Читать книгу First Star I See - Jaye Andras Caffrey - Страница 10

3 Captain Stone Griffith Joins the Crew

“Ms. Landry, Shawn’s parents will arrive in a moment to pick him up. He’s had a rough day.” Mr. Rodriguez patted Shawn on the back, adding, “Sit here, son.” Turning to where I sat, the assistant principal noticed me for the first time. “Hi, Paige, come on in.”

On shaky legs, I followed him into his small, crowded office. I liked it right away. Even though I still felt very nervous, I tried to remember what it looked like so I could tell Breanna.

There was a basketball hoop over the window, which was covered with cartoon-character curtains. Pinned to the bulletin board behind his desk were dozens of cartoon strips cut from newspapers. In addition to many books, the bookshelves held trophies, little statues, and photographs. On the ceiling was a black poster, covered with what seemed like zillions of tiny silver dots.

But I found myself fascinated with a stand holding a long, dark tube that poked stiffly through the curtains.

“Do you like my telescope?” asked Mr. Rodriguez, noticing my gaze.

“Yes, sir,” I said, sitting on the edge of the chair he offered. “But why do you have it in here? Do you use it to spy on kids on the playground?” Instantly, I felt bad about having said that. Mr. Rodriguez seemed friendly enough. Why had I insulted him?

But he laughed. “Well, I could. That’s a pretty good idea.” He sat down behind his desk. “I just like to watch the stars at night when I work late. I have another one at home.”

I suddenly remembered that I had been called to his office for something serious. “Are you going to call my mother?” I asked, jumping right to the point.

“Actually,” said Mr. Rodriguez, “I’ve already called her.” I must have looked upset because he said, “Cheer up. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I haven’t? Then why am I here?”

“Well, this may sound silly but… Ms. Bourgeois wanted me to ask you about the little green Martians in her purse. What is she talking about, Paige?” Mr. Rodriguez leaned forward with his chin in his hand, studying my face.

I giggled with relief and tried to explain. When I finished, I peeked at Mr. Rodriguez through my bangs to see if he understood.

He smiled and said, “I get the picture. So, Paige, you didn’t think you saw real Martians, right?”

“No, of course not! I was just imagining, that’s all. Did Ms. Bourgeois think I meant real Martians?”

“Well… I’m not sure. She did say you daydream a lot. Is that true?”

“Kind of. It isn’t like I plan to just start imagining stuff, except when I am playing. Otherwise, it happens by itself. I just forget what I am supposed to be doing. That’s when I get in trouble.”

“You know, Paige, it’s very important to pay attention in class. Your teacher is worried about you. She says you’re very smart and not working up to your potential.”

“Worried about me? No way. She hates me. She’s always frowning at me like this when she looks at me”—I made a face to show him what I meant— “and she constantly says stuff like ‘Paige, are you with us?’ and ‘Paige, you will not find the answer to the question outside the window’ and ‘Paige, for the hundredth time, pay attention, please!’” I did such a good impression of Ms. Bourgeois’ old-lady voice and mad face that Mr. Rodriguez smiled. “Nope. She hates me,” I sighed.

“Oh, no,” said Mr. Rodriguez firmly, “you’re wrong about that. She likes you a lot, and she wants you to pay attention and finish your work. She thinks you’re not trying because she believes you can do the assignments when you try. She’s concerned that you’re not focusing on your work consistently, not applying yourself.”

I sighed, slouching in my seat a little. “That’s what my dad says, too—that I just don’t apply myself. I wish I could figure out how to, but I don’t even know what it means.” I looked at the assistant principal, not sure that even I understood how the things in my life always got messed up.

“Do you ever imagine stuff, Mr. Rodriguez?” I asked.

“Sure. Sometimes, when I get stuck for an idea, I even do it on purpose. I just lean back here and look up at the map of the stars.” Mr. Rodriguez pointed to the ceiling.“That’s when I do some of my best thinking.”

I looked at the poster and realized that it was a map.

“Actually, it’s good to be able to daydream,” said Mr. Rodriguez. “The trick is knowing when and where to do it. It’s not a good idea to let your thoughts wander too much in school. Do you have any special place at home where you can daydream?”

“Yes,” I said, picturing my favorite spot immediately. “There’s an old tree in my front yard, close to the sidewalk. It has big, twisty roots that made tunnels under the cement and broke it up. You have to be really careful when you walk there. My tree is so huge that it makes lots of shade and no grass will grow under it.” He nodded, interested, so I went on.

“Do you know what I did? I tied an old blanket between these two big branches and I made a hammock up in the tree. It’s the most wonderful place in the world. I just lie there and imagine things. My tree is just perfect for climbing. It has these big knobby things on it in all the right places. Did you like to climb trees when you were a kid?”

“Sure,” he said. “In fact, I’ll tell you a secret.” He leaned toward me. “I would still climb trees if I didn’t think other grown-ups would give me a hard time about it.” I knew then that Mr. Rodriguez was just as cool as Captain Stone. “So you like to sit in this tree and think?”

I nodded, adding shyly, “Sometimes I feel like that tree is just as good a friend as my best friend Breanna. Sometimes I talk to my tree. But I whisper so people don’t think I’m crazy.”

“And the tree doesn’t answer back. Right?” Mr. Rodriguez smiled at me.

“No,” I giggled. “But I still like to think she understands. It makes me feel better sometimes.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “I had a stuffed toy that understood me when I was a kid. Now I just talk to the stars.”

“And the stars don’t answer back. Right?”

Mr. Rodriguez laughed. “Right.”

“Hey… stars!” I suddenly sat up straight. “That’s what I have to do my paper on,” I said excitedly, remembering. “Ms. Bourgeois assigned each kid in my class a paper. The one that has the best paper gets to sit on stage with Dr. Kelsey… I mean, Renee Lastrapes! That’s Dr. Kelsey’s real name, you know! She’s coming to our school! The real Dr. Kelsey Strongheart!”

Mr. Rodriguez smiled. “Yes, I’ve heard. Ms. Martin is busy planning. It’s all anybody has been talking about since I got here this morning.”

“I’m going to do the best paper in my class!” I told him. “I want to meet Dr. Kelsey more than anything else in the whole world! Do you ever watch Star Warrior, Mr. Rodriguez? Don’t you think it’s awesome?”

“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Rodriguez. “I know all about it. It’s my kids’ favorite show.”

Suddenly I remembered something else. “Mr. Rodriguez, you said you already called my mother. What did you talk to her about?”

“Well,” he replied, pausing, “I asked her how you were doing at home and if she thought you might really be the kind of kid who sees little green men.”

“Was she upset?” I asked.

“No, she seemed to find it rather funny. I hope you don’t mind, but she told me about Dr. Learner and her diagnosis.”

I froze. My mom told him that! How could she? Did she want people to think I was crazy? It was bad enough being called spacey.

Mr. Rodriguez didn’t seem to notice my frown. He went on. “She said that she took you to see a psychologist, Dr. Learner, and that the psychologist says that you have attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, the inattentive type, which means the kind where you sit still and daydream a lot.” He paused. “Your mom says she’s already explained to you about AD/HD, Paige. How do you feel about all this?”

How did I feel about it? Mad! Attention-deficit/ hyperactivity disorder (which my mom mostly just calls “AD/HD”) is something my hyper little brother has, not me! Dr. Learner is Mark’s psychologist. She helps him learn to control himself. But I am nothing like my little brother.

“It’s definitely not true!” I said. “My dad says it isn’t. Anyway, it’s all Ms. Keller’s fault that my mom made me go to that doctor. I’m definitely not hyper like Mark is.”

Ms. Keller was my third-grade teacher. Even now, a year later, I still blushed when I thought of the math paper that she made such a big deal about. During a quiz on times tables, my mind started to wander, and I decorated the answer sheet with this awesome picture of a princess at a ball. Wearing a sparkly gown made of multiplication signs, she was taking turns dancing with handsome multiples of the number five, all dressed in tuxedos made of division signs.

That day I was brought back to the classroom by the sound of Ms. Keller’s slightly hysterical voice, as she stood over my desk. “Paige, what on earth are you doing to your math test?” she exclaimed. I looked up. The whole class was laughing. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my whole life, and Jessica and Katie seem to bring it up at least once a month and probably will do so forever. It’s one of the reasons I am considering moving to China when I grow up.

As if reading my mind, Mr. Rodriguez went on. “Ms. Bourgeois pulled out an old math quiz of yours with drawings you did when you were in Ms. Keller’s class last year. Remember?”

I nodded and let out a heavy sigh. “Mom says Ms. Keller reminded her about that at every single parent-teacher conference last year. I think she convinced my mom that I’m pretty dumb.”

“Dumb? Absolutely not!” said Mr. Rodriguez. “Your mother and I agree that you are smart and creative and have a very good imagination. Ms. Bourgeois does, too, and I suspect Ms. Keller thought as much.”

Mr. Rodriguez went on, but I was savoring the words “smart,” “creative,” and “good imagination,” like a delicious ice cream cone. After all, I didn’t hear that kind of stuff too often. Was he telling me the truth, or just trying to make me feel good? If Ms. Bourgeois thought I was so smart, then why was she always yelling at me, just like Ms. Keller did last year?

Mr. Rodriguez was still talking about that awful math test. I wondered if somehow they knew about it in China.

“Your math quiz artwork actually just shows how imaginative you can be!” he said. “But daydreaming can get you into trouble, can’t it?”

“Daydreaming shouldn’t be a crime, Mr. Rodriguez!”

I protested.

“Paige…” Mr. Rodriguez waited until I looked up before he continued. “We want to help you be the best Paige you can be. It’s harder for some students to do things like planning and paying attention than it is for others. They might just come more naturally to other kids.”

“My dad says I can pay attention when I want to,” I said. “After all, he says I would watch Star Warrior all day, every day, if I could. That’s true, I would—because it’s important to me. You know, it’s kind of like this Dr. Kelsey thing: I want to meet her so much that I know I am going to work very hard on my paper. I’m going to apply myself this time.”

Mr. Rodriguez scratched his chin. “Well,” he said, “I believe you. Have you given any thought to how you are going to approach this paper? What will you do first?”

“I don’t know—I guess I’ll just do it.”

Mr. Rodriguez, however, was determined to talk about how I would do it. “Did Ms. Bourgeois suggest an outline first, or does she just want the finished product right before the assembly?”

“I can’t remember exactly… but it can’t be shorter than three pages, and she wants illustrations. I think an outline is due this Friday and the draft next Friday. Anyway, there’s three whole weeks until the actual paper is due. That’s a long time.”

“I have an idea,” Mr. Rodriguez said thoughtfully. “I can see how much you want to meet Renee Lastrapes. If it turns out that even with such a strong incentive, things don’t go quite the way you want, well… will you consider some other options?”

“Sure! No problem!”

“Good girl!” he said, standing up. “Now remember, if you have any trouble, come talk to me. You just tell Ms. Landry that I said it was okay for you to come see me anytime. Anytime at all.”

I blushed. The thought of being able to drop in on Mr. Rodriguez “anytime at all” made me feel pretty good. Maybe he liked me. I stole a glance at him as he got up to leave. He was shuffling around his desk. Out of the corner of my eye he looked a lot like Captain Stone Griffith. Boy, was Breanna going to be impressed!

“Thanks, Mr. Rodriguez!” I called, skipping out of his office. “See you later!”

On the way back to class, though, I started to feel bad again. I couldn’t believe my mom actually told Mr. Rodriguez about that AD/HD stuff. My dad would never have done that. I remembered when I told him about what Dr. Learner had said. He really hit the roof!

“What nonsense!” Dad said. “The only problem with you, pumpkin, is that you don’t apply yourself!”

“What does that mean—‘apply myself?’” I asked.

“It just means that you don’t try hard enough. But don’t worry,” Dad said. “Psychologists like Dr. Learner are not real doctors. They have to find something wrong with perfectly normal kids like you and Mark or else they can’t get parents to pay them lots of money to play with their kids once a week. Mark is just high-spirited. He’s a Tom Sawyer type, that’s all.”

I’m not sure what “high-spirited” means, but I’m pretty sure Tom Sawyer is a character on a television show that my dad liked when he was a kid. Anyway, no matter what Dad says, Mark is really hyper. His teachers are always calling Mom about him.

In preschool he ran all around the classroom during story hour. And during his first few weeks of kindergarten, his teacher complained that every time they did art, he mixed all the paints together and snipped the construction paper into such tiny pieces that no one could use it. Once he gets started on an activity, though, there’s no prying him away from it! Unless, of course, you offer him something better, like Mom does.