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

and pasted them to my bedroom and bathroom walls so I could study while brushing my teeth or getting dressed. I stared at a poem by a famous writer named Emily Dickinson—“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers— that perches in the soul”—every night before falling asleep.

But the biggest surprise had to be Aunt Elvi. She sat me and Mom down on Gram’s flowered sofa at one of our Sunday barbecues and handed us a box the size of a board game.

She gazed into me with her cat eyes. “I just hope it’s not too little too late.”

I opened the box top, and Mom dropped her head to her chest like she had been knocked out. “Elvi, this must’ve been so expensive. You guys can’t afford this,” she protested.

Elvi blinked back tears. “No, no, no, it’s the least we coulda done. Turns out we had some cash hanging around after returning a few lame wedding gifts.”

She knelt down. “Girl, this should be useful for your school. I was never good at school myself. I’m already proud of you, and you didn’t even graduate anything yet.”

Mom reached into the box to pull out a brand-new iPad with a Bluetooth keyboard in a cardinal-red leather case.

“Try it out. I already charged it and all. Guy at the store downloaded an app that will speak everything you type.” Elvi sat next to me and lifted the leather cover to reveal the smooth, glass screen. Her hand, wearing five silver rings, patted mine.

My sixth sense felt a strong emotion flowing through her. Elvi—the name my mind always rearranged to spell Evil—now rang in my heart as LV—the two consonants in the word love.

Mom sat next to me and supported my arm. My words appeared on the glossy screen. I pushed the “talk” button, and the iPad spoke my sentence.

No words to say thank you.

“Awww, you do good in school and that’s all the thanks I need.”

Doing good in school was my goal. With Mom’s help, I worked on Elvi’s iPad till ten every night, reading, completing homework sheets, and writing essays letter by letter.

Typing with one finger—ugh, it’s slow. My mind races ahead a million miles an hour. At the same time, I have to control a body that itches to scurry and jump like a kangaroo rat.

Mom’s job was to keep me focused as I typed by giving me prompts, just as Dr. Peterman had taught her. “Is that the letter you want? Great—keep going. Are you done with your sentence or would you like to say more? I know your legs want to stand up. Try to finish your thought first.”

Dad took me for walks when I needed to move. He also became my personal cheerleader. Every time I finished an assignment, he punched his fists in the air, “Go, Cherry, go! Get to the goal!” with Hero wagging his tail and barking along.

For my advanced science project, I asked Mr. Harding if I could write about Down syndrome, which my friends Isabella and Skyler live with. I wanted to know how one tiny error in someone’s genetic code could bully its way into every part of a person’s life. I wanted to know why these two beautiful girls with the most loving hearts also had heart conditions.

Mostly I wanted to know they would be okay.

Mom read from books we checked out of the library. She explained the “abnormal cell division” and “extra genetic material from the twenty-first chromosome.” After a few minutes, I stopped her, and typed.

The textbook explains the science, but I want to know how people are treated.

Mom sighed and pulled out another book. This one showed old pictures of children with blank expressions locked in cages or curled up into a ball on the floor of institutions. Mom read to me about kids being starved, used as test subjects for medical experiments, children still today denied medical treatment.

After a few minutes, her voice broke. She closed the book and shook her head. “I can’t read anymore.”

My heart flooded with emotion. I tried to type a W, but my hand slammed into the keyboard and threw up an alphabet soup onto the screen. Mom reached out and steadied my arm, and I started to type.

When will we hear about my letter to superintendent? Already 14 days passed.

Mom grabbed a tissue and dabbed her eyes. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Celia called me yesterday with the bad news. I wasn’t sure how to tell you.” Mom put her arm around me. “The superintendent said ours was the only complaint they received about Borden. She promised to keep it in a file in case other complaints come in.”

Just what I thought. Why would they listen to a kid? Especially one like me?

If I cannot shut down Borden, maybe I can still save Isabella. Can I talk to her parents?

She exhaled slowly. “Well, Charity, they obviously feel that Isabella is in the best place for her . . .”

I smacked my palm on the book. Mom supported my arm so I could type.

No, not the best place for her. Notnotnot

Mom frowned. “I can tell you’re determined, but it would be nearly impossible to contact her family. Borden would never give us their information.”

Talk to her mom before school at the drop-off line.

Mom smiled. “Like super-secret spies, huh? Well, I can’t guarantee Borden won’t call the police if they see us on their campus.”

I will take that chance.

Operation Isabella

Mom nudged me awake.

“It’s time.”

A gray light peeked through the daisy-print curtains above my bed.

Even the sky is still asleep.

Mom helped me get dressed and into the car. At 6:15 a.m., we pulled up to a curb to wait. Mom sipped hot coffee. Blueberry smoothie for me, through a straw. No more sippy cups, thank goodness.

We knew that drop-off started at 6:30, but we had no idea what car to look for or what time Isabella might arrive.

A real-life stake-out.

Mom played her achy-breaky country music as we watched car after car drive by. A few pulled up to the