by M Sawyer
“Max, come on, you’re being a jerk,” the boy said.
“Shut up, Drew,” said Max’s brother.
Max squatted and pawed at the ground, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog’s, then lowered his face to the earth like a dog eating. He pushed himself back to his feet, laughing until he gasped for air.
Nolin lunged and planted her fist into his jaw. Shocked, Max stumbled backward. His brother stopped laughing and the dark-haired boy, Drew, shot to his feet. Max’s eyes narrowed on Nolin.
“Oh, you’re going down, Peewee!” He charged her like a bull and swung his fist, grazing the side of her head before she ducked and pummeled his side. He coughed and seized a handful of her tangled hair to yank her head back. Nolin shrieked and shoved her shoulder into his stomach, knocking them both to the ground with strength that surprised even herself. She kicked and thrashed until long fingernails dug into her shoulders and yanked her off.
“Nolin Styre!” Mrs. Carson bellowed. Her hair had fallen out of its clip, and her lined lips pulled back over large, glassy teeth. Nolin thought she looked like a mountain lion. “I have had enough of this! You come with me right now!” She wrapped her clawed hand around Nolin’s arm and dragged her toward the school. Before Nolin was pulled through the double doors, she looked back into the forest on the other side of the chain link fence, wishing she could disappear into those trees.
***
She’d forgotten her shoes. Nolin curled her toes to hide her dirty nails. Sitting alone in the hallway outside the principal’s office, she gazed at art projects hanging on the opposite wall—flat, generic blossoms cut and collaged with scraps of cheap construction paper. She wasn’t tall enough to flatten her feet on the floor. How many times had she sat in this chair this year? Twice? Three times? And how many last year? And the year before? It all ran together.
She noticed her knuckles were crusted with blood from Max’s nose. Her jaw tightened again, and she tried to wipe the blood onto her pants.
The buffer groaned across the cafeteria floor, mingling with the gossiping of the secretaries in the office next to her. The artificial light made her head ache. The buzzing of the electricity raked her nerves.
If only she could just go back outside and listen to singing birds and rustling leaves. If only she had a book to take her out of this hallway for a little while, take her anywhere else. Her legs jiggled and her stomach gnawed when she contemplated the trouble she was about to be in.
The doorknob of the principal’s office turned. Max stepped out into the hall, a smug grin plastered on his face. A plump woman exited the office after him. “Thank you Mr. Clark,” she said before taking Max by the shoulder and leading him in the direction of the sixth grade classrooms. She threw a dirty look in Nolin’s direction as they turned away. Max flashed her a toothy grin. Nolin took a deep breath and went back to studying her dirty toes.
Mr. Clark popped his head out. His eyes fell on Nolin. He sighed. She stood, and he held the door open while she passed under his arm into his office.
“Nolin, where are your shoes?”
Nolin didn’t answer. She climbed onto the wooden chair before his desk with her hands in her lap. Mr. Clark eased himself into his own chair, which creaked when he leaned back. His white dress shirt stretched over his large stomach. His face was leathery from years of sun damage, but his deep-set eyes were bright and gentle. Nolin liked him; he was always kind to her, even when she was in trouble. But that was the problem: she only ever spoke to him when she was in trouble.
“Listen, I know kids can get nasty,” he said. Nolin stayed silent, staring straight ahead. She felt like a prisoner of war, withholding information under torture.
Mr. Clark sighed again. “Have you been working on those exercises the counselor told you about? Taking deep breaths? Counting to ten? Walking away and telling a teacher if someone is bullying you?”
Nolin’s eyes flicked downward. No matter how much she told herself that next time she’d be better, none of those things ever entered her mind before she snapped.
“You’re such a smart girl, Nolin. Your teachers always tell me how bright and imaginative you are, but then you go and get into fights. I don’t understand it.”
The ticking of the clock on the wall synchronized with her pulse. She fidgeted and pulled her legs to her chest. Mr. Clark sighed and leaned forward.
“Is there anything you want to talk about, Nolin? Is everything okay?” Nolin knew he really wanted to help. She shook her head. “I’m sure things are hard for you at home right now, with your mother sick, but there are better ways to express yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” said Nolin tonelessly.
“I know, Nolin, but this is your third fight this year. You have got to learn to control yourself.” He tapped the desk on the word got. “You’re so smart. I know you can do better than this.”
“No, I mean I’m sorry you’re disappointed in me,” Nolin said. “And that my parents are. I’m not sorry I hit him.”
“You’re not?”
Nolin shook her head. “He deserved it. He shouldn’t treat people like that. He’s mean to everyone, not just me. I’ve seen him.” She spoke calmly, even though her fists were clenched in her lap. She forced herself to relax her jaw, keep her voice even. Grown-ups listened better when she stayed calm.
“Fighting doesn’t solve anything, Nolin,” Mr. Clark said. “You should tell a teacher if someone is picking on you.”
Nolin stared at her dirty knees and dug her toes into the edge of the chair. She’d tried that, but the teachers always told her to stop tattling. She knew she couldn’t tell him so. No one ever took her side over a grown-up’s.
Mr. Clark leaned back and sighed again. “I called your father to pick you up. I’m afraid I’ll have to suspend you for the rest of the week. You can come back on Monday.”
Her face fell. Her father would be disappointed. Her mother would be distraught. Nolin wished she could run out of the office and hide somewhere until things blew over, but there was nowhere to go.
One side of Mr. Clark’s mouth curled up into an expression of pity. “Is there anything I can do to make school more pleasant for you?” he asked. “Is the classwork too easy? We’ve already moved you up to the sixth grade. Maybe we could look into getting you more challenging coursework if you’d like.”
Nolin shook her head. Then the door opened behind her and she smelled her father’s cologne. She didn’t turn around.
“Have a seat, Mr. Styre,” said Mr. Clark.
Her father pulled a chair next to Nolin and sat. His eyes were flat behind his rimless glasses.
“I’m sorry I have to see you again, sir,” he said to Mr. Clark. Nolin curled herself into an even tighter ball, pressing her chin into her knees. She could almost smell his disappointment, like smoke in the air. The atmosphere in the room thickened. Nolin thought she felt the temperature rise a few degrees.
“I’m sorry too, Mr. Styre. It seems Nolin is still having trouble controlling herself, and from the sound of it, she’s not really concerned with improving.”
“I won’t do it again,” Nolin piped up.
“That’s good, Nolin, but you’re still not sorry you did it.”
“No, and I don’t see why I should be. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you and my parents, but not him.”
She looked over at her father. He stared down at his hands, the tips of his ears growing red. He was embarrassed by her. Nolin’s face suddenly burned with shame. Why can’t I just shut up and do what they say? She knew the answer: it was unfair. The other kids picked on her every single day. If the teachers wouldn’t do anything, the only other option was to take care of it herself.
Mr. Clark cleared his throat. “Nolin, I’d like to talk to your father alone, please.”
Of course. The grown-ups had to talk, because they knew best. Nolin clenched her teeth and pushed herself off the chair. Her father didn’t look at her.
The door closed behind her,
and she took her seat in the hall. Her insides twisted around themselves like the worm she’d dug up only a half hour ago. Her mother would be so upset. The last time Nolin got in a fight, Melissa didn’t speak to her for days. Nolin tapped her head on the brick wall behind her chair, pinching her eyes shut.
Muffled conversation rumbled behind the door. Her bitter curiosity prickled. She glanced down the hall both ways before sliding out of her seat to press her ear to the polished wood.
“…so much pent-up energy, and I think a lot of it has to do with her mother being ill,” came Mr. Clark’s voice. “Has Nolin seen a therapist? Any kind of psychological help at all?”
Her father spoke next. “Child psychologists, doctors, you name it. Nothing they’ve done or prescribed has helped. She doesn’t misbehave at home, though. It’s just at school that she gets into trouble.”
Why would I be bad at home? Nolin thought.
“Have you considered enrolling her in a special school? Gifted children often act out at school because they’re bored. They may feel isolated or different. They’re vulnerable to teasing. A different environment could be beneficial.”
Nolin almost snorted. The teachers in those schools looked at her the way her classmates did, like she was a freak.
“We’ve tried. Nolin wasn’t interested in any of them and the teachers found her behavior a little...odd. They turned us down. All of them. Some counselors suggested homeschooling, but it’s just not possible with my work, and my wife...well, she just isn’t up to it.”
“Well, Nolin is a little different. Bright, though,” said Mr. Clark. “She reads at a high school level. When she actually completes her classwork, when she can focus long enough to take a test, her scores are incredible.”
“I know.”
“I mean, we could advance her another grade or even further perhaps, but I just don’t think she could cope with junior high with her limited social skills...”
Nolin didn’t want to hear any more. She stood and paced the hall, forcing herself to block out the muffled exchange behind the door.
A few minutes later, the door opened and Mr. Clark leaned out.
“Nolin, can you come back in here, please?”
Nolin crept back into the room but did not sit down. Her father placed his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands. His thin, graying hair was mussed. His eyes were ringed with shadows. Nolin wanted to rest her hand on his shoulder. She decided it was better not to.
“Okay, Nolin,” Mr. Clark began. “We’ve looked over your records, and we’re going to give you one more chance. I’m sure adjusting to the sixth grade has been difficult, but this can’t continue. One more fight and we may have to expel you. Do you understand?”
Images of flying bats, swaying trees, and rushing rivers flashed through her mind. No school? Was that possible? She could play outside all day, read whatever books she wanted, be free from her classmates and teachers. Her insides fluttered. Then she pictured her weary, haunted mother rocking back and forth in the corner of her room, open bottle of Prozac on the nightstand. How this would burden her. Nolin aggravated her mother’s condition as it was. Getting expelled from school could send her over the edge.
Nolin couldn’t let that happen.
“Are we on the same page, Nolin?”
She nodded.
“All right, I think we’re done here, Mr. Styre.” Her father stood and shook Mr. Clark’s hand. Nolin followed her father into the hall.
“I’m sorry.” Nolin said. They pushed through the double doors and out into the parking lot. Spring rain sprinkled the pavement. The smell was extraordinary. Nolin filled her lungs. Her father shielded his glasses from the rain and sighed.
“Nolin, this has to stop.”
“I know.”
They climbed into the old station wagon. The inside was worn, spotless except for a tattered planner in the passenger seat. Her father tossed it into the backseat.
“Your mother is falling apart as it is,” he said, gripping the wheel tightly and staring straight ahead. “The last thing she needs is an out-of-control daughter. This will not happen again, do you hear me?”
“Does she know?” Nolin asked. The car pulled out of the lot and onto the road. He drove slowly; Nolin knew he was in no hurry to get home.
“No. I want it to stay that way. I don’t know what we’re going to do about this suspension. We’ll figure something out. If you get expelled, though, it’d be pretty hard for her not to notice.”
Nolin laid her head on the window and watched the spray of rain on the sidewalk from the tires. Leaves uncurled on the branches of the trees lining the road. Bright flowers exploded in their beds in front of the small brick houses. Two toddlers in yellow raincoats danced with their umbrellas and jumped into puddles while their mother photographed them from the porch.
They passed by the road to their home. Nolin didn’t have to ask where they were going.
Chapter 2
THE CAR STOPPED in front of the library, a small brick building with a large willow tree out front.
“Don’t walk home until at least three,” Nolin’s father said. “Wait until you’re sure the school bus has passed. Don’t bother your mother.”
Nolin popped the door open and stepped into the rain. The car started moving the moment her bare feet touched the pavement and soon disappeared down the street. She stood still for a moment to watch the willow vines flow like tentacles. The last time she’d been suspended, she had climbed up the willow with a book and stayed there all afternoon. She wished she could do it today, but she didn’t want to ruin a book in the rain. After wiping her bare, muddy feet on the damp grass, she strode up the sidewalk, wrung out her hair, and stepped into the library.
A blast of cold air greeted her. The dark-haired young woman behind the front desk looked up from her computer. Her shoulders dropped slightly, though her heavily made-up eyes sparkled behind her thick tortoiseshell glasses. Nolin loved those glasses with their little rhinestones on the corners. The librarian had very dark-blue eyes, midnight-blue like the bottom of an ocean trench. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly from her oval-shaped face. Nolin thought she looked like a chocolate truffle from a Valentine’s box in her caramel-colored turtleneck and brown slacks.
“Hi, Ms. Savage,” Nolin said sheepishly.
“Well, at least your nose isn’t bleeding this time,” Ms. Savage responded. She smiled with her red lips pressed together, not revealing the slightly crooked teeth Nolin knew she didn’t like. “What happened this time?” Her eyes drifted to Nolin’s feet, then back to her screen.
“I need something really challenging today,” Nolin said. “But beautiful. Do you have any recommendations?”
Ms. Savage smiled and gave an understanding nod. “A good cure for a bad day.” She rose from the desk, towering over Nolin in her high heels. Nolin followed her past the rows of books, watching the loose brown sweater fold and pull across Ms. Savage’s slim shoulders.
Ms. Savage turned down an aisle and pulled a book halfway out, then thought better of it and pushed it back in. She placed a hand on the front of the shelf and tapped her fingers, eyes narrowing as she studied the row of books.
“Have you read any Shakespeare?” she asked.
“Just a few sonnets,” Nolin said. Her mother owned a slim volume of romantic sonnets. Nolin read it one night when she was eight. She still returned to it sometimes when she was in trouble and wasn’t allowed to go outside.
Ms. Savage tugged a small red paperback from the shelf and handed it to Nolin. “You might like this one. Very entertaining.”
On the cover was a beautiful woman embracing a man with a donkey’s head, surrounded by gold embossed flowers.
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Nolin read.
“It’s my favorite.”
Nolin flipped through the pages. The text was tiny. She’d asked for a challenge, and she had a feeling she’d gotten it.
“Make sure you use a dic
tionary,” Ms. Savage said, “and go slowly. It’s okay if you have to reread things. Stop after every few lines to make sure you understand what you just read. You’ll get used to the language. There should be a guide to Shakespeare’s sentence structure and such in the front of that script.”
Nolin tucked the book under her arm. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, hon.” Ms. Savage studied Nolin for a moment as if she were a particularly difficult line of text. Then she shook her head. “How does a ten-year-old who reads Shakespeare get into so much trouble?”
Nolin shrugged.
Nolin settled into her usual spot on the old couch in front of the large back window, A Midsummer Night’s Dream open in her lap. Rain pattered on the glass, blurring the image of the woods on the other side of the garden. Her mind wandered. Though the play was beautiful, she couldn’t stop watching how the water on the window distorted the trees. Nolin let her vision blur as she stared through the wet glass.
“Nolin, it’s three o’clock.” Ms. Savage pushed a book cart past the couch. Nolin jerked out of her daze. “What do you think of the Bard?”
“It’s lovely,” said Nolin, blinking her eyes back into focus. “I haven’t gotten very far, though.”
Ms. Savage nodded. “You’ll get faster.” She followed Nolin’s gaze out the window. “Do you want me to walk you home?”
“No, thanks. It’s not too far.”
Ms. Savage shrugged and disappeared between the shelves with the cart. Nolin left the book on the table. She’d come by later tomorrow if it wasn’t raining and check it out, but for now she didn’t want it getting wet on her walk home.
The rain was warm for spring, just heavy enough to form decent puddles for her to jump in. She ran part of the way, relishing the feel of the water splashing her face. Lightning clawed the sky. Thunder growled. Her clothes were sopping, and her wild hair tangled like a mass of wet moss.
