Everyone gathered closer to hear Mom’s words.
Mom continued. “The classroom that is always so spotless and cheerful every year for parents’ night . . .”
Did you SEE it? DID YOU SMELL IT?
Mom snapped her head toward Dad and spit out her words rapid-fire. “Steve, I tell you it was a pigpen—filthy, stinking, full of broken toys and . . . and . . . not a place of learning at all. Nothing but scribbles on the chalkboard. Puzzles with missing pieces—wooden baby puzzles—were scattered on the floor along with mismatched Legos . . . and . . . and shoeboxes of broken crayons and dried-out markers. And a closet . . . a storage closet . . . labeled ‘TIME OUT’ in big, red letters.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t believe it.”
Dad’s face turned white, Mom’s red.
“It made me so angry!” She pounded her fist on the counter.
SHE KNOWS? SHE FINALLY KNOWS?
Now I was the one in shock.
Big tears welled in Mom’s eyes. “I took out my phone to take pictures of this so-called classroom. That’s when Miss Marcia burst in and started yelling at me. She said I wasn’t allowed to be there. That I had no right to take pictures. Then Mr. Toll came in and threatened to report me to the police for trespassing. So I yelled back at them. ‘What kind of classroom is this? How could you possibly lock kids in storage closets for time-outs? I should call the police on you!’ And Miss Marcia said, she actually said, and I quote, ‘You don’t get it, do you? These kids are lost causes. Your kid was sent here because no other school wants her.’”
Mom put her head in her hands and inhaled like she was catching her breath. Aunt Kiki handed her a napkin from the dispenser. Mom blew her nose and continued. “Well, I don’t want to tell you how I responded, it may have included a few four-letter, pardon-my-French words, but the last thing I said was ‘Charity will never set foot in Borden Academy again. Just you wait until I tell the district what kind of school you’re running here.’”
Mom dabbed the tears on her cheek and squeezed me tight again.
Even without a red cape, Mom did a pretty good job of kicking butt.
In my mind, I heard the squeak of an iron jail cell door opening wide.
Freedom? Is it possible?
My mind could hardly soak it in.
A tidal wave of emotion crashed inside my chest, and my entire ice cream shake spewed onto the floor.
Barbecued
Mason slinked into Gram’s kitchen and stacked four cheese-loaded crackers into his palm, probably hoping to make a quick getaway before someone spoke to him.
“Good news, Mason.” Mom put her arm around his shoulder. “Charity might be going to your school in a few weeks.”
Mason’s pale face turned even whiter, but he just stared straight ahead and said, “K.”
Page 239: Startled rabbits freeze to assess the danger then run away.
“That will be fun, won’t it, sweetie?” Aunt Kiki, in a teal pantsuit, smiled big. “You two could eat lunch together.”
Poor Mason. Hard enough being the new kid at his school. Having me there would be like diagnosis: explosive diarrhea.
Mason glanced toward me. I sat at the table tapping my fingers to the song in my head—Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony—and munching my cracker in rhythm.
Tap, munch, tap, munch.
He ended the conversation by ducking outside.
“Public school?” Aunt Elvi stood in the doorway making her pity face. “Seriously, Gail, how’s this gonna make any difference?”
Aunt Kiki whispered, “Come on, Elvi, be sensitive.”
Mom clenched her jaw. “Don’t start with me, Elvi. I’ve tutored Charity at grade level since she was three. She’ll be able to understand. I know she will.”
Elvi shook her head. “When are you gonna wake up, Gail?”
“Stop talking like that in front of her,” Mom hissed.
Elvi put her hand on her hips. “Get real, Gail, what makes you think she understands a word we’re saying? I wish she did. I wish to heck she did, but she doesn’t.” Elvi turned to me and smiled. “Charity, honey, blink twice if you understand what I’m saying. Just blink twice.”
Everyone stared at me.
Of course, my eyelids did not obey.
Elvi went up to Mom and held both her hands. “Look at me, Gail. This isn’t gonna work. You’ve been killing yourself for years and nothing works. Not only are you wasting your life, you’re torturing the poor kid.”
Mom looked her in the eyes. “You don’t understand because you’re not a mother yet, Elvi. Just wait. There’s nothing you won’t do for your child.”
Elvi huffed a big sigh and held up her hands. “You’re killing me, Gail. Literally killing me.” She turned and walked away.
At least they were talking again.
“When will she start?” Aunt Kiki asked, smiling, as if the previous conversation never happened.
“Well, we’re still not sure they’ll accept her,” Mom said. “If I could bribe someone, I would.”
For the past two weeks, Mom argued with district administrators. They were the ones who kicked me out of public school in the first place and pressured my mom to put me in Borden. My mother, who could hardly bring herself to send back a bowl of soup with a fly swimming in it, roared into the phone every day.
“Ashamed, you should be ashamed! How can you call Borden a school? I can’t believe you would let this abuse continue. You don’t care what happens to these kids as long as they’re hidden away where you can’t see them.”
I imagined Mom as a Marine drill instructor screaming at the top of her lungs. Drop and give me fifty pushups, you useless maggot! You worthless pile of cat puke! You miserable excuse for a school administrator!
“We are fully prepared to sue for damages unless our daughter is admitted to a public school. That is her legal right. And she needs a full-time aide to support her. Hiring an aide costs a fraction of the tuition that the district doled out to send her to that prison.”
A real public school with actual learning?
