Out of My Mind Page 8

  “She’s only two! I’m not going to be able to afford the kid when she’s old enough to go shopping on her own,” Dad always says. He snaps every cute pose she makes with his cell phone camera.

  When Mrs. V sets Penny back down, Penny pokes her lips out, throws Doodle on the floor, and wraps both her arms around her chest. I laugh. I wish I had enough coordination to have “attitude”!

  “Here, Penny, why don’t you just sit down and draw me a picture instead,” Mrs. V says, whipping out a box of crayons.

  Attitude forgotten, Penny grabs a handful and promptly begins to scribble all over the coloring book, as well as Mrs. V’s table.

  I wish I could use crayons. I’d draw a rose, with a velvety red bloom and a green stem and yellow-green leaves coming from it. I can see it so clearly in my mind, but, of course, when I put a pencil or crayon in my stupid-tight little fingers, all I can manage are squiggly lines. Nothing that looks even close to a rose.

  I want to draw it for Rose. She has rose designs on her notebooks and book bag. I don’t know where her mother finds such cool stuff. Rose’s name really fits her—she’s pretty and delicate and nice to be around. If she has thorns like real roses do, I’ve never noticed.

  While Penny is busy with her crayons, Mrs. V checks her mail. She opens several envelopes, then gasps with surprise. “Guess what, girls?” she exclaims. “I’ve won a contest!”

  I look at her with interest. Penny continues to scribble, ignoring both of us.

  “I entered an essay contest at the bookstore in the mall,” she explains to me. “The topic was why fish are important in our world ecology.”

  I point to food on my board and smirk.

  “No, silly.” She reaches over and tickles me. “I wrote something about oceans and the balance of nature— I don’t honestly remember what I said—but I won first prize: a trip for six to the new downtown aquarium. All expenses paid. Stupendous!”

  I’ve seen the commercials on television for the aquarium—it’s supposed to have sharks and turtles and penguins and a million other sea animals. Go? I ask by pointing on my board.

  “Well, besides me, I don’t know who else to take,” she says, scratching her head and grinning.

  I kick my foot straps loose. Me! Me! I want to scream. Instead, I point to myself.

  “Hmmm. Who could I take?” Mrs. V teases, looking around the kitchen. I can tell she’s trying hard not to laugh.

  Me! Me! I jab.

  “Well, of course I’ll take you, Mello Yello,” Mrs. V says, smiling. “Just think of all the new words we’ll gather. I’m going to write down the names of every single fish for you to learn!”

  I slap my head, pretending to be upset.

  “So, if I take you and Penny, your mom and dad, and me, that’s five. I wonder who else we could take?” She scrunches up her face, thinking.

  I know immediately. Rose could go with us! I spell out her name. R-O-S-E. And again. R-O-S-E. Then I hit Please.

  “Hmmm. Your friend Rose from school?” I buck and kick with excitement. “I think that’s a great idea, Melody. I’ll ask your parents and her parents, and if she’s willing, we’ll have a wonderful day.”

  I can’t stop kicking my feet!

  It takes several weeks before both Mom and Dad are off work on a Saturday, but Thanksgiving weekend ends up working out for everybody. I have trouble sleeping the night before. Rose’s parents seem really nice from what I could tell from listening to Mom’s end of the conversation. I couldn’t believe Rose wanted to come! She wanted to come with me, the kid in the chair!

  At school Rose whispered with me about the trip, just like I’d seen other kids do when they have secrets. I felt like a real girl.

  Now that the Saturday is finally here, we all pile into our SUV early in the morning. Even though the weather has turned pretty chilly, I made sure Mom put a really nice outfit on me—cute jeans and no sweats. Rose hasn’t said anything about what I’m wearing, but she keeps cooing over Penny.

  “Your sister is adorable, Melody!” Rose says. I smile and nod.

  Penny reaches out her chubby little hands and claps. “Wo-sie,” she says.

  “I think she said my name!” Rose exclaims. “Your sister is not only cute, she’s a genius!”

  As we drive, Rose chatters with my parents and Mrs. V like she’s known them all her life. I watch it all silently, thinking this has to be the best day of my life.

  When we get to the aquarium, Dad unloads my chair and eases me into it while Mom gets Penny’s stroller out and straps her in. Rose pushes Penny as Mom pushes me, so we can be side by side.

  The place is crowded—I guess because it’s a holiday weekend. Nobody pays any attention to me, which is perfect. I can almost forget who I am.

  Inside, fish tanks go from floor to ceiling. I think of Ollie. He might have been happy here. In one tank sharks swim overhead, just like we’re actually looking up from the ocean floor. Okay, so Ollie might not have been so happy in that tank.

  I’ve never seen so many fish—from all over the world, it seems. Fish with spikes and spots. Fish with markings so beautiful, they look painted.

  Penny slaps at the glass whenever a fish comes close. “Fishies! More fishies!” Mrs. V, as promised, writes down names of species and takes pictures so I can remember when we get back home. Mom and Dad whisper together like teenagers. I’ve never seen them so relaxed.

  We stop in front of every tank. I love the jellyfish, which remind me of streams of shiny cloth, and the lion-fish, which really do look a little like swimming lions. At the sea horse tank Rose observes that their heads point backward! She seems to be having a great time.

  Then, from around the corner, come the two people I’d least want to run into: Molly and Claire. They are with a Girl Scout troop. They’re fake bumping into each other, not paying much attention to their group leader, who is telling them about the percentage of salt found in ocean water.

  Molly and Claire, dressed exactly alike in jeans, long-sleeved T-shirts, and Scout vests, look at Rose with surprise.

  “Hey, Rose! You here with your mom?” Claire asks.

  “Uh, no,” Rose says evasively, walking away from us and toward them.

  “Your dad?” Molly says, looking at me like I smell bad. And she’s acting like my parents are invisible.

  “I’m here with Melody and her family,” Rose mumbles.

  “On purpose?” Claire shrieks. Both she and Molly start laughing loudly.

  “It’s not so bad,” Rose says quietly. But I heard her.

  Mom starts to say something to the girls, but Dad takes her arm. “They’re children,” he tells her. “Let them work it out themselves.”

  Mom has those daggers in her eyes—the sharp points she shoots at people who say dumb things about me—but she stays quiet. Her fists are balled.

  Mrs. V, however, isn’t going to let anybody stop her. From her almost-six-foot height, she towers over Molly and Claire. “You! Girl with braces on her teeth!” Claire looks up at her, stunned.

  “Yes, ma’am?” Claire has sense enough to say.

  “Why do you think your parents spent good money getting you braces?”

  “Huh?” Claire looks confused. Molly has quietly disappeared into her Scout troop.

  “Your teeth were imperfect, so your parents got you braces. One day you’ll thank them when you get a date for the prom,” Mrs. V roars. The whole Scout troop, plus a few other visitors to the aquarium, stop to listen to her.

  “What do my teeth have to do with anything?” Claire asks, looking around nervously.

  “Some people get braces on their teeth. Some get braces on their legs. For others, braces won’t work, so they need wheelchairs and walkers and such. You’re a lucky girl that you only had messed-up teeth. Remember that.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Claire says again. Then she scurries off to join her friends.

  Rose walks back to us then, a little embarrassed, I think. “Claire can be clueless,” she w
hispers to me.

  You think?

  After a few more tanks Penny gets tired and starts to whine, so we leave the aquarium before we even get to see the penguins. We take Rose home and she thanks us properly and says she had a real good time.

  But did she?

  CHAPTER 14

  The Monday following Thanksgiving break, Catherine and I roll into Miss Gordon’s language arts class a few minutes before the bell. It doesn’t look like I’ll ever find out what Rose really thought about the trip to the aquarium because she clearly has more exciting things on her mind.

  Everyone is huddled around her desk.

  “Awesome!”

  “I love the color—I didn’t know they come in lime green!”

  “Oh, man, that’s what’s up!”

  “How many songs have you downloaded so far?”

  “What’s your new e-mail address?”

  “You got IM?”

  “Videos! That’s so tight!”

  “I wish my mom would get me a laptop like that.”

  I roll closer. Rose is showing off a brand-new laptop computer.

  “I can get on the Internet and find stuff for school and type up all my homework,” she’s telling the group around her. “I’ve already uploaded pictures of my dog, and I’ve got my own MySpace page!”

  I just shake my head as Catherine takes me back to my usual place in the back of the room. A laptop. I’m still pointing to words and phrases that Mrs. V and my mother have taped to a board that’s strapped to my wheelchair, and Rose has the Internet—I guess that means the whole universe—at her fingertips.

  I close my eyes, trying not to cry, dreaming of the perfect Melody-made computer. First of all, it would talk! Oh, yes. People would have to tell me to shut up! And it would have room to store all my words, not just the most common ones that have gotten pasted on my dumb plastic board.

  It would have big keys, so my thumbs could push the right buttons, and it would connect to my wheelchair. It would not have to be lime green.

  I open my eyes with a start. Such a thing has to exist, right? Or something like it? Maybe?

  I grab Catherine’s arm and point to Rose’s computer. Me too, I punch on my board. I do it several times.

  “You want a computer like Rose’s?” Catherine glances over at Rose’s laptop. “It really is nice. Even I don’t have one as cool as hers.”

  No, I point.

  “Wait, you don’t want a computer?” Catherine sounds confused.

  I have learned to be patient with people. Once again I point to Rose’s computer and then to the words me too. I search all over my communication board, and the words better, nicer, and cooler just aren’t there. So I point to good, then go to the alphabet strip and then jab at the letters E and R. Good-er. I sound like a doofus.

  “Oh!” Catherine says finally. “You want a better computer than Rose’s?”

  Yes! I pound on the board. Then I point to for and me.

  “I get it!” Catherine cried. “You want something specially designed for you! That’s just plain brilliant, Melody!”

  I spell out D-U-H, and we laugh.

  Miss Gordon starts class then, reminding everyone about due dates for the biography project.

  “Tomorrow,” she announces, “class will meet in the media center so that you can make final choices about the person you will write about. And next week we will begin making outlines of your life stories. Any questions?”

  Connor, always the class clown, raises his hand. “I found out the guy who invented the flush toilet was named Thomas Crapper. Can I do my report on him?”

  Kids crack up. Rodney laughs so hard, his whole face turned red.

  Miss Gordon shushes Rodney and the others. “Sorry, Connor. I get this request every year. The flush toilet was invented in 1596 by John Harrington. No funny name. Do you still want to research him?”

  Connor looks deflated. “Nah, I guess I’ll stay with the folks who started McDonald’s. If I’ve got to spend a lot of time looking up stuff, burgers are better than toilets.”

  Rodney tries to bust out laughing again, but Miss Gordon silences him with a look.

  “Who will you choose to write about?” Catherine asks me as Miss Gordon walks around the class talking to students about their projects.

  I think for only a minute. S-T-E-P-H-E-N H-A-W-K-I-N-G, I spell out.

  I want to know how he does ordinary stuff, like eating and drinking. After all, he’s a grown man. Does his wife put him on the toilet? He has kids. How does he manage to be a dad?

  And I want to know about his talking devices, the supercool computers that help him talk and do really hard math problems, like finding black holes in space.

  I tap out the question for Catherine: Computer for me?

  “I have no idea!” she replies. “Let’s check it out.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The next morning we get the first snowfall of the season. Big, fat flakes fall outside the windows of room H-5.

  Freddy zooms over and touches the window. “Nice,” he says.

  Mrs. Shannon rolls all of us closer so we can watch the snow accumulate on the grass and trees. It’s really pretty. Even Jill seems to relax.

  “We gonna play in the snow?” asks Maria.

  “No, Maria. It’s too cold to play outside, but guess what? It’s gettin’ close to Christmas!”

  Maria cheers.

  “I’ve heard it’s some sort of a tradition round here to decorate this old Styrofoam snowman,” Mrs. Shannon continues. She makes a face as she pulls Sydney’s head out of his box.

  Maria starts to hug it, but Mrs. Shannon stops her and says, “I believe in the smell of fresh pine trees at holiday time, and real candy canes, and popcorn garland. Tomorrow I’m bringing in a real tree and we’re going to make it beautiful!”

  Freddy and Carl slap palms. Maria looks disappointed for a moment, but she seems to forget about the snowman as Mrs. Shannon gives everyone a soft piece of chocolate candy. She wisely stuffs Sydney back into his box.

  While Mrs. Shannon shows the rest of the class how to make paper snowflakes, Catherine and I sit together in front of the one clunky classroom computer and do Web searches on communication devices. It’s soooo slow. Sometimes it gets jammed up and stalls, and we have to reboot it and start all over. Room H-5 always gets the big old leftover computers that the other classrooms no longer want.

  Catherine and I research all kinds of electronic talking and communication devices that have been designed for people like me. Lots of them seem as clunky and awkward as our room computer. Some look really complicated. All of them are expensive. Crazy expensive. Some of the websites don’t even list the prices—like they’re afraid to specify how much the things cost.

  The devices that use standard computer keyboards wouldn’t work. I’d have no way to hit the individual keys. I need something that would work with just my thumbs.

  We find adapted computers, talking boards that speak the words, push-button systems, and even devices that work with blinks or head nods. Finally, we find something called a Medi-Talker that looks like a possibility. It has spaces big enough for my thumbs to get into and millions of words and phrases built into it!

  I watch an online video of a boy about my age using one, and even though he clearly has no voice of his own, this little box lets him tell all the details of his recent birthday party! I get so excited that my legs start kicking and my arms start flailing and I look like some kind of crazy human helicopter.

  Catherine prints out the information and tucks it into the book bag that is attached to the back of my chair. “Good luck, Melody!” she whispers as she leaves for the day.

  When I get off the bus after school, Mrs. V is waiting for me as usual. I almost twist out of my seat trying to point to my bag to let her know I have something important in it.

  “Hold your horses!” Mrs. V says. “Since when are you excited to do homework? What’s got you all in a tizzy today?”

 
I just grin and kick. After my snack of caramel candy (first) and tuna melt (last), and after Penny, who has just gotten up from her nap, eats her applesauce, Mrs. V finally pulls the papers out of my bag.

  “Well, this is exactly what you need,” Mrs. V says, slapping the printouts onto the table after reading them. “No wonder you’re all fired up.”

  Yes! Yes! Yes! I point. Then I point to the individual words: Talk. To. Mom. And. Dad. Talk. Talk. Talk.

  “I’ll do just that, just as soon as they get home from work, Melody,” Mrs. V promises.

  I can hardly wait. While Penny watches Cookie Monster gobble carrots instead of cookies on Sesame Street, I dream of talking, talking, talking.

  When Mom picks us up, Mrs. V, true to her word, not only shows Mom the printouts, but even has her computer already set to the Web page where the Medi-Talker is advertised and sold. Penny sits on Mom’s lap and keeps pushing computer keys, messing up the display, which is getting on my nerves. But Mom watches the video that shows people actually talking and cracking jokes and even going to college by using that machine.

  Mrs. V explains to Mom how this is exactly right for me, and Mom, instead of being practical and sensible and thrifty like she usually is, seems to agree.

  “Looks like insurance will cover about half the cost,” she muses as she navigates the website. “Let me talk to Chuck. This is long overdue.”

  Tonight? I ask from my board.

  “Yep! Tonight!” Mom says, giving me a squeeze.

  But nothing happens right away in my world. Mom fills out the online application for the machine the next day and sends it in. I wait.

  Then we have to ask my doctor to fax in a prescription. I’ve heard of prescriptions for antibiotics, but for machines? That seems crazy. Who’d ever want this machine unless they needed it? I wait.

  Next, we have to get approval from our insurance company. More paperwork and phone calls, more questions and answers. I wait.

  A parental financial statement has to be turned in. You gotta be kidding! Why do they make it so complicated? I wait.