Gifted (18 page)

“
Shhh
. The day he tripped over you and fell. I'm
ashamed to admit it, but we were talking about him. Frankly, we've never cared for him very much. He'd always acted so superior, as if he were better than us. But now he seems quite the opposite! Warm and kind and friendly. Such a wonderful sense of humor. You must have brought out the best in him, George!”

“MR. ZIMMERMAN!” I cried again, still frozen in my joy.

“
Yes
,” said Mrs. Love, shushing me with a finger on my lips, “and it's sad to think he'll be leaving us at the end of the year, taking back his old job in New York. It seems the school fell apart when he left. He's a very gifted music teacher, you know. And now that he's warmed up the way he has, well, I know we're all going to miss him.”

I had to agree with her there. Mr. Zimmerman had become so warm that people were calling him Mr. Sunshine for the way he bounced in and out of my room and up and down the hospital corridors, recounting his adventure to anyone who would listen—his death-defying experience curled up in a fetal position on the floor of his truck as he rode out his second hurricane, and his subsequent rescue mission, hanging on to his wooden submarine-tank and sailing straight up the coast. His tale held us spellbound for hours, which tickled him to no end, and he spent entire days shaking hands with every nurse and orderly he could stop, and accepting, gleefully, the numerous high fives bestowed on him by members of the custodial staff.

But he deserved it all, and more. For even though I would be crowned the “Hero of Conrad T. Parks Middle School,” what with the publicity and the fanfare, the T-shirts bearing my likeness, and the parade that would be given in my honor,
Mr. Zimmerman would always be
my hero
. He'd risked his life to save mine because he'd cared about me, cared even though I'd never given him a good reason
to
care. And if I reminded him even a little of himself at my age, well, that was okay by me. I would be proud of that.

As proud as I was to call him my friend.

The second thing I learned came to me quite suddenly. Out of the blue, you might say. Yet somehow it seemed I'd known it all along without really knowing it. It's hard to see a thing clearly when it's there in front of you all the time. This doesn't make much sense, but it's true.

Before Anita walked into the room, I was aware of how much I missed her, but when she sat on the edge of my bed, laughing, “You are the biggest jerk that ever lived!” all over me, her green eyes all wet and shiny, I saw just how lovely she was. How really, really lovely she was. And I couldn't stop myself. I just had to tell her.

“You know what, Anita? You happen to be a very beautiful girl.”

Words I never thought I'd say aloud, let alone on the printed page, but I'm glad that I said them. Anita's eyes lit up like a couple of firecrackers.

And then I discovered something else. That I'd been wrong. Totally wrong in what I'd said before because Anita
did
have hormones, great seething masses of them, and they were pressing me now in a rib-crushing moment of unrestrained joy. Unrestrained joy on her side, suffocating, hair-swallowing panic on mine. But in a way it was nice, so I let her squeeze me for a bit.

Then all it took was a simple, “Ow! Get off me!” to return us to our points of origin, me lying and her hovering. I adjusted my hospital gown and beamed at her.

“I really meant what I said,” I told her. “And I'll go even
further.
You're the most beautiful girl in the world
. Unless, of course,” I gave her a wink, “it's just the pain medicine talking.” Which made Anita giggle and beam right back at me.

I gave my IV drip a little pat.

And then I learned the most important thing of all—that I was
gifted
. Gifted in the deepest and truest sense of the word. Because a friend like Anita was the greatest gift I could ever have. A gift to be treasured. A gift I would take care not to lose. And if that really
was
a cocoon she was all wrapped up in … well, to me it was a
beautiful
cocoon.

I wouldn't have changed it for the world.

As I said, Anita thinks I have a lot of free time now with nothing to do, a little dig about how much time I spend with Sam Toselli. But I can't help that, can I? I'm Sam's self-appointed tutor. The other guys' as well: Jason, Gabriel, Tim, and Drew. It's been their habit to drop by and sit in on our lessons, after they'd served a pretty lengthy out-of-school suspension for their crimes at camp, and they're all benefiting from them. Even Roger-the-Sadist, Sam's physical therapist, is benefiting. He told me that whenever he has trouble sleeping, he pictures me demonstrating the solution to an algebraic equation, and soon he's nodding right off. No doubt the problem had been keeping him awake.

And I'm busy in other ways. It's April now, and what with spring in the air and a young man's fancy turning naturally to track-and-field events, I recently joined the relay team. It was Coach Caruso's idea, and I'm actually quite good. For some reason being chased by a bunch of stick-wielding guys seems to bring out the athlete in me.

But I'm going to make it up to Anita. I'm going to ask her to go to the spring dance coming up at school. Go
with me
—not just at the same time—because with the school year coming to a close and high school just around the bend, I have a sneaking suspicion that any day now her perfectly beautiful cocoon may release its butterfly, and when it does, well, I don't have to tell you,
George R. Clark plans to be right on the spot
.

And if you're wondering what became of my deep love for Allison Picone—my undying devotion that perished so many months ago on that fateful class camping trip—well, I'm happy to report it
stayed
dead. I've gotten to know Allison a lot better since then. She drops in on me often, under the guise of visiting Sam's sickbed, and after careful consideration I find that I draw only one conclusion about her now. Allison is weird. It's the giggle, chiefly. It drives me straight up the wall. I think that if she can't learn to control it, then she ought to have it surgically removed. But, of course, I would never say that.

Only a jerk would say that, right?

Beth Evangelista is an assistant librarian at the Malvern Public Library in Malvern, Pennsylvania—a job she adores. Her favorite things in the whole wide world are reading, writing, watching submarine movies, eating Hershey bars, and being with her husband and three sons.
Gifted
is her first novel.

Copyright © 2005 by Beth Evangelista

All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise
make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
(including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying,
printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the
publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages

Published by Bloomsbury U.S.A. Children's Books
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010
First published by Walker Publishing Company, Inc. in 2005

Paperback edition published in 2007
Electronic edition published in November 2012
www.bloomsburyteens.com

All the characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious.

For information about permission to reproduce selections from
this book, write to Permissions, Walker & Company,
104 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Evangelista, Beth.
Gifted / Beth Evangelista.
p. cm.
Summary: Arrogant, mentally gifted George Clark has dreaded the
eighth-grade class camping trip and its inevitable bullying, but a hurricane
and a friend's loyalty make him realize what is important in life.
[1. Gifted children—Fiction. 2. Camping—Fiction. 3. Bullying—Fiction.
4. Best friends—Fiction. 5. Friendship—Fiction. 6. Teachers—Fiction.
7. Self-perception—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.E87363Gi 2005 [Fic]—dc22 2004061166

Book design by Ellen Cipriano
Book composition by Coghill Composition Company