By that time Socials period was over.
Each evening Danny took out his calendar and crossed off the days to the weekend. Each morning he doggedly arrived at school. He was totally surprised if something pleasant happened during a school day.
Friday was a surprise.
“Today is the day you get one hour’s project research time in the library,” announced Mr. Berg with a big smile.
Danny sat up straight in his desk. Great. He liked working in the library. He’d chosen his favourite topic—’Indians’—and knew where there were a couple of books he could look at.
“By the end of the afternoon I want you to each hand in a one-page outline of your project,” continued Mr. Berg. “It should start with a clear and concise explanation of your project, about one paragraph in length. Underneath the paragraph, in point form, list the topics or chapters you will be covering.”
The whole class groaned, Danny’s groan was loudest and he slumped back in his seat.
Mr. Berg looked in his direction with a frown. “What’s the matter Danny, don’t you have a project?”
“I do Mr. Berg. Honest I do,” Danny stammered. “I’ve been working on it all week. I’ve a collection of post cards and I know lots of stuff and I’ve talked to people. It’s just…” he tailed off, wondering how he was going to organize and write it all down so that Mr. Berg could read it.
“Well if you’ve done all that, you’ve got a head start,” Mr. Berg said briskly. “Line up by the door, Grade 5, and walk quietly to the library.”
Danny sat miserably at his library table. He had tons of information in his head. He’d organized his picture postcard card collection in a box at home ready to illustrate his report. The cards showed scenes of early life on the prairie, Indian encampments, tipi rings and the Indian clothing displays in the Fort Macleod museum. He had his lance point. He planned on painting a picture of the young hunter he had imagined knapping the flint point. He had met a real Indian kid and his grandfather and was going to visit Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump with them. Danny’s project was all set to go. Except that he had to write it!
Danny looked around the library in despair. It was quiet, much quieter than usual as his whole class had their heads down at the tables, scribbling away furiously in order to hand their outlines in on time. Mr. Berg was looking pleased and talking to the librarian in a low voice.
“This is just what this class needs,” Mr. Berg murmured in a satisfied tone. “A project that they can get their teeth into. They are a bright bunch on the whole apart from…” He stopped and his eyes swept the room and locked with Danny’s.
Danny flushed scarlet, bent his head down and crooked an arm protectively over his paper. He knew what Mr. Berg had been going to say—’apart from Danny’. He looked sadly at the paper in front of him. It was black and smudged with eraser marks, crossings out and badly scrawled words written several times in an effort to spell them correctly. He sighed. Why was it so difficult to organize his thoughts and knowledge into a one-page outline when it was stuff he knew?
Footsteps approached and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Sure enough Mr. Berg’s hand expertly whisked the paper from his desk.
“‘INJUNS’” Read out Mr. Berg loudly.
The class grinned and sat back ready to enjoy the joke.
“‘INJUNS ARE VERY UNTRIST/INTRUST/INTERESTING’— very good Danny, third time lucky.”
The class giggled. Danny squirmed praying that Mike wouldn’t let on he’d told Danny how to spell ’interesting.’
“INTERESTING PIPILL/PEOPUL/PEEPUL,” continued Mr. Berg. “THEY LIVE ON RISURVS AND GO TO SCOOL LIKE US BUTTHEY YUST TO LIVE A DIFERENT LIF.” He stopped and looked down at Danny. “Need I go on?”
Danny shook his head and looked down at his table.
“And what should Danny be using?” questioned Mr. Berg loudly.
“His dictionary,” chorused the class.
“Did you bring your dictionary with you?” asked Mr. Berg.
Danny shook his head again.
Mr. Berg dropped Danny’s paper on the table, walked over to a shelf and pulled out a boxed set of two of the biggest, thickest books Danny had ever seen. He slapped them down in front of Danny. “This is a dictionary. Go on. Open it Danny.”
Danny clumsily pulled one of the heavy volumes out of its box and opened a page at random. It was full of tiny writing. Danny had never seen so many words packed together on one page. They danced and wriggled and swirled around like a whirlpool and tried to suck him inside and swallow him. Danny leaned back in horror.
“Guess how many words in that book,” ordered Mr. Berg.
“I dunno. Millions?” gasped Danny.
“Probably,” agreed Mr. Berg. “These two books make the Concise Oxford Dictionary. It is one of the best dictionaries in the world, and our school is lucky to own one. Despite its enormous size, in order to fit in almost ALL the words of the English language, it is printed in such tiny lettering that most people need this to help them read it.” Mr. Berg dropped a large Sherlock Holmes-type magnifying glass on top of the page.
“Hey, neat.” Several kids came and crowded round Danny’s table.
“Can I look up a word Mr. Berg?” asked Marylise, grabbing the magnifying glass.
“Mr. Berg, does that dictionary have swear words in?” asked Brett Gibson interestedly.
Mr. Berg ignored him and looked over his glasses at Danny. “Do you ever use your school dictionary, Danny?”
Danny shrank down in his seat and shook his head. How could he explain he got lost in dictionaries?
“Why not?”
“I can never find the words in them.” Danny whispered, ashamed.
Someone laughed. “That’s what they’re for, dummy.”
Mr. Berg glared around and the laughter subsided.
Danny stuttered defensively. “If… if…” he took a deep breath. “If you don’t know how to spell the word, how can you find it in the dictionary?”
Mr. Berg rolled his eyes. “Then we’ll go through it again. Let’s find the word ’reserve’ in this dictionary.”
To Danny’s horror, the magnifying glass was thrust into his hand, the giant dictionary pushed under his nose, and the entire class crowded around to help.
“MR. BERG, COULD YOU SEND DANNY BUDZYNSKI TO THE OF FICE IMMEDIATELY, DANNY BUDZYNSKI, THANK YOU.”
The announcement over the school loudspeaker galvanized Danny to action. He dropped the magnifying glass as though it was red hot, pushed back his chair and shot through the crowd of students as though propelled from a cannon. Heaving a sigh of relief, he raced up the corridor and screeched to a halt in the office. He didn’t know what was waiting for him there. But it had to be better than that kid-eating dictionary.
“Ah Danny,” boomed Mr. Hubner, as he put the loud speaker mike back on its stand. “That was quick.”
“We were in the library,” explained Danny breathlessly.
“Well come on in. There is someone who would like to meet you.”
Mystified, Danny followed Mr. Hubner to his office, then stopped short at the door when he saw his mother. “Oho,” he thought, “what have I done now?” Much to his relief she smiled reassuringly at him. He looked at the principal again.
“Danny, this is Ms. Wakefield. She’s a friend of your mother who works with students who have learning problems.”
The tiniest woman Danny had ever seen stepped from behind Mr. Hubner’s bulk. Danny blinked. He was considered tall for his age, but most adults still towered over him. Not this woman, though. She was just about his height.
She smiled and held out her hand. “Hi Danny. I’m Carol Wakefield. I’m really pleased to meet you.”
Danny automatically took her hand and shook it, then looked questioningly around at the other adults. What was going on? His Mother didn’t usually bring visitors to meet him at school.
Mr. Hubner pointed to a row of three chairs. “Sit down Danny. We’d lik
e to talk to you for a minute.”
Danny perched uncomfortably on the chair next to his mother, her friend sat on his other side and Mr. Hubner sat behind his desk.
Mr. Hubner cleared his throat. “Danny, you’ve been having some problems doing your school work.”
Danny’s heart sank. He nodded and looked miserably down at the floor. He might have known he’d be in trouble again.
“Well it seems that er… Ms… er… Wakefield here, works with students who are experiencing problems,” Mr. Hubner continued. “She’d like you to take some tests. Then when the results come through she might have some suggestions that would help you.”
Danny froze. In fact he had heard only one word— TEST. It echoed and rolled around the inside of his head, emptying his brain of all knowledge, shrinking him, and leaving him hollow and shaky.
From miles away the adults seemed to be looking expectantly at him.
Help came from an unexpected quarter. The woman next to him turned, gently touched her hand to his knee and looked reassuringly at him. “Not those kind of tests,” she said gently. “Not school tests. My tests are more like games, really. You can’t fail them Danny—no one can.”
Danny looked at her in amazement and the room slowly slid back into focus. This woman could read his mind. She knew he had frozen at the word ’test’. Maybe, just maybe, she could understand his problems.
“How come I can’t fail?” asked Danny suspiciously.
“There’s nothing to fail, it’s just exercises to show me how your brain works.”
“I’ll fail,” said Danny positively. “My brain doesn’t work.”
Everyone laughed as though he’d cracked the joke of the century. Danny wriggled uneasily.
“Not true, Danny,” said Ms. Wakefield with a twinkle. “This morning your mom showed me some models you’d assembled. How did you make those models?”
“I just followed the diagrams,” said Danny baffled.
Ms. Wakefield nodded. “Yes. Your brain decoded the picture and you were able to figure it out and stick all the pieces together in the right order. You’ve a good brain Danny. If you do the exercises, I’ll be able to see the ways your brain works, the skills you’ve got. Then maybe we can figure out some ways to use those skills in school.” She paused and looked consideringly at him. “Think about it Danny, but you don’t have to do them if you don’t want to.”
A small sputter of surprise escaped Mr. Hubner. Everyone turned to look at him. But before he could speak Ms. Wakefield spoke again.
“Yes, these exercises are voluntary.” she said firmly. She looked back at Danny, “and no one will be mad at you if you decide you don’t want to take them. It’s your choice.”
“Are they long tests?” asked Danny thoughtfully.
Ms. Wakefield smiled wickedly. “There’s several. You’d probably miss class for the rest of today.”
Danny’s brain worked overtime. Reprieve. If he spent the day doing these dumb tests, then Mr. Berg couldn’t expect him to hand in his project outline. Then he’d get the weekend to work on it in peace and his mom could help him with the spelling.
“I’ll do them,” he said, and he and Ms. Wakefield grinned conspiratorially at each other.
His mother sighed with relief. “Good for you Danny,” she whispered.
Mr. Hubner stood up. “The sick room is empty. If we moved a table and a couple of chairs in there could you use that?”
“Perfect,” said Ms. Wakefield with a smile. “Let’s go, Danny. It’s time to prove to yourself how smart you really are.”
Chapter Eleven
The sick room was bare, cold looking, and smelled of disinfectant. A small camp bed with a worn looking blanket folded across the bottom of a lumpy mattress was the only furniture.
Ms. Wakefield wrinkled her nose. “Bet no one wants to be ill in your school,” she commented quietly to Danny as they waited for the janitor to finish dragging a table and two chairs in from the corridor.
Danny grinned. “We call this the jail,” he confided.
“I’m not surprised.” Thanking the curious janitor, Ms. Wakefield firmly closed the door, set the chairs on opposite sides of the table, organized her briefcase beside her, and motioned Danny to sit down. “First of all, I’m not your teacher and this room is not the classroom. I’m your Mom’s friend, I’d like to be yours, and my name’s Carol. OK?”
Danny nodded and sat down, nervously twisting and untwisting his legs around the chair legs.
Carol grinned encouragingly at him. “So, Danny why don’t you tell me about school.”
Danny shrugged uncomfortably. “Not much to tell. I just hate it.”
“Why?”
Danny shrugged again. “I guess… because I don’t do things right… I don’t try hard enough, so everyone gets mad at me.”
Carol looked thoughtfully at him. “You don’t try hard enough. Is that what you say or what your teacher says?”
Danny’s eyes flew up to her face. She smiled encouragingly.
“That’s what everyone says,” Danny muttered, dropping his eyes to the table and twisting his legs uncomfortably the other way.
“Everyone?”
Danny nodded. “Even the kids. They think I’m stupid.” Carol’s voice was very gentle. “And what about you Danny? Is that what you think?”
There was a long pause.
A roller coaster of thoughts rushed around Danny’s head. What did he think? He thought something in his head was wrong because he couldn’t write or do math. He thought about the dictionary and Mr. Berg. All the hockey pucks and baseballs he missed catching flashed through his mind. His ears rang with customer’s annoyed complaints because he’d given wrong change in the store, and he saw his father’s angry face when he read all the ’must try harder’ remarks on Danny’s report card. All his failures crashed and rolled around his head and almost overwhelmed him.
“Well Danny, what do you think?” Carol’s voice was quietly insistent.
“I think I’ve got a brain tumor or something,” Danny said very quietly. “I think my brain is sick.”
The words hung heavy in the air.
Danny didn’t dare look at Carol. That was the dumbest thing he’d ever said. She’d laugh.
Two small hands reached out across the table and grabbed his hands tightly. “Look at me, Danny Budzynski.” Carol’s voice was urgently compelling.
Danny looked up with haunted eyes.
She squeezed his hands tighter. “That’s your nightmare, isn’t it Danny? That you’ve got a brain tumor or something else really awful?”
He nodded.
“Danny. I used to think that about myself. Know what?” She urgently jiggled his hands till he responded.
Danny automatically shook his head.
“I’m grown up and I still can’t spell.”
Danny dully gazed across at Carol.
“Yes,” she continued. “I was like you only my nightmare was that I must be adopted. I figured that must be why I was the only dumb one in my family and why they all yelled at me when I couldn’t do things.”
“But you can do things now,” Danny stammered.
Carol shook her head. “No, there’s lots of things I still have difficulty with. But I wasn’t adopted and I didn’t have a brain tumor. I have a learning disability; my brain shortcircuits.”
Danny looked blank. “Huh?”
“Have you ever used a computer, Danny?”
“Yup, my dad’s. I play games on it sometimes.”
“Has it ever ’glitched’ on you Danny? Had a fault in the program?”
Danny grinned slowly. “You bet. Once we had this new game and when we tried to boot it up it kept saying ’Disk Error’. Dad got real mad.”
“Well, my brain has one or two disk errors on it.”
Danny looked at Carol in disbelief. “But you’re at the university. You’re a ’brain’.”
Carol grinned wickedly. “I am now. But at school I was botto
m of the class. Now I specialize in helping kids who are struggling with some of the same problems I had.” Carol gave Danny’s hands one more comforting squeeze before dropping them. “There’s no brain tumor, Danny but your brain might be glitching. Want to see if we can figure it out?”
“Can you fix it?” asked Danny hopefully.
Carol looked seriously across at him. “I don’t know. But if we can figure out what’s wrong we might be able to find some ways around it.” She grinned. “Kind of like reprogramming you.”
Danny laughed and felt the tension beginning to flow out of him. He uncurled his legs and relaxed a little more into his seat.
Carol rummaged in her briefcase and pulled out some papers and a box. “These games will tell me what you’re really good at as well as where you are having difficulty. Won’t it be neat if we can show your teacher and the other kids your skills? Explain all the things you are good at.”
“I guess so.” Danny was doubtful. “But what if I’m good at nothing?”
Now it was Carol’s turn to look surprised. “But we already know you are good at some things. Don’t forget your mom showed me all these models you’d built. Now that’s a real gift.”
“Oh that stuff.” Danny squirmed in his chair. “I mean stuff that really counts.”
“It’ll count,” said Carol with confidence. “You’ll see.” And she tipped a box of brightly patterned wooden cubes across the table.
“Here’s the first game.” She handed Danny a card with a pattern printed on it. “Want to see if you can make that pattern with those cubes?”
Danny glanced at scattered cubes and then at the pattern in his hand. It seemed like kid stuff. “I guess so.”
“Right,” said Carol, “but to make it more fun I’m going to time how fast you do it.” She pulled out a stop watch. “Start when I say ’go’. Tell me when you’re ready.”
Finders Keepers Page 6
