The Report Card (10 page)

But something Mrs. Hackney had said really got me. She'd said, “. . . you have upset all your teachers.”

And that got me thinking. If they were all upset now, how were they going to feel if we
really
got the school stirred up? Because that was probably going to happen. Our plan was to get as many kids as we could to start getting zeroes. Tests, quizzes, homework—zeroes on everything. I was just the leader, the test case.

Stephen was pretty sure that Lee, Ben, Kevin, and James would go along, and he thought he could sell the idea to his little brother and some of his friends in fourth grade, too. I thought if I explained everything just right, a bunch of the girls would join in. And that would get a whole gang of parents involved, because all of our parents were worried about grades all the time—I mean, most of our parents were already worrying about which
colleges
we would get into. So if a lot of kids started getting zeroes on everything, it would be a big deal. The story would probably get into the newspaper. And it would get onto local TV for sure, because all the school meetings were broadcast on cable. So pretty soon the whole town would know about all the bad grades.

But Stephen and I weren't planning to stop with zeroes on some tests and quizzes. Because
once people started paying attention, we were going to tell everyone that we wanted all the kids in Philbrook to get zeroes on the Mastery Tests, too. If all the schools in Philbrook suddenly got rotten scores on the CMT, that would be
major
news—because if the schools get bad CMT scores, then the whole town gets a bad reputation. My mom's a Realtor, and I've heard her say that if a town gets bad scores, then fewer people want to buy houses there. Bad scores mean that the principals and the teachers get in trouble, and then the state board of education gets involved, and on and on and on.

Because those CMT scores are a
huge
deal. And since the kids are the ones who actually sit down and take the tests, the kids control the scores. That meant that the kids had all this power that they didn't even know about.

Stephen and I were ready to change all that. It was going to be like when all the teachers organized a strike and stopped working until they got paid more money. We were going to organize a kids' strike—a strike against grades and tests and pressure and bad competition.

As I sat there thinking, I could see it all happening, step by step. In three or four weeks our whole school would be turned upside down. Kids would be getting zeroes on tests. Teachers would be mad at the kids. Parents would be mad at their kids
and
the teachers
and
the principal. And the school board would be mad at everybody.

And they would all be mad at me. And at Stephen.

So that's why I needed to stop now and think.

I looked around the library.

At the next table Melanie Nissen was reading a teen romance book. She wasn't worried about her grades. She was wondering whether Roger would ever ask Susan to the big dance.

Behind me two fourth-grade boys were arguing about the best way to display their project at the science fair. They were laughing and goofing around, and they were learning, too—but they didn't even know it. And they weren't competing or thinking about grades.

Over in the corner near the magazine rack three girls were flopped on beanbag chairs,
their heads close together, giggling about something. School was a fun place for them. Any pressure? Not today.

At the other end of my table Stephen was chewing on the end of his pencil and making faces at his math homework. Was Stephen desperately unhappy about school? No. Did he actually believe he was dumb—like, permanently stupid? No.

And why had Stephen gotten involved with a crazy plan that might shake up the whole town of Philbrook? Did he do it because he had a deep desire to change education in the state of Connecticut? No. He did it for me. Plus, it sounded like an adventure with a little danger and excitement.

Next fall, when it was time for all the teachers to get the kids cranked up for the CMT again, would all the kids get stressed out for a month or so? Yes, absolutely. But then the testing would be over and all the kids would get on with their lives. They would laugh and talk to their friends, they would do their homework, their teachers would teach them, they would take their tests and quizzes, and the time
would go by. Then they would move on to the next grade, and the next, and the next.

Fact: I was the only kid in the whole school worrying this way about grades and tests and competition. All the other kids were being normal. And I had to face that fact, too: I was not a normal kid. I had “a gift.” That's what Mrs. Hackney had called it. Some gift.

I got up and started walking toward the circulation desk. Mrs. Byrne saw me coming and she didn't look too happy about it. But I needed to talk.

I said, “Hi, Mrs. Byrne.”

Mrs. Byrne smiled. “Hello, Nora. You look a little down. Hard day?”

I nodded and said, “Yeah. Did you hear anything?”

“Oh, yes—it was headline news: ‘Star Student Bombs Three Tests.' Pretty dramatic.” She looked into my face and said, “Is everything working out the way you wanted it to?”

“Umm . . . I don't know.” And I felt like such a baby because I could feel tears at the corners of my eyes.

Mrs. Byrne pretended not to notice. She
looked down at her keyboard and then at the screen in front of her. She said, “I've been wondering about something, Nora. I hope you don't think I'm being nosy, but I'm very curious. It's a simple question: Why do you think you're so smart?”

I took a swipe at my eyes and gave a shrug. “Genetics, I guess. That's what they say if you get a supercharged mind.”

Mrs. Byrne shook her head. “I don't mean
where
did the intelligence come from. I mean
why
do you think
you
have it?” She paused a second and then she said, “Think of it this way: Do you believe that things happen for a reason?”

I said, “Yes . . . at least I think that's true.”

Mrs. Byrne said, “So, if things do happen for a reason, then there must be a reason that you've been given so much intelligence, right?” I nodded, and she said, “So that's what I'm asking—
why
do you think you're so smart?”

I've always felt like I could understand things instantly. Whenever a question came along, all I had to do was think, and
zip
!—an answer was right there. No busy signal. No waiting.

This question was different. I was thinking hard, but I got nothing. I said, “I don't know. I have no idea why I'm this smart. And . . . and if I don't know the answer . . . then maybe I'm not as bright as I think I am. Is that it? Is that what you mean?”

Mrs. Byrne smiled again and shook her head. “I'm not saying that. I think you're every bit as intelligent as the evidence suggests, and then some. It's just that I've met all kinds of kids with all sorts of amazing talents. And for me the big question has always been: Why? And then, usually much later, I begin to learn the answer. I get to see what they do with their lives. It's interesting, don't you think?”

I nodded.

Mrs. Byrne said, “So tell me what comes next for you, Nora. You certainly have gotten everyone's attention. What's next?”

Yesterday I would have been able to answer that question. I'd have said, “Just you wait! Stephen and me? We've got
big
plans. Watch out for lots of action and all sorts of fireworks and plenty of loud noises!”

But I didn't feel that way anymore. So I
said, “I'm not sure. There are too many variables. Everything's kind of weird now.”

“Hmm.” Mrs. Byrne said, “I wish I could tell you what to do, Nora. But I can't. I can tell you this, though. Of all the possible things we can do at any moment,
one
is usually better than the rest. So that's the one to look out for. All you ever have to do is the next good thing. Make sense?”

I smiled and said, “Very logical. Sounds like something a librarian would say.”

That got a laugh out of her. Mrs. Byrne said, “Well, I think it's true, all the same. I know you can figure this out. And I'll be watching to see how you do.”

I said, “That'll make two of us. Plus every other kid and teacher in the school.”

The speaker below the clock let out a long bell tone.

I said, “See you Monday, Mrs. Byrne.”

And she said, “Have a nice weekend, Nora.”

I went back to my table and got my things ready for the bus ride home.

Mrs. Byrne hadn't given me any answers, and she hadn't solved any of my problems. In
fact, now I had more questions than before I'd talked to her. Even so, I felt better.

Which wasn't logical.

Because the fact is, logic only works up to a certain point. Beyond that point, it takes a different kind of thinking. More like listening. And watching.

That was what I needed to do. I needed to listen and watch.

I needed to be on the lookout for that next good thing.

And if I spotted the next good thing, then would come the hard part. Because then I'd have to
do
it.

W
hen my mom came home late Friday afternoon, she was hugging a stack of papers.

She laid everything out on the kitchen table. “See?” she said. “Look at this, Nora. The admissions counselor over at Chelborn Academy, Mr. McAdams? Such a nice man. He was
very
happy to meet with your dad and me. And you should have seen his face when we told him about your IQ test. He thinks you might be able to begin as an
eighth
grader next fall, so we have an interview scheduled for next Tuesday, right after school—isn't that
exciting
? Look at this brochure . . . here. That's the new library. That whole building was a gift from
one
person. Lots of money at a school like Chelborn. And look at this list. These are all the colleges that Chelborn graduates got into last fall. I couldn't believe it—almost
one third
of the class went to Ivy League schools! Isn't that fantastic? And look at what Mr. McAdams
gave me—it's a Chelborn Academy sticker for the back window of my car.”

My mom was making plans and spinning out dreams faster than they make burgers over at Wendy's. Fact: Keeping my intelligence a secret for the past five years had been one of the best decisions of my whole life.

But now my mom and dad were trying to make up for lost time. They were going to set up a thousand hoops so their little baby-girl genius could jump through all of them, one after another.

Mom turned away to fill a pan with water and put it on the stove. Then she said, “Oh—I almost forgot. Mrs. Hackney called me at work this morning. She wants to move you into the gifted program as soon as possible. She said something about you being bored with your classes, which I can understand completely. So we're going to have a meeting about the gifted program on Monday. Isn't it wonderful? Everything is falling into place so perfectly!”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout,
Have you lost your mind? Did you stop for one second to think about how
I
might feel about all of this?

But I didn't. That didn't seem like it would
do any good at the moment. So I just nodded and tried to smile.

The whole weekend was like that. Mom and Dad were like two little kids with a new toy—me. By Sunday afternoon they had practically planned the whole rest of my life. If they could have picked out a husband for me, and then gone shopping for my wedding dress, I think they would have.

Todd was actually happy to have the spotlight aimed completely at me. He liked the shadows—it was much safer there. But I felt bad for Ann. She liked being the center of attention and she was used to it. She had always been the smart one, the talented one, the one who was finishing high school early so she could go to a big-name college. And now annoying Nora had become the star of the family show. Ann didn't say one word to me all weekend.

Stephen tried to call me twice, once on Saturday and once on Sunday. Both times I pretended I couldn't come to the phone. That was a rotten thing to do, but I didn't know what to say to him.

After Stephen called the first time I thought,
Maybe I should call back and tell him that we need to wait a week or so before we do anything
else—sort of give ourselves time to think.

When he phoned the second time I thought,
Maybe I should tell Stephen that we have to call the whole thing off, just stop it right now and forget about our plan. Then I'll apologize to him for making such a mess of things. And then I can start trying to figure out how to apologize to all my teachers. And to Mrs. Hackney and Dr. Trindler and my mom and dad.

And then I thought,
Maybe I should just change my name, dye my hair black, and move to Argentina.

I went over the whole situation again and again. It was too much to think about. And I had to admit it: I was lost. I had zero facts. I was listening, and I was watching, but that next good thing was nowhere to be seen.

So I did nothing. All weekend long I lay low. I tried not to think about anything, which never works.

I knew I'd have to talk to Stephen at the bus stop on Monday morning. And I knew something would have to happen after that.

Because that's one of those completely dependable facts: Something
always
happens next.

A
nn had earned a perfect attendance record in grades four, five, six, eight, and ten. She loved going to school. And Ann had never, never tried to stay home from school on purpose, not once—at least not during my lifetime. That's why I had been forced to turn to my big brother, Todd, to learn the fine art of malingering.