List of Parental Back-to-School Rules:

No after-school activities. Just a (healthy!) snack, homework, and REST.

No socializing on weekends, and no sleepovers (until they say so).

Avoid germy kids!! (And remember, all kids are bacterial bipeds.)

No school bus (a virus on wheels).

No school lunch (E. coli–teria).

Use hand sanitizer a billion times a day, especially after touching all concrete nouns.

Avoid the school bathroom unless you REALLY, REALLY have to go. Afterward, scrub hands for two full minutes with soap and scalding water! Do NOT use air blowers to dry hands; use paper towels only. (But if you touch paper towel container, return to Go and repeat all hand scrubbing! For two extra minutes—or until skins falls off!)

Stay home if ANY symptoms: e.g., sneezing, coughing, upset stomach, fatigue, burping, skinned knees, torn fingernails, cavities, paper cuts, split ends. When in doubt, STAY HOME, preferably hiding under a blanket.

All right, I’m exaggerating, but not a ton. And the truth was, I was so excited about going back to school and having a life again that I would have agreed to anything (Avoid using the letter e in all sentences!) So really, none of the Parent Rules was a major problem for me. But it was like they didn’t believe it, like they assumed I needed them to recite the rules at breakfast, and then again on the drive to Aaron Burr Middle School.

“If you get tired during the day, just go to the nurse’s office,” Mom said. “Mrs. Donaldson is our point person at Burr. They called her from the hospital, so she knows exactly what to do. And she has a cot set aside just for you, if you need it.”

“I know,” I said. “You told me that yesterday. Also the day before.”

“Well, sorry, sweetheart, but it’s really important. You have less stamina than you think.”

“I’m not so worried about Norah’s stamina,” Dad said. “I’m more worried about other kids’ germs.”

“I’m more worried about their cooties,” I said.

Dad laughed. Mom didn’t.

“Norah, this isn’t a joke,” she said, sighing.

Dad winked at me, but I pretended not to see it in the rearview mirror. I didn’t want to play Whose Side Are You On. Not this morning, of all mornings.

And now, as I was running up the stairs to the third floor, I found myself wondering if Mom was right: Maybe I didn’t have such terrific stamina. My heart was thumping and my breath was short, although possibly that was just from nerves. Because eighth grade math? What if it was too hard? Even with all the work I’d done with Ayesha, I didn’t consider myself a math-and-science person. And Ayesha liked me, so maybe she’d overbragged about how well I’d done.

Also, the thought of classes with the Big Kids made my stomach knot. I didn’t know any of them, and they didn’t know me. Although, in a way, that was kind of a plus, I told myself: They wouldn’t be before-and-aftering me. Except not being with Harper was a definite minus. I wondered what she’d think when I didn’t show up in her math class. Maybe she’d worry I was sick again.

“Is this Room 316?” a boy asked just outside the classroom.

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “It says so right on the door.”

He squinted at the number. “That’s a six? To me it looks like a zero.”

“It’s a fat six,” I agreed. “But all the room numbers are sort of fat-looking.” Something occurred to me then. “Are you new here?”

He smiled. “Yeah, just moved to Greenwood. I’m Griffin,” he added, holding out his hand.

He wanted to shake hands? Was that a thing eighth graders did? I couldn’t imagine it was. Maybe at his old school, kids were freakishly polite, but I was pretty sure not here.

Still, I shook his hand. And right away I thought, I should Purell. Except that would seem rude. And strange.

“I’m Norah,” I said.

“Nice to meet you, Norah,” he said. “And nice haircut.”

“Thanks.” I liked it too, but it felt weird how other people kept commenting. Especially people like Griffin, who didn’t realize I used to be bald.

Then I noticed he was holding Artemis Fowl, a book I read three times during chemo. And maybe stupidly, I blurted: “Someone told me it’s a pixie cut. But not like the pixies there.”

I pointed at his book.

His eyes grew. “You’ve read Artemis Fowl?”

“Yeah. It’s one of my favorites. Although there are pixies in Harry Potter, too, right?”

He nodded. “Also Spiderwick. I think there’s some in Wee Free Men, too.”

I realized I was staring at him. This boy—Griffin—was extremely cute. His reddish hair was spiky and messy in an I-don’t-care sort of way, his brown eyes were sparkly, he wasn’t too tall, and he read books. Good ones too.

I didn’t know what else to say after that, so I walked into the classroom. Amazingly, he took the seat next to me.

“I hate not knowing people,” he said, as if it were an explanation for his seat choice.

“Yeah, me too,” I admitted. “I don’t know anyone here either.”

He raised his eyebrows excitedly. “You’re new also?”

“In a way. More like recycled, actually.” Now I definitely needed to change the subject. “Anyhow, if no one knows you, you could have fun with that.”

“Yeah? Like how?”

“You could be anyone you want, right?”

“True. I could tell people I’m the human incarnation of the griffin. You know what a griffin is, in mythology?”

One thing I knew was mythical creatures. “Aren’t they half lion, half eagle?”

“Yeah. Body of a lion, but head, wings, and talons of an eagle.”

I nodded. “In Harry Potter, Dumbledore has one on his knocker. And the name Gryffindor means golden griffin.”

“That’s right,” he said, smiling. “I used to have a sign outside my room: ‘Griffin Door.’ ”

“Used to?”

“Yeah, not anymore.” His smile flickered. “You read a lot?”

“It’s practically all I do.” Immediately, I realized how strange that sounded. “Anyhow, you’re lucky. I wish my name was a mythical creature, but it’s just Latin for ‘honor,’ which is kind of boring.”

Griffin shrugged. “So make up a norah.”

“I guess I could. Maybe.”

Eighth

Вы читаете Halfway Normal
Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату