Ms. Farrell smiled. I thought she looked extra cool today in her Where the Wild Things Are tee and pigtails. “Great example, Norah. Can you tell us the story?”
I nodded. “Well, there’s much more to it than this, but basically Persephone was the daughter of Zeus and Demeter, who was the goddess of the harvest. And Hades, who was god of the underworld, fell in love with Persephone, so he kidnapped her and forced her to live in the underworld as his queen. She was really miserable there, and Demeter was so sad without her daughter that all the plants on earth died, and people were starving. But Demeter kept searching for Persephone, and when she finally figured out where she was, she threatened Zeus that she would let everything on earth die if he didn’t bring back their daughter. So Zeus sent Hermes to the underworld to tell Hades to let Persephone go. Demeter and Persephone were reunited and really happy again, and everything grew. Then Persephone admitted she’d eaten some pomegranate seeds, which were the food of the dead, and this meant she had to return to the underworld. But Zeus worked out a deal where she could spend half the year in the underworld with Hades and half the year on earth with Demeter. And that’s why we have winter and summer.”
It was the most words I’d said in a very long time. When I finished speaking, I was a little breathless.
Also, the whole class was staring at me. And Addison had her mouth open, like: You can talk? Hey, Norah—I didn’t remember that about you.
“Well, that was excellent, Norah,” Ms. Farrell said, looking into my face for an extra few seconds. “Yes. Okay. So here’s what I’m wondering: If we understand now that the change in seasons is caused by the rotation of the earth around the sun, and not by a sort of custody battle for Persephone, why are we, in this seventh grade English class, reading these myths today?”
“Because it’s the curriculum?” Harrison said. Obviously, he was the kind of kid who thought anything nonscientific was a waste of time.
I raised my hand.
Ms. Farrell turned to me. “Norah?”
“Because they’re great,” I said. “They’re just really great stories.”
She beamed. “Exactly. They’re great stories still. Two thousand–plus years later, they hold up. And why is that?”
She was asking the whole class, but nobody was answering. So, without raising my hand, I said: “Because they’re incredibly exciting. They’re full of action and special effects, like the one where Icarus escapes his prison by wearing these giant wings his dad made him, but he flies too close to the sun and the wax melts. Or the one where Prometheus steals fire from the gods. Also, the one about Sisyphus, this king whose punishment is having to roll the same giant rock uphill every day for the rest of his life. And there’s tons of romance, too.”
I couldn’t say the word “romance” without rolling my eyes a little, but Ms. Farrell didn’t mind.
“Yes! That’s right!” she exclaimed. “Norah, how do you know so much? Have you read a lot of mythology?”
Yeah, over and over, when I was in the hospital. “A little.”
“Well, that’s wonderful. You can be our expert mythologist.”
The way she said this, it sounded like “expert oncologist.” Which I knew wasn’t what she meant, obviously. But all gushy praise sounded suspiciously cancer-related.
And, of course, caused Addison to give me another stinkeye.
Then Ms. Farrell started talking about “creation myths,” different stories about how the universe was created. It was extremely interesting—although I also couldn’t stop thinking about my date later today with Griffin. Not that it was a date date. It was more of a meeting, an appointment, and I certainly knew enough about those. But the way he held my hand when he was looking at my Hydra—I mean, he definitely could have seen my drawing without doing that. So either he was extremely nearsighted or he actually wanted to hold my hand. And the thing was, he didn’t even wear glasses.
* * *
At lunch, I spotted Harper chatting with Addison and Kylie, so I took a seat by myself in the corner. Immediately, though, Harper came over.
“You can eat with them, you know,” I told her. “It’s totally fine.”
“Of course it’s fine,” she said. “But I can eat with anyone I want.”
“I just meant—”
“I know what you meant, Norah. Don’t be silly, okay?”
She nibbled her turkey wrap while I ate my cheese sandwich. Even though I was serious about Harper sitting with Addison and Kylie, the truth was I was glad Harper was sitting with me, glad we didn’t need to make conversation.
At least, I thought we didn’t. Because all of a sudden she said: “So what’s it like being with the eighth graders?”
I felt myself blush. “Why are you asking?”
“Why? Just wondering. You never say anything about those classes.”
“They’re okay. I like the teachers. Although Ms. Perillo—”
“I meant the kids. Are they nice?”
“You mean the eighth graders?”
“That’s who we’re talking about, right?”
“I don’t know. Some are. Some aren’t.”
Harper rolled her eyes. “You were such a chatterbox today in English, Norah. I guess your mouth isn’t used to all that exercise?”
“Sorry.” I knew I was being too quiet, but there was a reason—and for once it had nothing to do with being sick. Just before lunch, in science, Griffin had given me a drawing he’d printed out, asking if I could do something like that on his bass. In red. It wasn’t a super-realistic griffin, more like the type of thing you’d see on a shield. And it didn’t have a million details: just the head, wings, and talons of an eagle, the body of a lion. Although the wings would be kind of tricky, especially if he wanted feathers.
“No problem,” I’d told him, and he grinned at me.
So now, here in the lunchroom,
