a big corner piece of it in one hand and my little yellow Post-it in the other.
Mom lets out a scream. “Are you okay?”
I stand up sheepishly and rub my side. “I’m fine.”
She looks me over. “You sure you’re not hurt? Can you walk? Do you feel dizzy?” She puts a hand on my forehead.
“Mom, I’m fine.”
She sets the stool upright, then slowly gazes up at the Calendar.
“I’m sorry,” I say with a gulp.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispers. She reaches for the corner I’ve torn from the Calendar, then opens a drawer and takes out a roll of tape. She fits the ripped section back into place, then secures it with several long pieces of tape. A few Post-its fluttered to the floor when I fell. She picks those up and firmly places them back on the correct dates.
“I don’t think I could live without this calendar,” she says with a nervous chuckle. “What were you doing up there, anyway?”
“Here,” I say, handing her my Post-it. “This goes on the Thursday before winter break.”
“What is it?” Mom looks at the note.
I reach inside my backpack and pull out the flyer. “This explains everything. It’s a big thing at school. We’re doing this Friendship Fair with our second-grade peers. Part of the Peer Helper Program. Remember I told you about it?”
“Oh,” she says, and takes the flyer from me, reads it, then holds my Post-it up to the Calendar. She sticksit just below Becca’s and Alex’s, then turns to me. “Honestly, Calli, I don’t know how we’re going to squeeze this in.”
I stare at her, unable to speak. My heart starts to pound.
“Becca has her first competition, and the Lady Reds will be there. And this is a crucial game for Alex,” she says. “Those things were already on the Calendar.”
I cross my arms. “So?”
“Well, let me think.” She rubs her forehead. “We certainly can’t be in three places at once … and I don’t even know the exact time of the competition at this point. I guess Dad and I can split up, and one of us can bring you to the fair when either the game or the competition ends.”
Something inside me boils up, and my skin gets hot and prickly. My voice rushes out like I’m not in control of it. “I can’t be late. And are you saying either you or Dad wouldn’t come? All the other families will be there. This is something important! To me! Don’t you understand?”
I grab my backpack and stomp upstairs, then slam the door to my room. I start kicking and throwing pillows and stuffed animals off my bed; then I thrash around and mess up my comforter. Even though my lip is quivering and my eyes feel watery, I promise myself I won’t cry.
Finally, when I feel tired out, I hang upside down from the bed with my head nearly touching the carpet. I dig deep inside me and find the courage to whisper the truth. “Sometimes I really hate this family.”
No one calls me for dinner. Maybe they forgot about me. Maybe Mom cautioned everyone to let me cool off. She’s big on that when someone has a fit. At six-thirty, I decide to go downstairs. Everyone is in their usual seats and Mom is putting a plate of chicken on the table. Before I sit down, I glance at the taped-up Calendar and I’m happy to see that my yellow Post-it has not been removed. Yet.
Dad has already started the ABC game and Alex is telling him something about a new basketball play. Mom slides a piece of chicken onto my dish as Dad moves on to Becca.
“My L.A. teacher said only one student got a hundred on the pronoun quiz, and that one student was me,” Becca declares proudly.
“Way to go.” Dad nods, then turns to me.
I have that boiling, prickly feeling again.
“Number three?” He raises his eyebrows. “Your turn.”
That does it.
I take a deep breath. “I have an actual, real, important activity that I put on the Calendar today, but it seems that this family is too busy to care about me or anything that I might want to do.”
The four of them stare
Mom lets out a scream. “Are you okay?”
I stand up sheepishly and rub my side. “I’m fine.”
She looks me over. “You sure you’re not hurt? Can you walk? Do you feel dizzy?” She puts a hand on my forehead.
“Mom, I’m fine.”
She sets the stool upright, then slowly gazes up at the Calendar.
“I’m sorry,” I say with a gulp.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispers. She reaches for the corner I’ve torn from the Calendar, then opens a drawer and takes out a roll of tape. She fits the ripped section back into place, then secures it with several long pieces of tape. A few Post-its fluttered to the floor when I fell. She picks those up and firmly places them back on the correct dates.
“I don’t think I could live without this calendar,” she says with a nervous chuckle. “What were you doing up there, anyway?”
“Here,” I say, handing her my Post-it. “This goes on the Thursday before winter break.”
“What is it?” Mom looks at the note.
I reach inside my backpack and pull out the flyer. “This explains everything. It’s a big thing at school. We’re doing this Friendship Fair with our second-grade peers. Part of the Peer Helper Program. Remember I told you about it?”
“Oh,” she says, and takes the flyer from me, reads it, then holds my Post-it up to the Calendar. She sticksit just below Becca’s and Alex’s, then turns to me. “Honestly, Calli, I don’t know how we’re going to squeeze this in.”
I stare at her, unable to speak. My heart starts to pound.
“Becca has her first competition, and the Lady Reds will be there. And this is a crucial game for Alex,” she says. “Those things were already on the Calendar.”
I cross my arms. “So?”
“Well, let me think.” She rubs her forehead. “We certainly can’t be in three places at once … and I don’t even know the exact time of the competition at this point. I guess Dad and I can split up, and one of us can bring you to the fair when either the game or the competition ends.”
Something inside me boils up, and my skin gets hot and prickly. My voice rushes out like I’m not in control of it. “I can’t be late. And are you saying either you or Dad wouldn’t come? All the other families will be there. This is something important! To me! Don’t you understand?”
I grab my backpack and stomp upstairs, then slam the door to my room. I start kicking and throwing pillows and stuffed animals off my bed; then I thrash around and mess up my comforter. Even though my lip is quivering and my eyes feel watery, I promise myself I won’t cry.
Finally, when I feel tired out, I hang upside down from the bed with my head nearly touching the carpet. I dig deep inside me and find the courage to whisper the truth. “Sometimes I really hate this family.”
No one calls me for dinner. Maybe they forgot about me. Maybe Mom cautioned everyone to let me cool off. She’s big on that when someone has a fit. At six-thirty, I decide to go downstairs. Everyone is in their usual seats and Mom is putting a plate of chicken on the table. Before I sit down, I glance at the taped-up Calendar and I’m happy to see that my yellow Post-it has not been removed. Yet.
Dad has already started the ABC game and Alex is telling him something about a new basketball play. Mom slides a piece of chicken onto my dish as Dad moves on to Becca.
“My L.A. teacher said only one student got a hundred on the pronoun quiz, and that one student was me,” Becca declares proudly.
“Way to go.” Dad nods, then turns to me.
I have that boiling, prickly feeling again.
“Number three?” He raises his eyebrows. “Your turn.”
That does it.
I take a deep breath. “I have an actual, real, important activity that I put on the Calendar today, but it seems that this family is too busy to care about me or anything that I might want to do.”
The four of them stare
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