Sticks & Stones (21 page)

Instead of saying that, I mumbled, “I don't know…”

“Okay!” He smiled. “Don't worry about it!”

“Okay,” I said, but it all seemed way too easy. “You're really not upset? I mean, you only liked me because you're so nice and you felt bad for me about CAV. So this really doesn't hurt your feelings or anything.”

Nice Andy stopped walking and looked at me with a very serious, non-smiling face. If I hadn't been so worried about what he was going to say, I would have wanted to take a picture.

“What? I like you because you're awesome and cool.”

“You mean my CAV is.”

“No,” he said slowly. “I mean, when we first started being friends in kindergarten, my parents told me to be extra nice to you! Maybe I took it a little too far! What can I say, I'm a nice, happy dude!” He shrugged. “But I wanted to get to know you better; that's why I asked you out! I really think
you
are awesome and cool, y'know!”

I looked at his serious face and his big, wide eyes. He was saying what I always kinda suspected but couldn't believe. But I believed it now. And I was pretty sure I always would.

 

33

MS. SIGAFISS

The next day, all of us beat Ms. Sigafiss to class. It wasn't like her to be late. While everyone else talked and ran around the room, I took out my notebook. It almost wasn't surprising to see the blue paper sitting there in between the pages like it was waiting for me. I was kinda getting used to the notes. Maybe I'd never know who wrote them and they'd just go on forever. It'd be annoying, never knowing, but maybe there are some things you just don't get to know.

Elyse,

This is going to be my last note to you. It's time for me to move on. I've had a tough time this year, too, but writing to you has helped make me feel a little better, so thank you very much for reading.

What?
Of course, now that I had accepted that the notes would go on forever, they were ending. My eyes fell to the floor. This was weirdly kind of sad. After everything, that was it? They were just over? And I'd really never get to know who they were from?

I couldn't pay attention to anything going on in the room, even when Frank the Maintenance Guy came in to watch us and started teaching a lesson on how to make a paper airplane that can fly across a whole room without falling.

Ten minutes later, Mr. Todd came into the room. We heard his giant footsteps from a mile away, so everyone quickly ran back to their seats from all over the room. Frank grabbed all the planes and shoved them into his big back pockets. When they didn't all fit, he stuffed some down his shirt, which made all of us explode in laughs. He looked pointy in some seriously funny places.

“Frank has boobs!” Kevin shouted as Mr. Todd opened the door.

“I'm afraid I have bad news,” Mr. Todd said, ignoring the boob comment. “Ms. Sigafiss is unable to be your teacher for the remainder of the year.”

“YES!” The entire class erupted in loud cheers and screams. He could have told us that
we
didn't have to go to school for the rest of the year and the reaction would've been the exact same.

Mr. Todd cleared his throat.

“So, like, she got fired?” Ami asked as the noise died down.

“No, not at all. She's pursuing a different path, and I for one am thrilled for her. And, in other exciting news, for the rest of the week, you'll have a wonderful substitute teacher extraordinaire who was available on extremely short notice. Please welcome…” He looked at the door dramatically, then sprinted outside of it and walked casually back in. “Me. Mr. Todd. At your service.”

We all eyed him suspiciously. Sure, he was probably a better teacher than Ms. Sigafiss, but how well did we really know this guy? What did we really know about him other than how he looked like a grizzly bear and loved all things blue?

Although,
I thought,
that grizzly bear hair of his sorta helped me out in the snowstorm.

Maybe Ms. Sigafiss had taught me something, too, I realized. She had taught me to wonder who people really are, because sometimes the person someone shows your parents isn't the same person they show you. And sometimes even the person they show you isn't the person they are.

And with that very thought, it occurred to me that there might be one new note-writing suspect.

 

34

THE TRUTH

At the end of class, I took my time getting my stuff together while everyone else left the room. When the door opened, I figured it was someone from the next class coming in. But it wasn't.

“I just wanted to pick up a few things I forgot,” Ms. Sigafiss said.

“Oh,” I said.

I noticed one of her long scarves hanging over a chair, so I wandered over to it, picked it up, and handed it to her. I had never stood so close to Ms. Sigafiss before. On the one hand, it was totally terrifying; on the other hand, I saw something in her eyes I had never noticed before: sadness. And a whole lot of it.

“Thank you,” she said. As she reached for it, the bag she was holding slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. Out tumbled a pack of gum, some keys, a wallet, and a red folder stuffed with blue paper sticking out every which way.

Our eyes met quickly, and in that second I had all I needed to confirm my suspicion. It was her. No way. No. Way! It was
her
!

“You?”

“Elyse, I'd like to show you something.” Ms. Sigafiss rolled up her sleeve, revealing a small area of skin on her wrist and a thick black smudge. I craned my neck a little bit to see it more clearly.

I gasped.

Holy. High. Heels.

This was no ordinary black smudge.

It was a word.

FAILURE.

Ms. Sigafiss had CAV. And wrote the notes.
Holy high heels
.

I couldn't decide what to say, so I just looked at her, hoping she'd tell me everything I needed to know. But she stayed silent.

“So … why?” I finally asked.

“Well, when I was growing up, no one knew what CAV was. I was treated like some kind of freak by everyone I knew—strangers, my so-called friends, even my own family.” She paused and pursed her lips like she was trying to decide whether to go on. “When I was eighteen,” she said slowly, “I read about a man named Dr. Patel who was doing research at the University of Chicago, and I decided to pick up and move all by myself. It was my only hope.”

My family had moved here for Dr. Patel, too, but it's probably a lot different moving somewhere as a baby, when you don't even know where your toes are, than as an adult, when you've got a whole life in a different place.

“Scary,” I said. She didn't reply. Getting information out of her was almost impossible, but I tried again. “Was that scary?” I asked.

“It was. He helped me a little, but it's harder when you're older. You get used to being treated a certain way, and you believe that's how you deserve to be treated. So I was a very sad person, despite how I had started using the prescription creams and whatnot.” She finally continued without me pressing her, “I started teaching, but that first day, I saw these young faces in front of me and all I could see were the faces of the kids who were so horrible to me growing up. Elyse … I wasn't the best teacher to you. Or to any of the classes who came before you.”

It was hard not to nod.

“I figured maybe if I could make kids scared of me, even if they thought negative things about me, they wouldn't say so. At least, not to my face.” She laughed a little, and I thought about how I had called her an
EVIL GENIUS
at the fund-raising show. If she had heard, it would have itched her like crazy.

“When Mr. Todd gave me my students' files this year and I read about you having CAV, it broke my heart. You've gotten medical attention since you were young, but I can't imagine life has always been easy. I thought if I could help you out, maybe give you some anonymous suggestions, things I wish I'd have done when I was your age … I don't know, maybe your year would be a little less … itchy.” Her voice trailed off.

“But,” I said, “if you knew I had CAV, and you have CAV, why didn't you just tell me? You could have given me suggestions without the anonymous part.”

She took a long breath. “I should've, but sometimes it's hard to talk about. Mr. Todd figured out what I was doing a while ago, and at first he was concerned, but then he was supportive once I explained how it was helping you.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “You were super helpful. You made me Explorer Leader!”

She gave me a long look, and the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile. “No,” she said. “You earned it, Elyse. I just gave you some ideas. You're the one who made it happen. And it was always more about feeling better anyway.”

Had I made it happen? All this time, it just felt like I was following directions. But maybe she was right—I'd performed in the fund-raising show by myself. I'd led the planning meetings on my own. I'd gotten myself out of the wilderness. She gave me ideas, but
I did it
, and felt way better about myself in the process. Holy. High. Heels. Maybe she
was
a good teacher after all. The best, really.

“I actually want to thank you,” she went on.

Now we were both grinning. I thought of my letters to myself. If I had told myself that I'd be alone in a room with Ms. Sigafiss—smiling—I would have never believed it in a million years. But here we were.

“By writing to you and watching you grow, I realized how much I love helping students individually. That's why I told Mr. Todd today that I'm leaving Whitman Middle so I can go to school to learn to be a counselor. I got into a program and was planning to start this summer, but I decided I didn't want to wait a minute more. Life's too short. If I leave now, I can start spring quarter with other new students next week.”

“Wow! That's really cool, Ms. S.”

There were so many more questions I wanted to ask her. So many things I wanted to say. But I could tell she was getting antsy. While she was talking, she had been picking up all the stuff from her bag and looping her scarf around her neck.

“It's time for me to go,” she told me, reaching for the door handle. “I can't wait to feel better about myself, to be okay. Like you are, Elyse. Thank you so much.” And with a quick wave, she walked through the door and left me standing there, jaw on the floor. She just left, just like that. And then she was gone, and that was it.

I wandered out of the classroom in a daze. Ms. Sigafiss had CAV and had written the notes. My head was spinning all over the place. But when I saw Liam perched against a locker out in the hall—all by himself—everything about Ms. Sigafiss cleared out for a second to make way for one major thought:
Get him!

For once, I wasn't afraid of what might happen or what Liam might think of me. I had broken up with Nice Andy with my voice and not with a wimpy note. I had rescued myself from the wilderness. I had figured out who wrote the blue notes. I was
OKAY
, even if Liam didn't like me or what I had to say.

“Liam,” I said in a voice so firm that it even surprised
me
. “We need to talk. Why did you ditch me in Minnesota?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “I felt like it.”

He
felt
like it?

Sometimes I felt like painting the walls of my house with hot-pink nail polish. That didn't mean I actually
did it
.

“Really? That's why?”

He looked down at his feet and tugged at his collar like it was choking him. Was that sweat I saw, too? Was Liam
nervous
? Around
me
?

“No, that's not why. I just got scared after I told you the truth, okay? I didn't want you going around blabbing to everybody that I wrote you that note. I thought if I could get back first, I could tell Mr. Todd that you were saying crazy things, that you were sick from the cold or something. I was going to lead him to you, I swear. I would never have left you out there forever.” Now Liam's eyes were big and wide, looking right into mine, like he was worried I was going to storm down the hall and go tell Mr. Todd everything.

Well, I wasn't a tattletale. But I also wasn't happy. He still hadn't said the one thing I wanted to hear:
I'm sorry.
But the truth would have to be good enough.

And finally throwing away that stupid gum later wouldn't hurt, either.

 

35

A SPECIAL ONE

As soon as I got home from school, I told Mom what I had learned about Ms. Sigafiss, and we rushed off to Dr. Patel's office.

“Well,” he said after I divulged my discovery. “I cannot confirm or deny that, but it is, perhaps, slightly possible that you may or may not be on to something.”

It still didn't make sense. “Why wouldn't she just be really nice all the time?” I asked. “People would've called her good names instead of bad ones, and then she could be happy.”

“But that's not a guarantee,” Dr. Patel said. “Just look at you.”

I rolled up my sleeves and pant legs. My limbs were decorated with mostly awesome words, but there were still a few bad ones hanging on.
BULL IN A CHINA SHOP. CLUMSY. SLOWPOKE
—from yesterday when I wasn't walking fast enough in the hall for some seventh grader's liking.

Maybe there would always be something to itch.

I thought about Dad, and how upset he was over the mistake he made so many years ago. You could probably call Dad a
WORRYWART
. I wondered if he thought of himself that way. Even if the word wasn't on his body, maybe it was written in his mind. Maybe everyone had itchy words in their minds, sometimes. Even Liam and Andy and Jeg and Ami. Just because you couldn't see the words didn't mean they weren't there.