Real by Carol Cujec (snow like ashes .txt) 📕

she was trying to stay calm.

“Apparently, one of the students claimed they were injured by you today.”

My mind flashed to Mason’s bloody face.

How could he?

“A girl in your English class says she was struck by a falling table. Mr. Jergen will be discussing your placement with the superintendent tomorrow.” She held my hand and kissed my forehead. “We will fight this, sweetheart. We won’t give in so easily.”

Her tiny voice made me think she already had.

My Rebirth Day

“Come on, Charity, let’s get out of the car. Stand up, please.” Mom touched my legs to unfreeze them like Ana taught her. I climbed out, slow as a sloth.

This is the last place I want to be.

Two days ago, practically no one knew who I was. Now that hurricane Charity had struck twice, I was legendary.

Not in a good way.

Once we got to the EPIC room, Celia pulled us into her office along with Ana and sat me in one of her red plastic chairs. Three adults stood over me. Their nervous energy flowed through me like electricity, with Mom emitting about a thousand kilowatts.

Celia knelt down eye to eye with me. “Charity, querida, what happened yesterday was part of your adjustment. You are getting used to a completely new environment. And from what I heard, your outburst in English class was provoked by some thoughtless girls.”

“And I should not have left you,” Ana said, leaning over Celia. “We know you are still struggling to control your body.”

“Was a student injured? Who filed a complaint?” Mom asked. Her voice grew higher with each word and scraped my ears.

High pitch sounds = torture.

Celia sighed. “A girl named Darcy Warner. Her parents do a lot of fundraising for the school, so they have Mr. Jergen’s full attention.”

I could not believe it. Darcy was sitting in front of the room when I exploded. She could not have been hit by the table. Probability: ZERO.

I pounded my fist on Celia’s desk.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Words clogged my throat.

I want to tell you. I need to tell you.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Mom put her jittery hand on my arm. “I know you’re upset, sweetheart. But you have to stay calm.” She was the last person to talk about staying calm. I wanted to scream.

Darcy is lying! She’s lying!

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Let me talk this once. Just one sentence!

Ana’s hands squeezed my jittery shoulders in a rhythmic pattern, and we began our breathing exercise.

“Focus, Charity. Reach into your spirit. You have the power to control your emotions.”

Breathe in peace.

Why does she hate me?

Breathe out anger.

I never did anything to her.

Breathe in forgiveness.

Breathe out anger.

My thumping heart slowed.

“What happens now?” Mom asked.

Celia ran her fingers through her cinnamon hair. “Short term, Mr. Jergen may attempt to suspend Charity. His assistant, Rose, is probably filling out the paperwork as we speak. Apparently, she witnessed the event from the back of the classroom.”

Rose—the Queen of Hearts!

“Long term, he’ll request another placement for Charity, like—dare I say it—Pine Valley.”

Gulp.

My hands flapped in frustration.

Flap, flap, flap.

“Which means we don’t have much time,” Ana said.

“What can we do?” Mom’s voice screeched at the pitch of a high G.

Flap, flap, flap.

“We’d like to try something that may help Charity communicate and allow her to participate in classes,” Celia said. She looked at Ana, who nodded. “It’s a support technique that may allow her to type like Julian does. We need to give Mr. Jergen some evidence that this school can benefit you.”

“What are you talking about?” Mom looked confused.

“Charity, you know Julian, right? Julian has, over time, been able to learn how to type independently using a tablet and predictive text.”

I thought of Julian’s beautiful words to me. I esteem you . . . You have treasured qualities. But I could never do what he does. It took me forever to tap a stupid piece of paper—biology or history.

Mom shook her head. “No, unfortunately Charity has never been able to type before. We’ve tried many times. She doesn’t have enough control over her hands.”

“Exactly,” Celia said. “We’ve been working with Charity on that, but I’ve invited a former professor of mine, Dr. Sarah Peterman, to help us. She’s taught me and other educators and speech therapists some techniques to help people like Charity gain more control.”

Hypothesis: One more test for me to fail.

We spent the next hour hiding out in a library study room (where Jergen could not easily find us) waiting for this new Thinker to arrive. Celia ignored her buzzing phone.

“Mr. Jergen will need to sit tight,” she said.

A tall woman burst through the door wearing a dress with a gold belt that reminded me of Wonder Woman. She hugged Celia, and in a laughing voice asked, “How’s my favorite teacher?”

Celia whispered in her ear. “We don’t have much time, Sarah. Mr. Jergen may come in at any moment with suspension papers.”

Sometimes I wish my hearing was not so awesome.

Dr. Peterman sat beside me and laid her soft hand on mine. “I’m so happy to meet you, Charity,” she said. Her kindness flowed through me. From her large bag, she took an iPad and propped it up on the table in front of us. Next came a keyboard.

“Now, Charity, I am going to sit here by your side and steady your right arm until I feel you point to the letter you want with your pointer finger.”

An eager audience—Mom, Ana, and Celia—sat silently behind us.

“Just relax and take a deep breath, my dear,” Dr. Peterman said.

Breathe in hope.

Breathe out fear.

She held the keyboard up with her right hand and steadied my jittery right arm with her left hand. “Let’s start with something easy. What’s your favorite food?”

I looked at the keyboard and spotted the letter I wanted to type. Words pounded inside my brain. Bright fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. My shirt tightened its grip on my throat.

Breathe in hope.

I lifted my arm and took aim.

Breathe out panic.

My pointing finger pushed forward to touch a key.

p

“What’s next?”

P for panda.

I could sense Mom holding her breath. I