Better Than Weird (4 page)

“I think you'll be much happier in the library,” Ms. Masilo said. “You have no patience for rehearsals. You fidget and annoy people, and you're distracted by everything.”

Aaron didn't say anything. His eyes were watching her fingers massage one of the clunky blue beads on her necklace.

“Aaron?” Mr. Collins said.

Aaron glanced at the class. Everybody was watching. He took a breath. “I want to be in the concert,” he said for the third time.

Ms. Masilo's hand made a little wave, and she stepped into the hallway. Mr. Collins followed her out. Aaron didn't know if he should follow or not, so he did, in case her wave was meant for him too. He waited behind Mr. Collins.

“I won't have that boy spoiling this concert,” Ms. Masilo was saying. Her voice was low, but the sounds Aaron heard were hard and sharp. “I've put in too much work to let him stand in front of an audience and ruin everything with his odd behavior. Who knows what he'll do! Besides, he can't carry a tune.”

Aaron saw Mr. Collins tug on his earlobe. “I understand your problem,” he said, “but he wants to sing. Help him to sing as best he can.”

“I can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear!” Ms. Masilo sputtered.

Aaron frowned. Silk purse? He didn't get that. What silk purse? And what did she mean about a sow's ear?

He was relieved to hear Mr. Collins say, “I don't think Aaron wants to be a silk purse, so why don't we help him be a really fine pigskin wallet.”

The pigskin wallet part didn't make sense either. But Aaron figured if Mr. Collins said it, then it must be a good thing.

Ms. Masilo sniffed. “Not everybody qualifies for sainthood the way you do,” she said.

“I'm no saint,” Mr. Collins said softly.

“You sure act like one,” Ms. Masilo fired back.

Mr. Collins tugged on the same earlobe. “I have a brother who's a lot like Aaron. Things have always been hard for him too. I'm just doing what I can.”

He turned then to go back into the classroom but found Aaron standing right behind him. “Oops!” Mr. Collins said. His feet did a funny little dance, and he had to reach for the wall to keep from tripping. He shook his head. “Go back inside, Aaron,” he said.

Aaron walked to the end of the line. Ms. Masilo didn't say anything else as she led the class to the gym.

* * *

Ms. Masilo placed Aaron at the very top of the last riser. The height made him feel a little dizzy. When Tufan came to stand beside him, he felt worse.

“There isn't room to stand shoulder to shoulder,” Ms. Masilo told the class. “Angle yourselves toward the center.”

Everybody shifted. Aaron began to feel locked in by the boy who stood in front of his face, and by Tufan, who stood at his back, close enough that the sound of his raspy breathing filled Aaron's ears. He imagined that breath around his head, warm and moist, rich with the smell of unfamiliar spices. He could see it: a fine cloud settling over him. He closed his eyes.

Ms. Masilo blew into her pitch pipe. She hummed. The class hummed back.

“Watch me now,” she said. “Aaron! Are you watching, Aaron?”

Aaron's eyes opened.

“When my hands go up, you take a breath. When my hands come down, you start. I want that first note strong and clear. Together now,” she said. Her hands went up. Everybody took a breath. The sound of it filled the room.

“No! No! No!” she shouted from behind her smile. “A silent breath. Take a silent breath. The audience doesn't want to hear you suck air.”

Her arms rose. The class took a silent breath, and when her hands came down, they sang:

Christmas is coming

The goose is getting fat,

Please put a penny in an old man's hat.

She stopped them. “We can do better than that,” she said, still smiling. “Let's do it again.”

They did it four more times before she actually allowed them to sing to the end of the song.

When they finished, her smile grew wider.
As
big as tombstones
, Aaron thought as he looked at Ms. Masilo's teeth. That's what his Gran had said when his baby teeth fell out and the new teeth came in.
Your
teeth are as big as tombstones
. But then he grew, and his face got bigger and his teeth didn't look so big anymore. He wondered if Ms. Masilo's face was going to grow to match her teeth. She'd have an enormous head if it did. He imagined Ms. Masilo's head as big as a beach ball. He swayed, picturing the head floating above her body. He saw her teeth standing straight and tall at the end of a row of graves. The images made him giggle.

“Stop laughing, turkey,” Tufan hissed.

Aaron jumped. He'd forgotten about Tufan. He glanced back. The sight of Tufan's frowning face made his stomach tighten. He looked away.

Just below the ceiling, pipes ran from one side of the room to the other. They were painted dark blue. Big pipes and little pipes. The big pipes looked big enough to crawl through. Like the pipes in
Star Wars
that suctioned away garbage. He wondered if these pipes suctioned garbage. He began counting the struts that held up the pipes.

“Aaron!” Ms. Masilo called. “Sing after me.”

She blew into her pitch pipe and sang: “Christmas is coming,” but when he sang it back, it didn't come out right. Even he could tell it was wrong.

The class laughed.

When it was Tufan's turn, his voice went up and down like an elevator. That made everybody laugh all over again.

Now Ms. Masilo will be mad at
him,
Aaron thought. But she wasn't.

“It's all right, Tufan,” she said. “Your voice broke. It happens to boys your age.”

“It's broken,” Aaron said. He laughed. He wasn't sure why he laughed. He knew what it meant from the class lessons about puberty, but everybody else had laughed, so he figured it was all right this time. Besides, the laugh felt good in his chest, and the good feeling made him laugh louder. He kept laughing until a fist jabbed into his back.

“Hey!” he said turning to face Tufan. “Don't!”

“Don't what?”

“Don't…,” Aaron started, but he couldn't finish. Maybe he had turned too fast. He felt his stomach lurch and his head wobble. Would it fall off? He swayed. Saw his head falling off his neck, bouncing off the risers like a basketball.

“Uh-oh,” he said.

Around him, everything began to spin. It was like he was on one of those playground rides that went round and round, faster and faster, until the world became a blur and you had to hold on to a bar to keep from flying off. His knees felt soft. He reached out, fingers grasping for something, anything that would make his world stand still.

Tufan brushed them away.

With nothing to hold on to, Aaron fell off the back of the riser.
Flying,
he thought as he reached out.
I'm flying.

It was a short flight, and the landing came with a
BANG
that echoed through the gym.

There were gasps from the class. When the world finally stood still, he looked up into a row of curious faces.

* * *

“Well then,” Ms. Masilo said to Mr. Collins. “I'm afraid Aaron was a major problem today. It's a miracle he wasn't seriously hurt. I really can't see how he can be in this concert. I, for one, refuse to be responsible for him.”

They were standing in the hallway, Aaron between them. He watched Ms. Masilo's smile stretch across her face as she said, “He fell right off the riser.”

Aaron wondered if his falling made her happy.

“Not your best day, Aaron,” Mr. Collins said. His brows made a straight line, and Aaron wondered if he was angry too.

There was no time to figure it out, because Ms. Masilo said, “Not his best day! Does he have best days?” She sounded angry, but the smile never left her face.

It never hurts to apologize
, Karen had said, so Aaron, hoping Ms. Masilo wasn't as angry as she sounded, said, “I'm sorry. Please let me…I have to…my dad…please.”

Mr. Collins must have understood because he said, “All right, Aaron. We'll work something out.”

“Work out whatever you like,” Ms. Masilo said. “Just as long as you know I refuse to be responsible for what happens.”

SIX

Aaron looked forward to Wednesday afternoons because that's when his class went to the library. The library was Aaron's favorite place in the school. He liked the books and the beanbag chairs. He liked Mrs. Evans, the librarian. She hardly ever yelled at him and, ever since kindergarten, she always let him sit in the same place. Aaron's spot, she called it. “I've saved this spot just for you,” she used to say when he was little, and she'd point to the carpet right beside her rocking chair.

That spot was still kept for him, only now Aaron knew why. It was because when he sat someplace else, he didn't always pay attention. Still, he liked that she kept a place just for him.

Mrs. Evans waited for everyone to settle before she said, “I know that your class has started a science unit about space, so I've pulled a collection of myths and legends that explain some of the things we see in the heavens.”

Aaron stared at the books displayed on the library table. They had pictures on the covers of ravens and bats, coyotes and bears. One had a four-horse chariot racing across the sun. One had a picture of a boy with wings.

If he had wings, it wouldn't matter if he fell off the risers. He'd soar over Ms. Masilo's head. He'd soar over all the heads in the audience. His dad would point and say,
That's my boy
, and he'd be proud. If he had wings, he'd be able to fly away from Tufan, and Tufan would never be able to catch him. If he had wings, he'd still be different. But good different.

“Can I borrow that one?” he asked, pointing.

“I'm hoping everybody will borrow a book,” Mrs. Evans said.

“I want…”

Mrs. Evans placed her hand on his shoulder. “Aaron,” she said. “When the lesson's over, I'll listen to what you want. Now it's your turn to pay attention. Your wants will have to wait.”

“Aaron can't wait,” Tufan snickered.

There were giggles from the class.

“He
can
wait with everyone else,” Mrs. Evans said.

Aaron pinched his lips together.
I can. I can. I can so
wait
, he said to himself. The words made a song in his head.

I can.

I can.

I can so wait.

I can.

I can.

I can so wait.

His body started swaying to the beat, but that made Mrs. Evans frown, so he stopped.

“I'm hoping that, by reading and listening to myths and legends about the heavens, we can gain an understanding of how early people tried to explain the things they saw in their world,” Mrs. Evans said. “And because these myths and legends started off as oral stories, I'm not going to read to you today. Instead, I'm going to tell you one of these tales.”

“Is it like story time in the library?” Aaron asked, already forgetting he meant to stay silent. “I used to like ‘The Three Billy Goats Gruff.'
Who's that crossing
my bridge?
” he said, making his voice deep and scary. “That's the troll talking,” he explained. “I like the troll.”

Some of the kids snickered.

“That's enough!” Mrs. Evans said. “Not all stories are nursery tales. Why not listen, and judge for yourself.”

Her eyes scanned the class, and when she was sure everyone was ready, she began.

“When the world was brand-new, no sun shone in the sky, so of course there was no light from the moon. No stars glimmered in the heavens. The world was covered by a blanket of darkness, and the animals couldn't see. Everywhere they went they had to feel their way, and they were afraid.”

As the story unfolded, Aaron forgot to talk. There was something about the teacher's voice that helped him feel the darkness in this early world. He understood why the animals were scared. He could imagine them groping through the darkness. They wanted to find light to bring to their world.

Then Mrs. Evans spoke in a new voice. A quiet voice, soft as a whisper. Aaron strained to hear. “I think I can do that. I think I can bring back the light,” the voice said.

That was Grandmother Spider talking. Aaron could tell by the way the story was going that she would be the one to bring back the light. The other animals thought she was too small and too old, but he was sure she could do it. Grandmothers were smart. His gran knew all kinds of stuff. He leaned forward, listening until Mrs. Evans said, “And that is how Grandmother Spider gave the world fire and light.”

For several seconds the class sat silent. “Tell it again,” Aaron said.