone and we got on the plane. I . . . I never made the call.”
How can silence be so loud?
Mr. Dimming finally says quietly, “I’m so very sorry, Melody. So sorry.”
Rose bursts into tears then and puts her head down on her desk.
“Just before the competition,” Molly explains, “a reporter from the Washington Post came to interview the team. But he left when he found out you weren’t there.”
Connor walks up to the front of the room then, picks up the ninth-place trophy, and brings it to me. He stammers and licks his lips. “Uh, the team kinda wants you to have this, Melody. Sorta to make up.” He places it on my tray.
The thing is small, made of cheap plastic that has been painted to look like metal. The name of the school is even spelled wrong on the faceplate.
I look at the ugly little statue, and I start to giggle. Then I crack up. Finally, I roll with laughter. My hand jerks out and hits the trophy—I’m not sure if it was an accident or not—and it falls to the floor, breaking into several pieces.
The class stares at me in surprise. When they see that I’m not going to go ballistic on them, they finally start to laugh as well—a little. Even Rose sniffs and smiles.
“I don’t want it!” I finally type. Then, turning the volume as loud as it will go, I add, “You deserve it!”
Still laughing, I click on the power to my chair, do a smooth turn, and roll myself out of the classroom.
CHAPTER 33
Fifth grade is probably pretty rocky for lots of kids. Homework. Never being quite sure if you’re cool enough. Clothes. Parents. Wanting to play with toys and wanting to be grown up all at the same time. Underarm odor.
I guess I have all that, plus about a million different layers of other stuff to deal with. Making people understand what I want. Worrying about what I look like. Fitting in. Will a boy ever like me? Maybe I’m not so different from everyone else after all.
It’s like somebody gave me a puzzle, but I don’t have the box with the picture on it. So I don’t know what the final thing is supposed to look like. I’m not even sure if I have all the pieces. That’s probably not a good comparison, since I couldn’t put a puzzle together if I wanted to. Even though I usually know the answers to most of the questions at school, lots of stuff still puzzles me.
Penny came home from the hospital with bumps and bruises, a cast, and a new red hat. Doodle is back in her arms. They’re spoiling her rotten. That’s okay with me. Even Butterscotch is treating Penny like she’s an injured puppy. The dog has brought all her favorite stuffed toys into Penny’s room, like gifts.
Today I’m working on Miss Gordon’s autobiography project. Mrs. V has Elvira plugged into the computer. Classical music is softly seeping from her new iPod. I hear soft purple.
This is going to take a while. So much is stuffed inside my mind. I have lots to say and just one thumb to say it with.
I guess I’ll start at the very beginning. . . .
Words.
I’m surrounded by thousands of words. Maybe millions.
Cathedral. Mayonnaise. Pomegranate.
Mississippi. Neapolitan. Hippopotamus.
Silky. Terrifying. Iridescent.
Tickle. Sneeze. Wish. Worry.
Words have always swirled around me like snowflakes— each one delicate and different, each one melting untouched in my hands.
Deep within me, words pile up in huge drifts. Mountains of phrases and sentences and connected ideas. Clever expressions. Jokes. Love songs.
From the time I was really little—maybe just a few months old—words were like sweet, liquid gifts, and I drank them like lemonade. I could almost taste them. They made my jumbled thoughts and feelings have substance. My parents have always blanketed me with conversation. They chattered and babbled. They verbalized and vocalized. My father sang to me. My mother whispered her strength into my ear.
Every word my parents spoke to me or about me I absorbed and kept and remembered. All of them.
I have no idea how I untangled the complicated process of words and thought, but it happened quickly and naturally. By the time I was two, all my memories had words, and all my words had meanings.
But only in my head.
I have never spoken one single word. I am almost eleven years old. . . .
ALSO BY SHARON M. DRAPER
Copper Sun
Double Dutch
Romiette & Julio
The Jericho Trilogy:
The Battle of Jericho
November Blues
Just Another Hero
The Hazelwood High Trilogy:
Tears of a Tiger
Forged by Fire
Darkness Before Dawn
Ziggy and the Black Dinosaurs:
The Buried Bones Mystery
Lost in the Tunnel of Time
Shadows of Caesar’s Creek
The Space Mission Adventure
The Backyard Animal Show
Stars and Sparks on Stage
ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS • An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division • 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020 www.SimonandSchuster.com • This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. • Copyright © 2010 by Sharon M. Draper • All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. • ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc. • The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com. • Book design by Debra Sfetsios • The text for this book is set in Baskerville. • 1209 MTN • Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data • Draper, Sharon M. (Sharon Mills) • Out of my mind / Sharon M. Draper. — 1st ed. • p. cm. • Summary: Considered by many to be mentally retarded, a brilliant, impatient fifth-grader with cerebral palsy discovers something that will allow her to speak for the first time. • ISBN 978-1-4169-7170-2 (hardcover) • [1. Cerebral palsy—Fiction. 2. People with disabilities—Fiction. 3. Genius—Fiction. 4. Interpersonal relations—Fiction.] I. Title. • PZ7.D7
8325Ou 2010 • [Fic]—dc22 • 2009018404 • ISBN 978-1-4169-8045-2 (eBook) • “Elvira” copyright © 1965 Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC. All rights administered by Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, 8 Music Square West, Nashville, TN 37203. All rights reserved. Used by permission.
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