Extraordinary

by Miriam Spitzer Franklin

  Andy opened his lunchbox and pulled out a baggie full of sliced Pop-Tarts. He never ate sandwiches. “Do you think Miss Quetzel can really figure skate?” he asked me.

  “Of course she can. Do you think she’d make it up?”

  Andy pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I wonder how good she is, that’s all.”

  “You might find out at the end of the semester,” Madison said, joining our conversation, “if the class makes it.”

  I pushed my shoulders back and sat up tall. “I know we will,” I told her. “I can’t wait!”

  “Do you know how to ice-skate?” Madison asked me.

  “Sure.” I cleared my throat and looked over at Andy. He knew all about how I had quit skating lessons last year. “I mean, I can skate a little.”

  Madison shrugged, then looked down at my feet. “Do you know you’re wearing two different shoes?”

  For a moment, I froze. The morning had gone so well I’d forgotten about my mismatched shoes. But now the other girls nearby were peering under the table. Hannah let out a big giggle. At least Emma put a hand over her mouth like she was trying to be polite.

  I looked down at my feet, then glanced under the table at Madison’s. Wouldn’t you know? She wore white sandals with sunflowers on them, which not only matched each other but also matched her outfit.

  “Well . . .” I stalled, trying to come up with a good answer. Madison Poplin was not the kind of person to wear mismatched shoes. Actually, she wasn’t the kind of person to wear mismatched anything. For example, today she wore a long pink shirt with big yellow flowers all over it, pink leggings, a headband that matched her shirt, and sunflower earrings.

  Madison was the kind of girl who competed in pageants. Last year, she’d won the Junior Miss title. I’d seen the picture of her on the front page of the paper. She looked like a princess as she rode in a parade float, a silver crown sitting on top of her head.

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek, still trying to think of what to say to her. I was never into princesses, not even when I was little. Anna and I went through a stage where we both pretended to be fairies, and we wore princessy gowns with wings. Fairies were a lot more exciting, because at least they could fly and get into all kinds of adventures instead of just sitting there like princesses, looking pretty.

  “I mean,” Madison continued when I didn’t answer her, “are you wearing two different shoes because you couldn’t find the other one of each pair and luckily you ended up with a right and a left, or did you get dressed in the dark and you didn’t realize your shoes didn’t match?”

  “No.” I took a deep breath. And then I thought about what Anna would say if she were the one wearing shoes that didn’t match. “I’m wearing two different colored shoes because when I woke up this morning I decided I’d like to wear a blue shoe and a pink shoe. And that’s what I did.”

  “Oh.” Madison took a bite out of her sandwich, chewing carefully. Finally she swallowed. “My mother would never let me wear mismatched shoes to school.”

  “I don’t think my mother noticed,” I told her. Which was the truth. If I’d planned it on purpose, Mom wouldn’t have liked it, just like she didn’t want me to go to school with a lopsided haircut. But she probably wouldn’t have stopped me. And Dad would have laughed and said I was “expressing my individuality.”

  Madison studied me some more. “I like your haircut.”

  “Thanks,” I said, staring at her golden hair that shimmered as it tumbled down her back. “I cut it myself.”

  “I can tell,” Madison said.

  “Me too,” Hannah said. “It’s really crooked.”

  I shot Hannah a dirty look. I wanted to yell, “Who cares if I don’t look like a fashion model? If you don’t like the way I look, then go sit somewhere else!”

  But I figured yelling at people, especially popular ones, was not the best way to start fifth grade. Before anyone could say anything else about my hair or shoes, Madison turned to Andy.

  “So, how’s Anna?”

  Andy became very interested in his Pop-Tart. “She’s okay,” he said so quietly I could barely hear him.

  Someone had blown up a balloon inside of me and it pushed up against my stomach. I bit my tongue to keep from blurting out, “Anna’s having brain surgery, and she’ll be cured in December!”

  “Guess what?” I said instead. “Anna jumped off the diving board this summer.”

  “Really?” Madison said. “Can she still swim?”

  “Of course. You can’t keep Anna away from the water,” I said, thinking about the blue swim team ribbons covering her bulletin board. I didn’t tell them she had to wear a swim vest so she wouldn’t sink.

  “Did someone have to take her up on the diving board?” Emma asked.

  “I guess. But she jumps off without a problem.” I laughed. “She’s still a better swimmer than I am.”

  “If it were my mom, she’d never let Anna go in a swimming pool,” Hannah said. “It’s too dangerous. What if she drowns?”

  “She wears a vest,” Andy said. “Mom wouldn’t let her do anything that’s not safe.”

  “But still . . .” Hannah said.

  “Hannah,” Madison said impatiently. “I’m sure Anna still remembers how.”

  “She remembers a lot of things,” I said. “Her brain just needs time to heal.”

  “Will she ever be able to come back to school?” Hannah asked.

  “She’s going to a new school now,” Andy said. He was talking about Camden Academy, a place kids went to if they couldn’t go to a regular school.

  “I bet she’ll come back to our school someday soon,” I said, glancing at Andy. He shifted his eyes back to his lunch.

  Emma smiled. “It would be great to have Anna in our class again.”

  Andy shrugged and popped the last of the Pop-Tart in his mouth. “So,” he said, “do you think Miss Quetzel can land a triple jump?”

  Silence fell over the table. It was odd the way Andy had changed the subject when we were talking about Anna. I tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at me.

  “I’m sure Miss Quetzel’s telling the truth,” I finally said. “Why would she lie to us about being a figure skater?”

  “I wonder if she can do a back flip,” Andy said. “Mom took me to this show where the skaters did back flips. Do you know what might happen if you missed your landing on that trick?”

  “I’ve never seen anyone fall on a back flip,” I said.

  “It could happen. You could fly through the air, sprawled out, and land SPLAT! Just like an egg cracked open on the sidewalk.”

  “A person does not crack open like an egg!” I said. “Besides, we’re talking about falling on the ice, not the sidewalk.”

  “Even worse,” Andy said. “First, your insides would ooze out all over the ice. Then they’d freeze and stick to the surface.”

  “Gross!” I yelled. Soon everyone at the table was giggling, even Madison. Andy could always get people to laugh, especially Anna. And in a few months, she’d be sitting there next to me, right where she belonged, laughing, too.

  ***

  At dinner that night, I told my parents all about my day. Then I asked the big question: “Can I take ice-skating lessons?”

  Mom frowned. “Am I hearing things, or did my daughter just ask for ice-skating lessons?”

  “You heard right, Mom.” I speared a green bean with my fork. “Miss Quetzel’s a figure skater, and she’s taking all of us to the Ice Palace if we earn the Good Citizens party at the end of the semester. So I have until Christmas to get into shape.”

  “You think you might land some double axels by then?” Dad teased.

  “Daaad . . .”

  Mom shook her head. “Pansy, I’m glad you want to give it another try. Although if I remember correctly, your exact words were, ‘I’d rather wrestle a hairy tarantula than ice-skate again.”

  I shuddered. “I never said that. I’d never touch a tarantula, not in a mill
ion trillion years!”

  “That’s exactly my point,” Mom said. “We can’t afford to throw out money on lessons for something you don’t enjoy. How do I know you won’t quit after one lesson like you did last time? The rink refused to give us a refund, remember?”

  I nodded. I’d heard all about it for weeks. “I need a second chance,” I said. “I promise, I won’t quit this time.”

  “Ice-skating’s not for everyone, Pansy,” Dad said. “Take me, for example. You won’t catch me putting on skates.”

  I groaned. They didn’t get it at all. And, of course, I couldn’t tell them the real reason I just had to take ice-skating lessons. They wouldn’t understand my plan to try to become extraordinary.

  Mom and Dad looked at each other. I guess they were doing that silent-communication thing because Mom finally said, “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you dust the cobwebs off that pair of roller blades we bought you for Christmas last year? Start practicing on those skates, and if you stick with it for a while, then we’ll enroll you in lessons.”

  I thought about it for a minute. I could practice without other people watching, and I wouldn’t have to worry about frozen fingers and toes. I could prove to my parents that I was serious, and there would still be time for real lessons before the party.

  “Okay. I’ll practice every day, you’ll see.”

  “That’s my girl,” Dad said with a grin.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Fourteen Weeks

  Today, we’re going to work on setting goals for the grading period,” Miss Quetzel announced on Friday morning. “I bet you can do anything you set your mind to. So, I’d like for you to write down three goals and include the steps you’ll take to reach your goals.”

  Miss Quetzel wrote an example on the board:

  MY GOALS:

  1. TO MAKE A/B HONOR ROLL—I WILL DO MY HOMEWORK, STUDY FOR TESTS, AND TRY MY BEST.

  2.

  3.

  After Miss Quetzel went over her example, we were on our own. While other kids gazed at their blank papers or copied the example from the board, I wrote in my neatest handwriting: My goal: to be extraordinary in every way.

  But what did that mean, exactly? It made me think of a picture in A Child’s Book of Poetry. A girl sat in a rowboat in the sky, trying to catch stars in her net.

  How would I ever catch one of those stars?

  As the minutes on the clock ticked away, I wrote:

  1. MAKE A’S ON ALL OF MY TESTS.

  2. BECOME MISS QUETZEL’S FAVORITE STUDENT.

  3. BE FEARLESS.

  4. BECOME A GOOD ICE-SKATER. PRACTICE ROLLER-BLADING EVERY DAY SO I CAN SKATE WITH ANNA AT THE PARTY.

  5. JOIN GIRL SCOUTS. THIS TIME, LEARN TO GO CAMPING IN THE WOODS EVEN IF THERE ARE GROSS BUGS IN THE BATHROOMS.

  6. DON’T BREAK MY PROMISES.

  I sat back and read over my list. I chewed my pencil and thought some more. Finally, I added one that didn’t have anything to do with being extraordinary. But it’s something I’d started by accident, and I’d been doing it all week, even though I couldn’t explain why:

  7. WEAR MISMATCHED SHOES EVERY DAY.

  Miss Quetzel’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Okay, everyone. Please pass your papers to the front. I’ll keep your goals on file, and at the end of the grading period we’ll take them out and see what you’ve accomplished.”

  The smile slipped off my face. There was no way I was passing that paper to the front with the others. I’d only listed one main goal instead of three. I’d written about stuff that didn’t have anything to do with school. And even worse, letting my teacher know I was trying to become her favorite student could only backfire. So I snapped my notebook shut and stared straight ahead, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

  “If you didn’t finish writing your goals, you’ll need to do it for homework,” Miss Quetzel said with a knowing look in my direction. “Now, let’s get started with our speed drills for the day.”

  Some kids groaned. I was one of them. Then I remembered my goal about trying to be Miss Quetzel’s favorite student, so I tried to act like Madison Poplin, who was clearing her desk with a smile on her face.

  Miss Quetzel had started the drills earlier that week, telling us it was important to review basic skills. When I’d written down that I planned to make A’s on all my tests, I’d completely forgotten about speed drills. My brain is just not wired to think fast, which means I’ll be stuck on twos for the rest of my life.

  Miss Quetzel placed a sheet of paper facedown on my desk. “Is everyone ready? All right, three, two, one, you may begin!”

  After a mad shuffle of papers, the sounds of pencils scratching filled the room. I turned my quiz over and it floated off my desk onto the floor. I reached over to pick it up and dropped my pencil.

  Tick, tick. An imaginary clock ticked in my head, counting down the seconds. The pounding of my heart echoed in my ears. I scrambled for my pencil, slammed my paper down on the desk, and raced through the multiplication facts as fast as I could.

  Ding.

  “Time’s up!” Miss Quetzel called out way too cheerily. “Put your pencils down, and pass your papers to the front.”

  I stared down at my multiplication quiz. Four problems left. One fewer than the day before. Miss Quetzel flipped through the papers. “It looks like quite a few of you will be moving up to sixes on Monday,” she said with a smile.

  ***

  “I can’t believe some people are still on the twos,” Hannah said at lunch a little while later. All week long we’d ended up sitting near Madison and her friends in the cafeteria, since they all brought lunch from home, too. “I learned to count by twos in kindergarten!”

  “Not everyone is good at math,” said Madison. I was sure she was one of those people moving on to the sixes on Monday.

  “You don’t have to be good at math to do speed drills,” Hannah said. “All you have to do is memorize. Anyone can do that, especially by fifth grade.”

  I felt my cheeks heat up. I wanted to dump my macaroni and cheese right in Hannah’s lap. Instead, I turned to Andy. “Did you see that special on the Discovery Channel last night? The one about the baby animals?”

  “What special?” Andy asked. “The only thing on Discovery Channel last night was Saving Planet Earth.”

  “Well, you must have been on the wrong channel, then.” I squirmed in my seat. Hannah and Madison were still watching me, listening in on my conversation. So I tried to make it exciting. “It was all about animals that are carried around on their moms’ backs, like opossums and sloths and manatees.”

  “Manatees? They are way too slippery. How could they carry babies on their backs?”

  “Well, they just do, that’s all. The babies hold on with their tiny toenails.”

  “Baby manatees do not have toenails!” Andy yelled out, and his voice was loud enough that the whole row of girls started giggling.

  “They do so. You should have watched it.”

  “I couldn’t watch it, Pansy. I told you that Saving Planet Earth was on the Discovery Channel.”

  “Maybe it was another channel, then. Forget it, okay?” I tried to give Andy my best just-drop-it look. I should have known better than to try and make up a TV special about animals. Andy was an expert on those kinds of things. And why were the girls so interested in our conversation anyway? When were they going to start their own conversation, like they usually did?

  Andy didn’t give up, though. “What channel? I really want to know so I can write and tell them what my friend saw even though it’s impossible—”

  The girls giggled again.

  I kicked Andy under the table, hoping he’d look up so I could send him the message I was done talking about manatees. I’d only brought it up to keep the girls from talking about speed drills. At least I’d accomplished something.

  Andy still didn’t get the message. “OUCH!” he yelled. “What’d you kick me for?”

  The girls burst into laughte
r.

  ***

  “Thanks a lot,” I said to him when we headed back to the classroom after lunch.

  Andy gave me a blank look. “For what?”

  I stopped right in the middle of the hall. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Andy shook his head. “No, I don’t. What are you so mad about?”

  “Pansy! Andy!” Miss Quetzel called from the back of the line. “Keep moving. And no talking in the hall.”

  I turned away from him, walking ahead quickly.

  Once back in the classroom, Miss Quetzel turned off the lights for a movie about the Declaration of Independence.

  “Remember to take good notes,” she said. “There may be a quiz afterward.”

  “Can I borrow a piece of paper?” Andy asked me even though he had a full notebook.

  I tore a sheet from my notebook and shoved it over to his desk without looking at him.

  I was trying my best to write down facts when Andy slipped a folded piece of paper onto my desk. I opened it up: I KNOW YOU’RE ANGRY AT ME. IS IT BECAUSE I CAUGHT YOU IN A LIE AT LUNCH?

  I heaved a humongous sigh in Andy’s direction. Well, if he’s so dense, I may as well spell it out for him. “It has nothing to do with lying. You were trying to make me look stupid in front of all those girls,” I spat back at him.

  Andy scrawled something on another piece of paper and tossed it to me. WHO CARES WHAT A BUNCH OF DUMB GIRLS THINK?

  I rolled my eyes. I care. But I didn’t want to tell him that. I turned my attention back to the movie. A few minutes later, another folded piece of paper came across my desk. I THINK GEORGE WASHINGTON BOUGHT HIS HAIR AT WIGS R US was written in Andy’s sloppy handwriting.

  I held back a grin, shoving the note back onto his desk. I wasn’t about to forgive him so easily. But as hard as I tried to pay attention, I kept staring at the wigs of all the founding fathers instead. Didn’t they know how stupid they looked?

  A few minutes later, another piece of paper landed on my desk. This time I had to work harder to keep in my giggles as I read, I THINK THOMAS JEFFERSON IS GOING TO TRY OUT FOR THE BALLET. DO YOU LIKE HIS TIGHTS?