Fish in a Tree by Lynda Mullaly Hunt
“Okay . . .”
“You know how I said we can’t play chess on Tuesday or Thursday? Well, that’s because I’m taking classes to get a degree in special education. Basically, it’s a degree to help me help kids like you. Kids who are smart but have learning differences.”
Smart? Learning differences?
“So I spoke with Mrs. Silver and Miss Kessler.” He leans forward. “And your mom, of course. And we were thinking that I could help you after school a couple times a week. Until we can get you into formal services here at school.”
I open my mouth, but he holds up his hands. “I know. Staying after school with me will be torture. But it would really help me out with the projects I have going on for my degree. You’d be doing me a huge favor. And I’d be so grateful, Ally.” He leans forward. “So?”
I swallow hard. I’m not dumb. I know I’m not doing him a favor as a much as he’s doing me one. And I can’t believe or imagine what I’ve done to deserve help like this. Stay after school? I’d sleep at school if it would help.
I nod.
And we shake on it.
And he looks kind of dopey and happy.
I shift in my seat again. “But can I ask a question?”
“Sure!”
“What are ‘learning differences’?”
“Oh! Okay . . .” He thinks. “When you ride your bike home, is there more than one way to go?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought so,” he says. “Well, just like there are different ways for you to get home, Ally, there are different ways for information to reach the brain. You have five senses, right? Taste, smell, sight, hearing, and touch.”
I nod.
“So, what if an alien landed in a spaceship and you had to explain what the word frozen means without using the sense of touch? What if you had to use just words? I think that would be hard. Do you?”
“Yeah . . . it would.”
“I think you’ve had some trouble learning words with just your eyes. We are going to incorporate more of your senses to practice letters and sounds. And I want you to relax about it. We’ll have fun. I won’t give homework on this. No tests to study for or anything like that, okay?”
I nod.
“Have you liked playing chess?”
I nod, hoping we can play today.
“You know, I had a feeling you would be good at it. I think your mind learns in pictures, and it helps you be a really good chess player. We’ve played several times now and you have learned it fast and improved a lot without much time. Also, thinking in pictures?” He leans forward. “It’s one of the reasons you are such a good artist.”
“Okay,” I say, thinking this all sounds good so far. The only thing that worries me is that it won’t work. I still won’t be able to read.
“Good, then,” he says. “We’re going to practice writing letters. But we won’t use paper and pencil.” Then he pulls out a huge metal sheet and hands me a bottle of shaving cream. “We’re going to use this, and by writing in shaving cream, you’ll use sight and touch, and write large enough to use your whole arm. Just more ways for the signals to get delivered to your amazing brain.”
I smile.
“Now, fill that giant sheet with foam and let’s get started.”
As I draw my finger through the gooey cream, I think about the words “learning differences.” And I’m filled with fear and happiness and questions. But I’m mostly filled with hope.
CHAPTER 32
Screen Time
The day has been pretty good, and it just keeps coming. When I get outside, Mom and Travis are waiting for me in the car.
“We’re going to head over to a friend’s house to use their computer to Skype with your dad,” my mom says. “We are all missing him so much, I thought it would be good.”
• • •
The screen flickers at first, but then there he is. In his tan fatigues.
“Daddy!” I say, not able to hold it in and sounding like a little kid.
“Ally Bug! You’re so big! How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m good, Daddy. How are you?”
“I’m good but homesick. I sure miss you guys.”
I think how there’s a word for him missing home but not a word for us missing him.
He holds up some of my pictures. “I love the pictures you sent. I hang them up around my bunk. The other guys are jealous.” He winks.
I can tell that Mom wants to cry, but she doesn’t. She says that being a soldier’s wife means being strong for him. She doesn’t want him to know how hard it is without him here. He has enough to worry about over there. I sometimes wish she would tell him. I sometimes wonder if he would come home if he knew.
“Good, Daddy. I miss you. So much.”
“I miss you, too, honey. You know I do. How are things? More silver dollar days or wooden nickels?”
“Some of each, I think. But more silver dollars lately. My teacher is cool. He is . . .” And I find I can’t even explain it in words. “Great.”
“That’s terrific, sweetheart!”
“And I have two friends, Keisha and Albert. Keisha likes to bake and she’s brave. You’d like her, Daddy! And Albert is like a computer; he is so smart. He’s a little nuts, though. He’s been telling us how he loves all of the standardized testing. He actually thinks it’s fun.”
“Fun? Testing? He sounds like a different kind of guy.”
“He is. And there’s a girl named Shay at school who isn’t very nice to me.” I feel rushed, like I have to get everything in fast.
“Well, you’ll always run into people like that. You can hold your own, I bet.”
Mom pats me on the back. “Have to give Travis some time, honey.”
“Okay.” And I watch a movie of myself being strong and saying good-bye and not crying. But I want to be able to step through that screen and wrap my arms around my daddy. It feels like a part of us all is missing and we won’t be whole again until he’s home.
“Hey,” Dad says. “Remember, Ally Bug, I love you. There isn’t anything in the world I love more than you, your brother, and your mom.”
I nod.
Travis sits down next.
“Hey, son! How are the big plans coming?”
“Not so great.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Travis says.
“C’mon. Maybe I can help.”
Travis glances at Mom and me. “Well, this new manager came in at the garage. The old guy used to let me do my thing, you know. But this one hangs over me. Always asking me to follow the specs in the manuals. If I do something, he wants to know what page I looked it up on. I know how to work on different cars. I don’t need to look it up.”
My dad takes a long, slow breath. “Well, that does sound rough. Have you tried talking to the guy? Or having him talk to the old boss?”
“The old boss is out with back surgery for a while.” Travis shakes his head. “This new guy . . . he just doesn’t get me.” His voice cracks.
My father leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Now he looks like he wants to crawl through the screen. “You’ll get there. I know you will. And this is temporary. Just try to work hard and learn everything you can.”
Travis nods but looks at the floor. I hear him mumble, “There are some things I just can’t learn.”
“I’m proud of you, Trav. You know that.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry I’m not there with you.”
“Yeah.” Travis looks up at the screen. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, son. Hang in there. It will get better.”
Travis nods, but I can tell he isn’t buying it. Then he stands. “C’mon, squirt. Let’s give Mom and Dad some time.”
“Why?”
He pulls me over
We sit down at the kitchen table and Mom’s friend gives us sodas.
Travis cracks open his and takes a deep breath.
“What?”
“I’m just so frustrated, Al. There’s so much I want to do, but . . .”
I want to help him. “Maybe we could head out to some junkyards like we used to and see if we can find something worth fixing up.”
“Maybe. I’d love to find another old Coke machine or something in someone’s barn. Buy it cheap and fix it up on my own.” He looks at me. “You know I can turn almost anything around for some good money.”
The words are the same, but they are heavy. There’re no wiggling fingers or talk of being a genius. And my big brother looks so serious.
“I know you’ll have Nickerson Restoration someday, Travis. And it will be part mine because of the name, right?”
He turns back and laughs, but it isn’t real. He spends the rest of the time looking out the window, and I rack my brain trying to figure out what I can do.
Mom calls us back to say good-bye.
Dad puts his hand on the screen.
All three of us put our hands on the screen, too. Just as he flickers away, Mom leans over and leaves a lipstick kiss on the glass. Then she rests her forehead there and stays awhile.
CHAPTER 33
Possibilities
Working with Mr. Daniels gets easier because I am happy. But the work is really hard for me.
He has written cat on the board and we talk about the sounds. I can only hear one sound—cat—but he says that the word cat has three separate sounds. It feels like he’s telling me the sky is yellow. As I say each of the sounds, he has me tap them out on my fingers. It does seem to help. It forces me to make them separately even though they are all one word. But it’s a tiny word, and I worry what I’ll do about whole books. Will I ever be able to do this?
When we are all done for the day, he leans back in his chair like Travis would. “So, you are doing great, Ally. You really are. How are you feeling about all of this?”
“I’m actually happy to do this extra work, and I never thought I’d ever say something like that.”
He smiles. “Good. I’m glad.”
“But . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I guess I still wonder if I’ll ever feel . . . if I’ll ever be able to read the same as other kids and be . . . normal . . . and not to have to have all this extra help. It seems impossible.”
He becomes serious. Then he takes out a piece of plain paper and pulls the cap off of a marker with his teeth. He begins to write.
I M P O S S I B L E
“Do you know what that says? Remember to break it into chunks. This is a long one, though, isn’t it?”
I nod, trying to sound it out. “Important?”
“No, but that’s a good try. It says impossible. Like you just said. You told me you think it seems impossible to read as well as everyone else.”
“Yeah,” I say, wondering why he had to write it down for me. It’s not like I need a reminder.
Then he draws a red line between the M and the P and hands it to me.
I M / P O S S I B L E
“I want you to rip the paper in two pieces. Right where that line is.”
I do.
“So, now, Ally . . . that big piece of paper in your hand says possible. There is no impossible anymore, okay?”
I swallow and look down at it and I feel a little dizzy. The way he says it makes me feel like it could actually be true.
“Now, throw that little piece with the ‘I-M’ on it in the trash. It’s gone forever.”
I walk over to the garbage and drop it in. Watch it twist and spin as it falls. I look up and lock eyes with him and wish I had the words to tell him how grateful I am for his helping me. In this world of words, sometimes they just can’t say everything.
“All right, then.” He nods. “You head home. I have some homework to do or I’ll lose my recess.”
“Okay.” I laugh, but I’m still thinking of the word on the paper. “Thanks,” I say, looking down at it.
“My pleasure,” he replies, and takes a folder out of his briefcase.
I stare at that word, “P-O-S-S-I-B-L-E,” all the way down the hallway. I study the red color. I draw my fingers over the letters. I even smell the paper so I can take it in somehow.
I really want to believe.
CHAPTER 34
Birth of a Star
Keisha, Albert, and I walk to Albert’s after school. Keisha and I asked if we could come over and see his house and he shrugged and said, “Okay.”
The whole time, my hand is in my pocket, holding on to that piece of paper. Possible.
Albert’s house is big but dark and dusty when we enter. There are piles of things everywhere. Not papers like our house. I mean piles of things with tubes and wires. Things I don’t recognize.
His mom greets us. “Hey, Albert! You have guests?” Her tone tells me that this never happens.
“Yes, I do. These are my friends, Keisha Almond and Ally Nickerson. Ally and Keisha, this is my mother, Audrey Dubois,” he says, waving at each of us, and she comes over and shakes our hands.
“Can I get you anything to eat?” she asks, sounding nervous.
Albert pauses. “No, thank you. We’ll just go upstairs.”
His mom says okay as we are already following him up a skinny, twisty staircase.
“What kind of host,” Keisha begins, “doesn’t allow his guests to have food? Dang it, Albert! I wouldn’t have minded some!”
“It wouldn’t be logical to offer you something that doesn’t exist.”
“But she offered it to us,” Keisha says.
He opens his backpack and begins stacking his books on his desk like a pyramid. “I can assure you that the refrigerator is quite empty. In fact, it hasn’t been plugged in for a week.”
“Oh,” Keisha says, her voice getting quiet. “I’m sorry, Albert. I really am.”
Now I know why his mom’s voice sounded funny when she offered, and why he eats so much at school. “Yeah, me too,” I add.
He turns, surprised. “Why?”
Keisha scrunches up her face—the look she gets when she really can’t figure him out.
“Well,” I say, “because you don’t have food. Or a refrigerator. It must be terrible to be hungry and not be able to eat. And it’s probably embarrassing for you. Maybe. I mean, I think it would be. I guess.”
He tilts his head. “Filling the refrigerator does not fall within the parameters of my responsibilities. Therefore, the lack of food therein would have no reflection upon me whatsoever.”
We are silenced. I don’t know about Keisha, but I couldn’t answer that for a million dollars. From the looks of her, I don’t think she can, either.
I finally lift my gaze from his face to look around his room. Just a bed, a desk, and an empty trash can. The carpet and his blankets are all dark green. But his walls have colorful posters, all science-related. There is one I like the most. A picture of outer space, but with every color you can think of all swirled together with an orange glow off to the side. It’s beautiful. I point at it. “Albert, what is that?”
“That is the birth of a star. The single most important thing that can happen in space. Well, the single most positive thing, anyway.”
“It’s beautiful!” I say.
He stares at it. “Indeed, it is,” he says, sitting down at his desk.
Keisha laughs. “You’re going to be a star one day, Albert. You’ll do something amazing.”
“I don’t like . . .” He shifts in his seat. “I don’t wish to be in the limelight.”
“Limelight?” I ask.
“I don’t like a lot of attention.”
“Well, you better get used to it, Albert,” Keisha says. “Because there is no way on God’s green earth that you won’t have boatloads of it when you go out and cure cancer or discover another planet or something.”
“That’s my hope. I want to change the world. Do something good.”
And then, all of a sudden, I feel sad as Keisha goes on about how famous Albert will be. How he’ll be written about in history books and stuff.
“Hey,” Keisha says, poking me. “Why so serious over there?”
I’m thinking about the things Albert and Keisha will do and how I can’t even read. I can’t tell them that, though. So I try to sound happier. “I’m not that serious.”
“Oh, yes, you are! Dead serious. You need to smile!”
“I am smiling,” I say.
“Well, someone better tell your face about it.”
I hesitate. “Can I tell you both a secret?” I ask, reaching into my pocket to touch my possible paper that I’ve carried since I got it.
“Yeah, of course.”
“And you won’t tell anyone?”
“Yes. Now, what’s the secret we won’t tell anyone because that’s what the definition of secret is?”
Albert is quiet, but his head is tilted to the side.
“I . . . I have never really told anyone this, but . . . I have a lot of trouble in school. With reading and writing and . . . well, everything but math and art.”
Keisha laughs. “That is not a secret!”
And then I feel terrible. And I feel my eyes beginning to sting. I start walking away, but she pulls my sleeve and pulls me back. Albert looks upset.
“No! That’s not what I mean. I mean that we know that. But it doesn’t matter to us.”
“However,” Albert says, “I do wish it was easier for you. We will not share your secret.”
“Mr. Daniels says I have something called dyslexia, which makes it hard to read letters. That’s why I’ve been staying after school, so he can help me.”
Keisha is wide-eyed. “Extra school after school? That’s terrible. I mean, terrible.”
I want to tell her I’d spend the night at school hanging upside down in the closet if I could just read. “I don’t mind. He’s nice to help me.”