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

A bunch of the girls patted me on the back or gave me a fist bump as they headed back on the court.

The girls shot a lot better in the fourth quarter, including Darcy. We still ended up losing, but only by two points instead of twelve.

Would my suggestions convince Darcy I was a valuable member of the team? My heart hoped for it. My sixth sense told me the truth.

Probability: zero.

A Place Pity-Free

A big yellow bus pulled up to the front of the school, and we filed on. For my very first field trip, we were headed to a photography museum to see an exhibit celebrating Black History Month. I would finally look into the eyes of Frederick Douglass and tell him thank you.

Celia and Ms. Beckett had to convince Jergen to let me go. I imagined his argument. “Her unpredictable behavior puts her and others at risk. What will happen if she acts out or runs away like she has done at school?”

My hope was to prove him wrong. If only my body would cooperate.

Ana led me up the steps of the bus and sat me in the front seat. “Your friend has asked to sit next to you. I will sit in the next row if you need me.”

A friend?

At that moment, Grace stepped on board and slid in the seat beside me.

She actually asked to sit with me?

Breathe in: I belong.

Breathe out: I belong.

I tried to believe these words. Never mind what Sassygirl said.

“Hey, Charity,” Grace said, “ready to have some fun today? The exhibit will be cool, but the picnic we get to have in the park afterward is even more fun. Say cheese!” She held up her phone and clicked a picture of me.

At the museum, we saw so many hope-filled photos—there was Frederick Douglass with his haunting, dark eyes; also Martin Luther King, Jr. in front of the Lincoln Memorial; Rosa Parks with her kind smile; and Mae Jemison, the first African-American woman astronaut, who flew into space on the space shuttle.

My favorite was a photo of a lunch counter sit-in. Grace took my picture standing next to it. The tour guide, a woman with glowing dark skin and eyes rimmed with what Gram calls “character lines,” described the scene. On February 1, 1960, four hopeful African-American college students, dressed in suits and ties, sat down at a lunch counter in Greensboro, North Carolina, and politely asked for a cup of coffee. Here’s the problem—the store said only white people were allowed to eat there.

I thought about my own sit-ins on the Borden blacktop, my legs refusing to move.

The tour guide’s voice was deep and musical. “When the students were denied service, they refused to leave, sitting there for hours until the store closed,” she said. “Over the next few days, they were joined by dozens of other people, who all sat peacefully while angry citizens cursed and threatened and spilled food on them.”

I stared at the black-and-white photo. Three of the four young men stared back at me, all of them serious and maybe a little scared.

Stuart raised his hand. “Did they ever get their orders?”

The tour guide smiled. “Yes, after about five months of protests.”

“Five months for a dumb cup of coffee?” Lilly said. “What for? Hashtag pointless.”

Ana helped me type, and Ms. Beckett signaled the tour guide that I had something to say.

They wanted to be included in society. People like me still fight for that.

Lilly rolled her eyes.

“You are so right, young lady,” the tour guide said. “Everyone deserves a seat at the table.”

I smiled inside, thinking of our welcome table in the cafeteria.

When the tour ended, we walked through a beautiful park with gushing fountains and a pond filled with blooming lily pads and giant fish called koi. I knelt down to feed them a crust of bread from my sandwich.

“Don’t get too close, Charity,” Ana said. “It’s a little chilly for swimming.”

“I’ll help her out.”

I turned to see Stuart. Ever since we became science lab partners, he has been very patient when including me in assignments, giving me extra time to type my comments. He did not try to finish lab assignments as fast as possible, like other kids in the class. I could sense that he really enjoyed observing and learning, just like I did.

Stuart knelt beside me. “Did you know that koi can grow up to three feet long?” We watched as a white-and-orange-spotted fish reached its lips out of the water to suck up my bread.

“In Japan, people believe that koi bring good luck and wealth,” Stuart said.

Stuart loved animal facts like me? I sat back on the grass and breathed in happiness.

He pulled a package of sour gummy fish from his pocket and held it out to me. “Have one. I remember you like these.”

He chuckled.

“This is the first time I’ve talked to you without your aide listening in.”

We sat quietly for a few seconds, watching kids take selfies in front of the pond.

“Anyhow . . . I wanted to tell you that I really like being with you, you know, here and in class. I mean, the things you say, your ideas, they’re not what normal people would say.”

He shook his head and ran a hand through his sandy hair.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say you’re not normal. Or maybe yeah, you aren’t normal . . . but in a good way.”

I stared at the water, blinking about a hundred times a minute. I wished I could type something to him, but I was glad Ana was not there listening.

“Anyhow . . . I wanted you to know.”

I peeked over at him. Without thinking, my hand grabbed his.

Chances of him pulling his hand away . . . pulling his hand away . . .

He did not pull it away. We sat in the cool grass holding hands and watching koi until the big yellow bus blew its horn to signal it was time to leave.

Grace sat next to me again on the