All I knew for sure was that school was over for me. I’d tried to return, it was a worthwhile experiment, but the whole thing was hopeless. I couldn’t pretend I’d never been sick, because that’s who I was, The Girl Who; but I couldn’t explain what that meant, because to do it I’d have to speak Martian. So it was like I was trapped halfway between two worlds—Sick and Not-Sick—and didn’t completely belong in either one.
Mom sipped her tea. “You know, sweetheart, a few days ago you wouldn’t even consider staying home to rest. You said you had to go back to school. Remember?”
“Yes, but I was wrong,” I said quickly. “Can’t I just work with Ayesha from now on? Please?”
She put down her mug. “You mean not go to school anymore?”
I nodded.
“Norah—” Mom began.
“You saw how great I did with her! She got me so far ahead I’m not even in seventh grade math and science! If I worked with her now that I actually have energy, I’d get even further ahead!”
“Maybe you would. But it’s not a race.”
“Will you even consider it?”
She sighed. “I’ll discuss it with your dad.”
“That means no.”
“Norah—”
“You always say you’re going to discuss things, but you never do!”
“That isn’t true, honey. We just discuss things on our own timetable.”
“Which is always too slow!”
Mom kissed my cheek and went off to make some phone calls. I could tell she was calling California. It occurred to me that maybe she was working out a way not to go back to the university—and really, if I was quitting Burr to homeschool, it would probably affect her job. Especially if Dad was traveling for his magazine again.
But I couldn’t worry about that now.
I drank my tea and thought about Ayesha.
* * *
When Dad came home that evening, I expected to have the same conversation all over again. Q: Why did you react so strongly to the stupid bake sale? A: I don’t know! But he didn’t even mention it. He just asked me if I wanted chicken or spaghetti for supper, and then afterward suggested we watch a movie. I guess maybe he thought it would all blow over, and tomorrow morning he’d be driving me to school, just like normal.
I woke at the regular time. I didn’t want him to think I was being lazy. It wasn’t about lazy.
“Norah, you took the check I wrote for lunch money?” he asked, not looking up from his phone as he sipped his coffee.
“Dad, please listen. I’m really, really not going back there,” I said, as calmly as I could. “Didn’t Mom tell you? I just want to homeschool with Ayesha.”
He rubbed his chin, which he hadn’t shaved yet. “Do you really mean this?”
“Yep. And you know how stubborn I can be. So will you please, please call her?”
“All right. But no promises. Your mom and I—”
“I know. We’re on different speeds. I’ll try to be patient.”
“Thank you. Much appreciated.”
“But I’m not promising I’ll stay patient.”
ROCK STAR
The next afternoon, Ayesha showed up at our front door, smiling. She looked the same as ever, her black hair in a high ponytail, five or six gold studs running up the edge of each ear like a constellation I couldn’t identify. But it was weird how she was holding a small rhombus-shaped banana bread she said she’d baked herself—as if this were a social visit, which it wasn’t.
“I can’t promise you guys it’s edible,” she admitted, laughing. Mom brought the banana bread into the living room on a fancy plate. When she cut slices, we could see how the middle of the loaf looked gummy. So we ate the end pieces with our tea and traded hospital gossip—mostly about how one of the receptionists had married a nurse we all thought was cute. Then Ayesha told us she was moving in with her girlfriend; they were in love, she said, and very happy.
Mom and I made a fuss about how glad we were, then Mom announced that she had to go make a phone call, but I could tell she really just wanted to give us privacy. And I could tell Ayesha got it too, because as soon as Mom was out of the room, she sat all the way forward, her elbows on her thighs, her chin resting on her fists.
“Norah, you look incredible,” she said. “You’ve gained weight, your hair is growing in, and I’m loving the earrings.”
“Thanks. They’re new, so I have to keep them in.”
She nodded quickly, as if she was in a hurry to push the conversation forward. “So what’s going on? I heard from your dad that you want to homeschool?”
“Yes,” I said eagerly. “Exactly.”
“Okay, but why? You told me school was going great.”
“Yeah, basically. It’s not about the work.”
“So what’s it about, then?”
“The people.”
She smiled. “People are people. They’re all over the place, you know? You can’t escape them.”
“Yeah, I know. But the problem is, no one at school understands me.”
“Literally no one?”
“Well, okay, not literally. I mean, a few people do. Ish.” I picked at the crust of my banana bread. “I have this guidance counselor who wants me to talk about ‘overcoming challenges,’ like I once had this problem, and yay for me, everybody, look how well I solved it. I’d never talk that way about being sick.”
“Yeah, I can see that. What about the other kids?”
“All the seventh graders think I’m going to die any minute. Or they think I’m faking, or just asking for special attention, which is crazy. And the eighth graders—I tried to act normal with them, but I screwed up. Really badly. Actually, I screwed up in front of the whole school. So now everyone thinks I’m weird.”
“Well, but you’re in middle school. It’s about feeling weird.”
“But it’s weirder for me.”
“Everyone thinks it’s weirder for them.”
I groaned. “Come on, Ayesha. When you went back to school after cancer, it was really hard for you, right?”
“Are you kidding? Of course it was. Especially the first year.
