No. Not my essay. Somebody added words.
“Gracias a Dios,” Celia said, “but here’s the problem. Ms. Beckett says she mailed your original paper to a reporter, but the reporter never received it. It was lost in transit somehow.”
Dad grabbed the essay and stood up. “Lost, or stolen? Somebody obviously messed with Charity’s words so they could accuse her of cheating. What maniac would do this?” He slapped the essay with the back of his hand. “Where did they get this copy?”
Skyler stood outside in the hallway, pressing her face to the office window. Her smushed nose fogged up the glass. Jaz pulled her away.
Celia frowned. “Jergen will not tell me who gave it to him or how he acquired it. Ms. Beckett mailed it from the school. All I can think is that someone in the office took it before it was sent out.”
“Well, Charity, show them your copy of the paper on the computer.” Mom spoke in her high panicky voice.
I thought for a minute. My accuser could say that I deleted the copied sentences.
Mom held up the keyboard. I was losing control with each letter.
My word against theirs. This is t . . .
I pushed away her arm.
We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“What’s next?” Mom asked, blinking quickly.
“They have scheduled an investigation hearing for next week. The district superintendent will be there to hear evidence and make her decision.”
Dad’s voice lowered. “They couldn’t expel her for this nonsense, could they?”
“If the committee determines this is not related to her disability, then she is subject to the same disciplinary measures as any other student. We must prove our case.”
Why do I always have to fight? First to come to Lincoln, now to stay? It is not fair. So many bullies bulldozing my path to peace. Not fair. Not fair. Not. Not. Not.
Celia and my parents talked for a while. My body rocked back and forth.
Rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock.
Pity venom stung my entire body. The world zoned out. I was alone in the unfair universe.
Page 101: Vespa mandarinia . . .
A hand on my shoulder pulled me back to reality.
Mom tugged on my arm. “We’d better get you to math. You have your quiz today. Remember the formulas we reviewed at breakfast?”
I wanted to scream.
Have you lost your mind? What part of expelled don’t you understand?
I pulled away. She tried again. I buried my face in my hands.
Page 101: Vespa mandarinia . . . the Asian giant hornet . . .
“I know how frustrated you must feel.” Dad put his arm around me. “But our fight isn’t over. The best thing to do is continue as usual.” He knelt down. “Don’t let the turkeys get you down, Cherry Girl.”
Rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock.
Mom held up the keyboard for me to type.
My mind was dark.
My heart was hard.
My soul was shattered.
Page 101: Vespa mandarinia . . . the Asian giant hornet . . . as large as a human thumb . . .
Rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock.
I felt numb. Hopeless.
I was . . . a nonperson. Just like everyone thought.
I did not exist anymore.
Page 101: Vespa mandarinia . . . the Asian giant hornet . . . as large as a human thumb . . . can massacre a colony of bees, ripping their heads off . . . twenty heads per minute . . .
Rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock-rock.
A drumbeat inside my chest hammered louder and louder as adults kept chattering at me.
Their stings release a massive amount of venom . . . breaking down flesh . . . like being stabbed with a searing-hot . . .
Air moved in and out of my lungs until a chokehold slowly gripped my throat, squeezing lightly at first and then increasing pressure on my neck, until my breath strained and a dust storm of fear gathered in my belly. Each breath became harder.
Like being stabbed with a searing-hot sword.
Three sets of panicked eyes crowded around my face, urging me with words I could not understand. The storm in my gut became a hurricane. With no warning . . . no countdown, my body exploded in full fury.
Worse than a KETTLE EXPLOSION.
Diagnosis: Hurricane Charity.
Throat screaming. Arms thrashing.
The keyboard was my first target. I whacked it out of Mom’s hand.
CRASH
It hit the wall. Keys broke off and scattered across the carpet.
More faces pressed against the glass. I was a zoo animal on display for gawking tourists. A freak in a sideshow.
I kicked the desk.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
I twirled and hit anyone and anything in my way.
More faces in the window. Peter. Julian. Mason.
The hurricane inside me could destroy you all.
Skyler now in tears.
Cry for the beast. Stay away or I will hurt you.
Mom screeched. “Charity, try to control yourself! You’re going to get hurt!”
Control myself? CONTROL MYSELF?
You’ve lived with me for thirteen years. You know that I AM NOT ALWAYS IN CONTROL!
I swung my arms. Crashing. Thrashing.
It felt so good to give in to my body.
Not think anymore.
Not try so hard.
More shouts and hands trying to pin my arms down.
I was strong. I kept going.
I am Godzilla, stomping out Tokyo.
My eyes opened, blind to the terror in Mom’s face. Deaf to her words. I only wanted to crush and destroy and release my anger into the universe. My body knocked over a lamp. Books flew to the floor. Each hit and whack painted my arms and legs with bruises.
I felt nothing.
The door burst open.
It was Jergen, Jergen with his smooth hair and starched shirt, his nose wrinkled with disgust. Like I was some radioactive swamp monster.
My hand reacted without thought.
Grabbing Celia’s snow globe.
Whipping it toward him like a major league pitcher.
CRASH!
It smacked the wall an inch from his head. A splat of water marked the yellow concrete. Plastic snowflakes dribbled down and melted into the carpet.
My arms fell to my side, and Dad grabbed me in a tight bear hug. My body sweat and bled and burned.
We both panted.
No one spoke.
The office was in shambles.
Celia’s face flushed and wet.
Jergen’s white.
All my muscles shook, and Dad tightened his grip, probably expecting another explosion. Instead, I did something I had not done since I was five. The day Mason moved away.
I cried.
My body sank to the floor and wet tears ran from my eyes.
I
