When we got home, I fell asleep—we all did—for twelve hours straight.
…
But now, five years later, Pine Valley threatened me again. I had an IOU with God, but that was a losing bet coming from a helpless girl like me.
If the public school rejected me, the district would send me to school at Pine Valley. That’s where they send the most hopeless cases. School? Ha! It was even more of a prison than Borden.
The doorbell made us all jump, except for Hero, who ran toward it as usual, his stubby, brown bulldog tail wagging.
Dad opened the door to reveal a man and woman who did not look like they belonged together at all.
“Hello, I’m Celia Diaz, the special education coordinator.”
She had long, crazy-curly hair and a leather jacket with eight zippers. I wanted to zip and unzip them all.
She bent down to scratch Hero’s belly, which made his back leg thump, thump, thump. “Well hello, chiquito.”
Her happy energy contrasted with the sour look of the school principal beside her, Mr. Edward Jergen. He smiled a wish-I-did-not-have-to-be-here smile. Wearing a gray suit, his hair stuck in place with gel, he looked more like a lawyer than a junior high principal.
Ms. Diaz—“Call me Celia,” she insisted—hugged both my parents and came over to the table where I sat. She bent down to examine my puzzle.
“Look at this beautiful creation.” Her hair smelled like cinnamon, and her curls tickled my cheek.
Mom invited them to sit on our leather sofa.
“Mr. and Mrs. Wood, as you know, we’re here to assess your daughter’s placement,” Mr. Jergen said, pushing Hero away. I suppose he did not like drool on his shiny shoes.
“We want her to be in a school that best fits her, a school with appropriate resources for children with her . . . challenges.”
“Sounds as though you’ve already made up your mind.” Dad folded his arms.
“Well, given her difficulties at Borden, Mr. Wood, I’m skeptical of her ability to . . . benefit from our program.”
Working on my puzzle—blue pieces now—I caught Celia smiling at me. Observing me?
122 . . . 123 . . . 124 . . . 76 more pieces to go.
Mom, ready for battle, pulled out her most recent notebook and listed all the problems with Borden—from uncertified teachers to unsanitary conditions to inhumane treatment of students. Mr. Jergen fought back by pulling my file from his briefcase and listing all my documented failures at that school. After a few minutes of back and forth, Mr. Jergen’s voice got louder.
“Mrs. Wood, please forgive me, but if your daughter can’t even pick up a pencil, I don’t see how she can benefit from our school.”
He stood up, took a pencil, and plopped it on the table in front of me.
A dare.
My body froze.
Oh no.
I dropped the puzzle piece I was holding. My hands turned into lobster claws again.
I wanted to dare him right back.
How about this—I pick up the pencil with my lobster claws if you make a phone call with your feet.
Mr. Jergen lifted his shoulders in a half shrug. “It’s the most basic of skills, Mrs. Wood, and time after time, your daughter has shown herself incapable of doing even this.”
Mom’s lips frowned hard, but I knew he was royally right. The stupid yellow pencil lay there like a snake ready to bite. I knew my hand would not pick it up. Not with everyone watching. Not with him thinking I could not do it.
My muscles froze. My heart raced.
Page 261: The king cobra can inject large amounts of poisonous venom in a single bite.
Mr. Jergen pulled out the wooden chair facing me, its legs screeching on the floor, and sat down. “Go ahead, Charity.” He spoke a little softer but did not really look at me. “Pick up the pencil.”
Three seconds ticked on the grandfather clock in the living room, and his fingers drummed lightly on the oak table.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
He repeated his command.
“Pick up the pencil . . . pick up the pencil . . . pick up the pencil.”
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
Page 261: The venom causes severe pain, rapid breathing, blurred vision, and paralysis.
Each time, his voice got louder, and his fingers sounded to my ears like bass drums pounding.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
I felt pity poisons gnawing at my stomach. I wished I could pick up the pencil and fling it at him. A KETTLE EXPLOSION was approaching, and at any moment these puzzle pieces would fly.
Fact: He would be the winner.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
Hello, Pine Valley.
The venom causes severe pain, rapid breathing . . .
I clenched both fists, all four adults and even Hero staring at me. I imagined life locked in a small room with no windows. No pictures on the walls. No family beyond the walls.
Mom’s chest heaved a single sob.
The lamp above the table scorched my cheeks. Sweat dribbled down my neck onto the dumb pink blouse Mom made me wear.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
The venom causes blurred vision . . . paralysis . . .
My arms started pushing puzzle pieces on the floor.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
Death soon follows.
Countdown to KETTLE EXPLOSION . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .
Celia leaned over and stopped Mr. Jergen’s tapping fingers. She spoke softly into my ear. “Charity, querida, could you please pick up that pencil for me?”
I knew that word—querida. In Spanish, it meant dear.
Without thinking, my hand grasped the pencil.
“That’s it, querida. Now draw a little something for me on my notepad, anything you like.”
She touched my elbow, and I lifted the pencil to her yellow pad.
I drew a perfect circle.
Mr. Jergen sat there for a few seconds with his mouth open.
“Well, Mr. J,” Celia said, “how would you prefer to be asked?”
She turned to my parents. “I have a feeling this is a very bright girl. Why don’t you tell us more about her strengths?”
Wow. None of the Thinkers ever asked that before. Mom was the one hugging Celia this time. Then Mom threw open her notebook labeled Accomplishments and scribbled some notes, grinning widely.
By the time they left, Mr. Jergen could only say, “I will let you know the district’s decision soon.”
Three days later, we got a message
