Fish in a Tree (17 page)

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I ask Mr. Daniels if I can renew my book at the
library, and he smiles like I gave him a cake. “Sure,” he says. Then he hands me an envelope. “Since you’re heading that way, will you give this to Mrs. Silver for me?”

“Sure.”

“You have to hand it to her, though. And you have to wait until she opens it and writes a response, and then return it to me. Okay?”

I nod, thinking back to the days when a visit to the office meant trouble.

I renew my book and then head to the office. Mrs. Silver is there when I walk in. She smiles. “Hey there, Ally.”

I hold out the envelope even before I start talking. I guess I want her to know right away that I’m not in trouble. “I have a message from Mr. Daniels.”

She holds up a finger, telling me to wait one minute while she speaks with her daughter, and picks up the phone.

I mean to listen in on their conversation, but something else catches my attention. The poster with the two hands reaching for each other. The one I was asked to read but couldn’t.

I walk over and stand in front of it. I stare at the outstretched fingers. Then I take a deep breath and look at the letters. I step right up to the wall and, just like Mr. Daniels taught me, use the envelope in my hand as a marker under the first line.

I whisper, “S-s-some . . . things?”

Mrs. Silver comes and stands behind me. She puts her hands on my shoulders. I stop reading.

“No, Ally. Keep going.”

I turn my head to look up at her. “Can you just read it to me so I can hear it all at once?”

Mrs. Silver reads,

“SOMETIMES THE BRAVEST THING
YOU CAN DO IS ASK FOR HELP.”
—C. CONNORS

“Ally?” she asks. I turn.

Her voice cracks. “I want you to know how sorry I am about the bumpy road we had for a while. I’m proud of all the strides you’re making. All the hard work you’re doing. We should have picked up on your learning differences before, but you were so bright . . . and, well, I hope you’ll give me another chance to help.”

I nod, looking over at that poster, and think how I should have asked for help. But, at the time, it took more bravery than I had, I guess.

“Hey!” she says. “Didn’t you have a letter for me?”

“Yeah. Mr. Daniels said you are supposed to read it before I leave.”

She opens the envelope and reads as she walks to her desk. Then she laughs and turns toward me. “Did he tell you what this says?”

I shake my head.

“It says, ‘The student delivering this note is our student of the month for hard work and a good attitude.’”

“
Me?
” I ask. “Are you sure it isn’t a mistake?”

She laughs.

“My brother, Travis, will
never
believe this!” I tell her. But in my heart I know he will. He’ll be happy for me and mess up my hair and say, “Good going, Al!”

She writes a note for Mr. Daniels and hands it to me.

I leave the office and am told right away to stop running by a teacher. So I do. But it is so hard not to run and jump and yell.

Mr. Daniels smiles at me as soon as I turn the corner into the room and I half jump, half run over to his desk.

“So, you got the message?” he asks.

I nod.

With a hand on my shoulder he says, “Attention, Fantasticos! I would like to announce that our student of the month is our own Ally Nickerson!”

Oliver slaps his desk while others applaud. Even Jessica. Shay says something I can’t hear exactly, but I do hear Jessica answer her, “Stop it, Shay.”

Albert and Keisha come over. Albert with a high five and Keisha with a hug. “Wow! Are you going to talk to us little people when you win your next award?”

“If you bake for me,” I joke.

“Wait,” Albert says. “Will you bake for me if I win something?”

Keisha and I laugh while Albert says, “No. I’m serious.”

Keisha pats him on the shoulder. “Yes, Albert. I’ll bake something for you.”

We begin collecting our things to go home. Travis is picking me up because I have to bring my project home. I get my stuff and head down to the gym to wait.

Soon, Travis walks in, still wearing his clothes from the garage.

The sun from outside is behind him like he’s walking out of a ball of light, and all of a sudden, I feel like I’m going to cry.

It makes sense. Everything does.

Travis is smart. In the same ways that I am.

I run up to him, put my project down on the floor, and throw my arms around him.

“Pretty happy to avoid the school bus, huh?” He laughs.

“I’m just really happy to see you, that’s all.” And I hug him one more time. But tighter.

His face questions me.

“Wait a second,” I say. “I’ll be right back!” And I turn and run before he can answer. I run because I just have to. This can’t wait until tomorrow.

I sprint down the hallway, ignoring someone far behind me telling me to slow down.

I approach my classroom, grab the door frame, and swing into the room, out of breath.

Mr. Daniels looks up from his work, surprised.

“Ally?”

I step up to the side of his desk. I reach into my pocket and pull out the worn piece of paper that says
possible.

“You’re still carrying that?” he asks, and smiles big.

“Please, Mr. Daniels,” I tell him. “You have to help. I’ll do anything.”

He stands. “What’s wrong, Ally?”

“
Please
help my brother.” I take a step forward. “He needs to learn to read, too.”

I think of the poster in Mrs. Silver’s office. Mr. Daniels’s hand reaching for mine. And mine reaching for Travis.

“Of course, Ally. I’m happy to help. Your brother is picking you up today, right?”

I nod. Feeling so grateful for Mr. Daniels. I wonder if he knows that I came into sixth grade wondering what would ever become of me. Now I have dreams I know I’ll chase down.

I’ll set the world on fire someday.

And come back here . . . and tell him so.

“Okay,” he says. “You go ahead. I’ll be down in a minute to talk with him about what we can do.”

I run from the room but slow down. Thinking. Aware of every step. Eventually I’m back at the gym. Back to my big brother, who has stood by me and helped me always. Who’s believed in me no matter what I said.

Travis is standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the light streaming through the windows across the top of the gym. I watch him for a while. Finally, he sees me and smiles.

I hand him the tattered piece of paper that says
possible.
“
Here.
This belongs to you now.”

He looks confused. “For
me
?”

Mr. Daniels isn’t far behind me. He shakes Travis’s hand. “Hello there, Travis. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He looks down at me. “Quite a little sister you have here.”

Travis does that half smile. “Yeah. She is.”

“So,” Mr. Daniels says. “Apparently, Ally thinks we should talk.”

“Okay,” he says, brushing his chin with his knuckles.

Mr. Daniels explains to him what we do after school and invites him to join us.

I look up. Travis swallows hard and nods. I knew Travis would be brave enough to say yes.

A mind movie lights up in my head. Of our last name written in neon lights in the window of Travis’s new place.

And there’s another mind movie. Of me being happy. Reading and making my art and finding a special Ally-shaped place in the world.

But these mind movies won’t go into my Sketchbook of Impossible Things, because I know they will actually happen.

I lean my back against my big brother and feel his hands on my shoulders. Their voices seem to fade as I look up at that light streaming through the windows.

Things are going to be different.

It’s like birds can swim and fish can fly.

Impossible
to
possible.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author would like to thank:

Nancy Paulsen, friend and editor extraordinaire. You are the 1943 penny of editors—one of a kind. And I am most grateful.

Erin Murphy. You are spectacular. I’m blessed that you are my agent and friend.

The Gango, who have added rich layers to my life—you are cherished.

The “Other Penguins” who have worked on the editing and design of this book: Ryan Thomann for designing the unique interior, Kristin Logsdon for designing this phenomenal cover, and Sara LaFleur, who is always there to happily lend a hand.

Carol Boehm Hunt, Jean Boehm, Karen Blass, Rick Mullaly, Jill Mullaly, John Mullaly, Melody Fisher, Bonnie Blass, David Blass, Suzannah Blass, Michael Mullaly, Megan Mullaly, Christopher Mullaly, Emma Mullaly, Dot Steeves, Margaret Pomeroy, Pat and Frank Smith, and ALL of the rest of the Smiths! LOVE this big family!

Extra thanks for my brother, Ricky, who helped me know and love Travis.

Extra thanks for my niece, Emma, whose beauty, spunk, and smarts helped me create Keisha.

Rere, who is with me each day on this astounding journey. I wouldn’t have these blessings if you hadn’t been my mum. *SWAK*

Mary Pierce, Liz Goulet Dubois, Laurie Smith Murphy—cherished friends, phenomenal women, and forever-time critique group partners.

Lucia Zimmitti, Jenny Bagdigian, Jennifer Thermes, Cameron Rosenblum, Julie Kingsley, Leslie Connor, Sarah Albee, Carlyn Beccia, Bette Anne Reith, Jeanne Zulick, Sally Riley, Linda Crotta Brennan, and Sharon Potthoff. You are each a treasure and have been an important piece of my journey.

Jill Dailey, Paula Wilson, Nancy Tandon, Jessica Loupos, Holly Howley, Kristina O’Leary, and Michele Manning, my new writing friends. Thanks for your keen eyes.

Susan Reid Rheaume, Kathy Martin Benzi, Kelly Henderschedt and Doreen Johnson. I’m grateful for you girls.

Peter Steeves, my cuz, who shared his early coin-collecting adventures.

Dr. Kevin Miller, USN, Yoshiko Kato, Marlo Garnsworthy, and Leah Tanaka, for your help with Japanese culture and language.

My Maine chess experts: Lance Belounqie, Gabriel Borland, William Burtt, Carther S. Theogene, Owen Wall, Matthew Fishbein, and Arthur Tang.

The following teachers and their 2012–2013 classes for being early listeners and helping to title some chapters: Ms. Melanie Swider, Mrs. Susan Dee, Ms. Pattie Uccello, Ms. Rachel Wulsin, and Ms. Wendy Fournier.

Audrey Dubois, Suzannah Blass, Molly Citarell, Abbey Citarell, Grace Bremner, Samantha Eileen Miller, and Chrissy Miller, who helped with some of the details. Thanks!

Susan Dee, Angela Jones, and Sharon Truex, early teacher-readers. I appreciate your time, wisdom, and support. Thank goodness there are teachers like each of you in the world.

Maureen Brousseau and Mary Begley, who taught me the most important things about teaching while at Gilead Hill School in Hebron, Connecticut.

Judy Miller, who taught me the most important things about myself.

Ms. Carol Masonis, Ms. Patricia Yosha, Ms. Anita Riggio, and Mr. Constantine Christy. Gifted teachers who were the best I ever had as a student. Life-changers, every one of you.

Greg—thank you for being you. Love always.

Finally, I could write volumes on how grateful I am for Greg, Kimberly, and Kyle. Your creative gifts, intelligence, humor, and thoughtfulness helped to inspire these characters, and your love and daily support make the whole ride worthwhile. You’ve each given me more silver dollar days than I could have ever imagined. Love you all infinity times around Pluto. Again.

Dear Readers,
Like so many other adults, I started out as a kid.

I was typical in a lot of ways. Being a girl whose companions were often her older brothers or a neighborhood full of boys, I became good at climbing trees, skateboarding, and baseball. On a skateboard or holding a bat at the plate at the bottom of the ninth, I was confident. I felt like I could handle—and even excel at—what I was doing.

But sitting at a school desk was often a different experience. I remember sitting back and scanning the other kids in the class, wondering why I couldn’t be more like them. How were they able to do their work so quickly? By the time I was Ally Nickerson’s age, I remember sitting at our dining room table, staring at my brother’s high school textbooks and wondering how I would ever get through. Like Ally, I wondered what would become of me.

Then, as a sixth-grader, I was placed in class with Mr. Christy, who would later serve as my model for Mr. Daniels. Little did I know he would change the path of my life. Why? Because he changed my perception—how I viewed myself—and that was so powerful.

My perception was that the other kids were just
better.
I learned later that they weren’t—being better at taking tests didn’t make them better; it just made them better test takers. But at first, I let those negative thoughts seep in. I began to assume that I wouldn’t be good at things, so I went through a time when I didn’t try as hard as I could. I just figured it didn’t matter.

However, Mr. Christy had confidence in me. He had me tutor younger kids. He handpicked books for me to read and helped me move out of the lowest reading group. He smiled when I walked into the room. After a while, I began to mirror his confidence in me and left his class ready to set the world on fire.

We all have both our special talents and areas where we need to work a bit harder. Honestly, I’ve learned much more from—and have been ultimately successful because of—my failures. Things will not always be easy; sometimes we do fail. But it isn’t failing that makes you a failure. It’s staying down that does. The ability to stand up, brush yourself off, and try again is a
huge
strength. It’s something that will take you very far in your life. Very far indeed. If you develop a habit of standing up and trying again, just
imagine
the phenomenal things that could be in store for you.

Thank you for picking up
Fish in a Tree.
I do hope you have enjoyed meeting Ally, Keisha, Albert, Mr. Daniels and the others.

And remember: Great minds don’t think alike.

Take care,
Lynda