“What’s that?” he asked.
“Oh, you don’t know? It’s the best part of the day!” Thea exclaimed. “There are a million clubs you can pick, or you can try out for a team—”
“Thea does volleyball,” Astrid said. “I’m head of the Art Club.”
Well, woohoo for you.
Griffin turned to me. “You should do Art Club, Norah.”
“Me?” I croaked, aware that Astrid and Thea were looking me over. “Oh, no. I really don’t have time.”
“You should make time,” Astrid said. “It’s definitely the best way to meet people, and it’s really important to feel involved. Here.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out a little booklet: Afterschool at Burr.
I pretended to read it. CPR for Babysitters, Harry Potter Club, Art Club, Hip-Hop, Intramural Track, Chamber Orchestra, Bugs—
BUGS? Were they serious? How were BUGS an activity?
Astrid was smiling at Griffin. “What do you think you’d be interested in?”
He poked his cheek with my green gel pen. “I don’t know. Is there a rock band, possibly?”
Astrid and Thea exchanged a glance. I knew exactly what it meant: Omigod, could this new boy be any cuter?
“Yeah, actually, there is,” Thea answered. “Griffin, you have to join! What do you play?”
“Bass. I’m not very good, though.”
“Don’t be so modest,” Thea told him, laughing. She gave his arm a playful little whack. “I bet you’re really great.”
She does? Why? Because he’s cute? I barfed inwardly.
Class started. It was a good thing that Ms. Perillo was beginning with stuff I’d already done with Ayesha, because after that conversation, I was so mad I couldn’t concentrate.
THE WHOLE STORY
The next period, Ms. Farrell handed back the paragraphs describing “one meaningful thing” about ourselves. If you got an asterisk, that meant she hoped you’d share it with the class, although it was up to you. Everybody else got a check, which basically meant: Yes, you turned it in and I read it. (Ms. Farrell didn’t say that’s what a check meant, but you could tell by the way she praised the asterisk people.)
About half the class got asterisks, including Harper.
I got a check.
I told myself: So what. Who cares if she wasn’t impressed. It’s only the second day of school, and you’ve dealt with way bigger stuff, right? But I still felt pretty bad about it. In my fantasy return to school, the teachers raved about my work, just like they always had before. I’d been good at everything, but Language Arts, or English, or whatever you were supposed to call it now, was my favorite subject, so I was used to getting the best grades whenever I wrote something. And the way Ms. Farrell had come over to my desk—I don’t know, it felt sort of personal. Even though she already knew my name, which meant she’d come over to check on Cancer Girl.
For most of the period we listened to kids reading. Aria described her lucky sneakers (she’s a runner), Malik explained how he wanted to be seventh grade president, and Harper read about this collage she was making. Then Ms. Farrell praised them for “specificity of detail,” explaining the difference between “showing” and “telling,” which I already knew.
When class was over, Ms. Farrell stopped by my desk. “I liked your essay, Norah,” she said quietly.
“Not really,” I blurted. “All I got was a check.”
She smiled. “Well, yes. Do you want to know why?”
I nodded, looking at her Phantom Tollbooth tee instead of her face.
“Because you didn’t show me anything about yourself: ‘Doodles don’t matter.’ You know what I thought when I read it? Why is she writing this, when there’s so much else worth communicating?”
Like what, for example?
Oh, of course. She wanted a cancer story!
My face flushed. “That was what I wanted to communicate.”
“That you like to doodle?” She paused for a while. Too long. Then she said, “Okay, fair enough. But I suspect you’re capable of something far more meaningful, Norah.”
Was that a criticism or a compliment? Maybe both, and I didn’t want to hear it. What right did this teacher have to demand a cancer story? Raina said I didn’t need to entertain people, not even grown-ups. And who was Ms. Farrell to decide what was meaningful to me, especially since she’d only met me the day before?
“All right, thanks,” I muttered, snatching my backpack and escaping the classroom.
* * *
The rest of the morning, I tried to put the stupid paragraph out of my mind. And that wasn’t hard to do with everything else going on. In social studies, our teacher, Mr. O’Brien, took me aside at the start of class to say that if I ever needed extra time to do an assignment, I didn’t even need to ask. This was him trying to be nice, I guess, but the thing was, Mr. O’Brien had an extremely loud, raspy voice, so even though he probably thought he was speaking in a private whisper, the whole class heard. And I was pretty sure I saw Addison Ventura giving me the stinkeye. Like: Hey, Norah, you’re not even sick anymore, so why should YOU get special treatment?
Also, in PE we were having relay races. The gym teacher, Mr. Ludlow, said I could sit out whenever I wanted, but I told him I wanted to participate. So he put me on Malik’s team—which had Addison on it. And when she saw how slowly I ran, even though I was sweating like crazy, she made a comment to Kylie. Which I heard just the end of: like a baby.
So that was how Addison saw me, I realized: a slow-running, sweaty baby who was completely fine now, but got special treatment anyway.
I told myself not to care. Let Addison think whatever she wants. What difference does it make? She’s not even my friend. But it still bothered me. I hated the thought of anyone deciding I was a faker, that I was using cancer as some kind of all-purpose excuse. Sorry I farted just now, but you know
