فصل 10

CHAPTER 10

Promises, Promises . . .

All right, Fantasticos! Mr. Daniels says, rubbing his hands together like a mad scientist. First thing I’m going to do today is book talk. I will do that a lot this year—tell you all about some of my favorite stories.

When Mr. Daniels talks about books, it reminds me of Max or Oliver. Like he’s ready to launch a giant party. I like hearing about the story. But asking me to read them would be like asking a lobster to play tennis.

And then it gets worse.

He holds up a pile of notebooks. I have a surprise. I have a brand-new writing journal for each of you, which you will write in every day.

Oh no. I’d rather eat grass.

But here’s the thing. I will sometimes give you a topic but not very often. And I will never ever—even if an evil sorcerer threatens to turn all my correcting pens to clear ink—correct your work.

Huh?

They will never be graded. They will never be corrected. And most days, I won’t tell you what to write about. You may write about your life, sports, the country of Bulgaria, your favorite kind of soap, books you like, books you don’t like. Anything.

Wow. I wonder if he’s delirious. No correcting? Anything we want? This is too good to be true I know something is coming.

There are only a couple of rules.

Ah. There they are. The rules.

You must put pencil to paper and do something. And I will often answer with a sentence or two.

Write back? Oliver asks. Can we grade you?

Mr. Daniels laughs. We’re not going to grade at all, Oliver. This is about communication. Self-expression. Not measurements.

Can we ask you questions? Max asks.

Sure! he says, passing out the notebooks. Mine is yellow. A little too nice a color for a writing thing.

Can I write about football? Max asks.

Anything you want.

This is going to be great! Oliver yells. I’m going to ask for answers to the tests. And for extra recesses. And unlimited ketchup in the cafeteria.

Well, Mr. Daniels begins, as I said, you can ask whatever you want. He smiles at Oliver. So, open up those notebooks now and add your first entry. And make it . . . you. This journal is yours, so an introduction to you may be a good thing—no matter how you choose to express that.

Keisha begins writing while Albert stares at the blank page. The room is filled with the sounds of pencils scratching.

Suki is rubbing one of her blocks with her thumb. I wonder if she’s thinking about her grandfather.

I see a mind movie of me walking through a forest of alphabet blocks stacked on top of each other. They sway like trees in the wind and I worry that they will come crashing down on me.

I think about drawing that, but decide to color a big three-dimensional cube with dark black sides. He said we could do anything. I want to see if he means it.

• • •

The next day Mr. Daniels holds my journal, opened to the page where I drew the black cube.

I figured he wouldn’t let that go.

He holds his palm facing me and says, I know. I know I said I’d never correct you and I’m not going to. I’m just wondering if you would mind telling me what this means. Do you like the color black, or does it mean something? Either way, it’s okay.

I think of the kinds of things that might make him mad and remember how he said a person can be too good at the wrong things. Maybe I don’t want to get in trouble this time.

It’s a picture of a dark room.

Oh. Why would you draw a picture of a dark room? He looks serious now.

It was supposed to be something about us.

Why would a dark room have something to do with you, Ally? His voice is soft. Really soft.

I swallow hard. Because in a dark room, no one could see me.

He stares down at my black cube. Then he clears his throat before looking back up. Okay. Thank you for being honest, Ally.

I’m so relieved he isn’t mad.

Ally? He pauses. Can you tell me why you don’t want to be seen?

I think it would be easier to be invisible.

Why?

I shrug. I want to give him an answer, but I have both too many words and not enough.

He nods slowly. Well, he says. I’m glad you’re not invisible, Ally. Because this class wouldn’t be the same without you.

I don’t believe him, but it makes me happy he said it.

I realize looking at him that, all this time, I haven’t been looking teachers in the face. I’ve been staring into their stomachs while I sit at my desk and they tell me the things that are wrong with me.

But now, on top of all those other big wishes that I carry around, I have one more. I want to impress Mr. Daniels. With every tiny little piece of myself, I just want him to like me.