فصل 34

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.

And we’ll help you, Albert says.

But I worry that maybe he can’t help me, I say. And then I mumble, It . . . it makes me feel like I’ll grow up to be a nobody.

How can you say that? Keisha asks.

Well, you’ll probably have some big successful baking company and Albert will . . . do whatever in the world Albert will do. And I’m just hoping to read a menu in a restaurant.

Keisha steps up and puts her arm around my shoulders. You say he’s going to help you, right?

You say—Albert adds and then pauses to think—that you’ll grow up to be nobody. But logically . . . if nobody’s perfect . . . well then, you must be perfect.

Perfect? Me? Uh . . . no, I say.

You are pretty perfect, Ally, Keisha says, laughing. Do like Mr. Daniels says. Be yourself. Be who you are.

You know, Albert says, I’ve wondered about that saying. And I can’t ever find an answer anywhere on the Internet.

What do you mean? I ask.

‘Be yourself.’ You always hear that.

So? Keisha asks.

Well, Albert begins, what if you don’t know who you are?

I get what he means, I think.

People ask what you want to be when you grow up. I know what kind of grown-up I want to be. But I don’t know who I am now. Albert stretches his legs out. There are always people ready to tell you who you are, like a nerd or a jerk or a wimp.

I think how it’s hard not to believe the bad stuff.

Look at it this way, Albert says. If you had to be in a tank of water with a killer whale or a stonefish, which would you choose?

Well, duh. Who is going to choose a killer whale?

Well, in the wild, killer whales never attack people. Like never. A stonefish is way more dangerous with its thirteen venomous spines. It’s the words. If the killer whale were called the friendly whale, no one would be scared.

And I think of words. The power they have. How they can be waved around like a wand—sometimes for good, like how Mr. Daniels uses them. How he makes kids like me and Oliver feel better about ourselves. And how words can also be used for bad. To hurt.

My grandpa used to say to be careful with eggs and words, because neither can ever be fixed. The older I get, the more I realize how smart my grandpa was.