Celia’s hypothesis about me being a leader seemed to be coming true. It all started last week when Mr. Byrd walked into class with a stack of papers—our graded chapter exams, my first actual junior high school test.
Jitters prickled my legs and arms.
My body rocked back and forth, back and forth.
Mom and I had worked on equations for hours at home. I did not expect an A, but I did not want to fail miserably either.
“As usual,” Mr. Byrd announced, “I will invite the top three scorers to come up and take a bow. I also want the rest of you folks to know who you can go to for tutoring. You can all learn from one another.”
With his usual nerdy style, Mr. Byrd called Stuart’s name and tapped him on the shoulders with a toy light saber. He knighted Darcy next—she pumped her arms to whoops and hollers from Lilly and her other friends.
Before announcing the highest-scoring student, Mr. Byrd lowered the lights in the classroom and played the theme song for Darth Vader.
“And now, young Jedi knights. Meet your new master. With a top score of a hundred and five percent—I had to give a few bonus points because this Jedi master found an error in one of my equations—please come up, Charity Wood.”
The whole room inhaled a gasp, and Darcy shot me a stare like Death Star laser beams.
Since that day, a bunch of kids started asking me about their math equations. With Ana’s support, I could answer them.
“Hey, is it hard helping Charity type?” Mason asked Ana while Grace was correcting the multiplication error I pointed out.
“It requires training and a lot of patience to do correctly,” she said, smiling. “It is also important that Charity know and trust the person supporting her.”
Mason nodded. “Even better if that person is a favorite cousin?”
Yes, favorite and only cousin, I typed.
Ana lowered her round glasses to look Mason in the eye. “If you are serious, and if Charity wants to, then I can arrange for you to be trained. It will take hours of training and practice.”
Mason shrugged. “Good thing I turned down that movie deal with Emma Watson, then. I should have plenty of time.”
Ana winked a green eye at me. “Charity, I suppose it would be good for you to speak to someone your own age without me or your parents always intruding on the conversation.”
Thank you, Mason. Happy to talk to you after so many years.
Jaz wheeled up and gave me a fist bump. “Congrats, kid. I still can’t believe you beat out that cheerleader zombie Darcy. If you keep this up, you could knock her off the top of the honor roll. She would loooooove that!”
What is an honor roll?
Ana explained, “It’s a list of the top-performing students every quarter. Up until last year, Mr. Jergen did not allow students from the EPIC room to be eligible for honor roll. Celia fought that battle and finally won.” “Yeah,” Jaz said, “but no one expected an EPIC kid to top the list. Charity, this would send shockwaves through the whole school. I can already picture Darcy’s parents turning blue in the face.”
I was surprised that Darcy was first on the honor roll. Then I felt bad for judging her the way people judge me.
This tradition seems unfair. Why praise only for grades?
I thought about years of failed tests that only left me feeling worthless.
“I know it’s stupid,” Jaz said. “But think about it, Charity. An EPIC kid at number one on the honor roll? I mean, that might even get you an article in the paper.”
I typed to Ana.
Do you think I have a chance?
“More than a chance, Charity. But don’t worry about lists. Just focus on doing your best.”
I thought about Sassygirl72 and her hunger to get me kicked out of advanced classes.
I nudged Ana so I could type more.
I want people to know I am capable. To show there are googolplex ways of being smart.
Sassygirl and I were both on a mission. I had to make sure that mine won.
Least Valuable Player
For years, I felt like life was a party, and I was not invited.
Breathe in: I belong.
Breathe out: I belong.
I repeated these words to myself to drown out my loud doubts as I sat courtside next to Dad in my new yellow uniform.
Cheerleaders shouted and danced to jolt the crowd with their bouncy energy.
People in the middle: Shake it just a little!
People in the back: Show us where you’re at!
People in the stands: Jump up and clap your hands!
I dug my fingernails into my arm and scratched.
I am a Hornet. I am a Hornet.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
“Here, Cherry Girl,” Dad said. “Hold onto this for me.” He handed me my lucky sea glass, and I cupped it in my palm.
Jaz raced and twirled her wheelchair around the gymnasium. Ever since her nomination on the Princess Court, she loved shaking her pom-poms at pep rallies and games as an unofficial cheerleader. The whole crowd of students clapped and hooted for her. She did not do it just to annoy the cheerleaders anymore. In fact, she admitted that a few of them were actually nice.
Stuart marched by, playing his trombone with the band. He nodded as he passed.
At me?
“Go, chipmunk!” Pops hollered from the bleachers.
Gram, Mom, and Aunt Kiki yelled, but loudest of all was Aunt Elvi. “You got this, girl! Wooohooo!”
Who wears a black velvet cape? To a junior high basketball game?
Mason sat behind them, devouring a bag of popcorn and two hot dogs. When he spilled a drop of catsup on his mom’s white blouse, she shot off the bleacher like bread from a toaster. He could not help smiling in spite of all her fussing.
I smiled inside too.
I had my own embarrassing cheering section. Embarrassing because I would not likely touch my sneaker to the court during this, my first-ever basketball game.
Dad pulled me to stand. “Let’s warm up
