Dakota? I thought she was going to Minnesota.” And I thought maybe I could convince my mom that Willy reallywas a maniac welder and that he’d kidnapped Grandma and we had to get her back.
“Their route takes them through South Dakota,” my mother said. “She’s having the time of her life. It almost makes me want to rent a motor home for the summer.”
I drank my milk and stared at her. I thought that sounded awful. “Motor homes are dangerous and they pollute the air.”
My mom dusted some bread crumbs off the table.
“Your first day without Sylvie had to have been tough,” she said.
I drank more of my milk and didn’t say anything. Just because I hated motor homes didn’t mean I was missing Sylvie. Which I was. “I’ve got homework.”
“Do you need any help?”
I shook my head. “I need solitude. And pencils. And my backpack.”
As I got all my stuff together, I considered telling my mom about the psycho-bullies and my difficult locker and all the other bummer things about my day. But she looked so tired. And she’d tried so hard to make me feel better. She’d even gotten off work early just to be here when I got home. I couldn’t ruin her day just because mine had been terrible.
I sat on my bed and pulled out my English book because Mr. Val wanted us to preview a unit on future-tense verbs.As I previewed it I could tell that it was not going to be my favorite unit. Also, I had to read a poem and respond to it. It was by Emily Dickinson, and it didn’t even have a title. And I usually found titles to be very helpful. I read the poem to myself four times. Then I read it out loud. And I didn’t whisper it. I belted it right out. Because I thought that might help me understand it.
I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us—don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog.
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
Then I heard my mom call to me. “You are too somebody! You’re Bessica Lefter!”
And I thought maybe I should tell my mom that I was doing my permanent homework, which happened to be a poem without a title, but I explained it in a shorter way. “I didn’t write that!” Then I wrote my paragraph. Mr. Val said there were no wrong answers. So I took him at his word and wrote from the heart.
If you are a nobody and you are part of a pair, then you aren’t a nobody anymore. I used to be part of a pair. I liked it. Because I never felt alone. I felt like I had a friend who understood everything about me, what made me happy, what bummed me out. And she was a good listener. And now she’s one hundred percent out of my life. Because her mom is an evil eyelash painter who doesn’t understand the concept of friendship. But maybe I don’t totally understand the concept of friendship either. Because I made my friend throw away our diary when she didn’t want to. And I also made her get a drastic haircut .
When I looked over my paragraph, I was surprised by how long it was. Also, I was surprised by its honesty. Because usually when I wrote things for school, I tried to write what I thought the teacher wanted to read. And in this case I hadn’t done that; I’d written what was on my mind.
When I finished English, I broke out my math worksheets. I had to solve eight problems and they all lookedterrible. And then I opened my nutrition notebook and reviewed the fat grams in various nuts. And then I decided I could do the rest of my homework while lying down. But that didn’t turn out so good. Because the next thing I knew, it was dark outside and I could smell baking tuna fish.
I climbed off my bed and walked into the kitchen, and the table was set and my dad was all ready to eat.
“Hey there, sunshine,” he said. “How was school?”
“Fine,” I lied. Because I was still very groggy and didn’t feel like getting into the horrible details also known as my day.
“Let’s eat!” Mom
“Their route takes them through South Dakota,” my mother said. “She’s having the time of her life. It almost makes me want to rent a motor home for the summer.”
I drank my milk and stared at her. I thought that sounded awful. “Motor homes are dangerous and they pollute the air.”
My mom dusted some bread crumbs off the table.
“Your first day without Sylvie had to have been tough,” she said.
I drank more of my milk and didn’t say anything. Just because I hated motor homes didn’t mean I was missing Sylvie. Which I was. “I’ve got homework.”
“Do you need any help?”
I shook my head. “I need solitude. And pencils. And my backpack.”
As I got all my stuff together, I considered telling my mom about the psycho-bullies and my difficult locker and all the other bummer things about my day. But she looked so tired. And she’d tried so hard to make me feel better. She’d even gotten off work early just to be here when I got home. I couldn’t ruin her day just because mine had been terrible.
I sat on my bed and pulled out my English book because Mr. Val wanted us to preview a unit on future-tense verbs.As I previewed it I could tell that it was not going to be my favorite unit. Also, I had to read a poem and respond to it. It was by Emily Dickinson, and it didn’t even have a title. And I usually found titles to be very helpful. I read the poem to myself four times. Then I read it out loud. And I didn’t whisper it. I belted it right out. Because I thought that might help me understand it.
I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us—don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog.
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
Then I heard my mom call to me. “You are too somebody! You’re Bessica Lefter!”
And I thought maybe I should tell my mom that I was doing my permanent homework, which happened to be a poem without a title, but I explained it in a shorter way. “I didn’t write that!” Then I wrote my paragraph. Mr. Val said there were no wrong answers. So I took him at his word and wrote from the heart.
If you are a nobody and you are part of a pair, then you aren’t a nobody anymore. I used to be part of a pair. I liked it. Because I never felt alone. I felt like I had a friend who understood everything about me, what made me happy, what bummed me out. And she was a good listener. And now she’s one hundred percent out of my life. Because her mom is an evil eyelash painter who doesn’t understand the concept of friendship. But maybe I don’t totally understand the concept of friendship either. Because I made my friend throw away our diary when she didn’t want to. And I also made her get a drastic haircut .
When I looked over my paragraph, I was surprised by how long it was. Also, I was surprised by its honesty. Because usually when I wrote things for school, I tried to write what I thought the teacher wanted to read. And in this case I hadn’t done that; I’d written what was on my mind.
When I finished English, I broke out my math worksheets. I had to solve eight problems and they all lookedterrible. And then I opened my nutrition notebook and reviewed the fat grams in various nuts. And then I decided I could do the rest of my homework while lying down. But that didn’t turn out so good. Because the next thing I knew, it was dark outside and I could smell baking tuna fish.
I climbed off my bed and walked into the kitchen, and the table was set and my dad was all ready to eat.
“Hey there, sunshine,” he said. “How was school?”
“Fine,” I lied. Because I was still very groggy and didn’t feel like getting into the horrible details also known as my day.
“Let’s eat!” Mom
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