Read Online Fish in a Tree by Lynda Mullaly Hunt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lynda Mullaly Hunt
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she unwraps her sandwich. “Yeah, I knew that would getcha.”
Shay’s voice arrives before she does. “Look, Jessica,” she says as they walk by. “It’s the Island of Misfit Toys.”
“Yeah,” Jessica says. “It’s like a six-legged freak.”
Shay laughs and Jessica looks proud of herself.
“Uh, those girls are like walking pricker bushes,” Keisha says, taking a bite of her sandwich. “Don’t let them bother you.”
“They don’t bother me,” Albert says.
“It doesn’t bother you at
all
that she called us misfit toys?” I ask.
“It doesn’t bother
me,
” Keisha says. “That girl can flap her gums about me until the sun rises and sets again. I really don’t care.”
I wish I didn’t care. And I wish I wasn’t jealous of Shay and all that she has.
Albert is wide-eyed. “But
why
are the toys all misfits? Square wheels on a train can be fixed easily enough.” Albert has his most serious voice turned up to high. “And what’s wrong with the doll, anyway? Why is it a misfit? It seems to adhere to the standards of a typical doll.”
Wow. He is in full professor mode.
“The Charlie-in-the-box,” he continues, “is just like a Jack-in-the-box in every way but his name. Something is not a misfit simply because it has a different name.”
“That isn’t true,” I blurt out.
He looks shocked. I suppose he isn’t used to being corrected.
He holds up his milk carton. “Suppose I say this is orange juice. Doesn’t change what it is inside.”
“That’s different,” I say, thinking that the milk will feel like it’s orange juice if it’s told that enough.
“It
is
the same principle.”
I think of words like
dumb
and
baby
and think how wrong Albert really is.
“What about the cowboy?” Keisha asks. “He rides an ostrich instead of a horse. That has
got
to make him a misfit.”
“It is illogical to say he is a misfit just because he chooses to ride a different animal, provided he can carry out his cowboy duties.”
“Albert!” Keisha says. “How can you
possibly
say ‘cowboy duties’ with a straight face?”
“I don’t understand,” he says.
Keisha’s forehead touches the table, and he continues, “Especially when you consider that ostriches run faster than horses, require less water to drink, and can use their legs and feet as weapons. They are fierce kickers with sharp claws. I, for one, would trade a horse for that. That’s just logical.”
And then I think that if someone hung a sign on me that said anything, having that sign there wouldn’t make it so. But people have been calling me “slow” forever. Right in front of me as if I’m too dumb to know what they’re talking about.
People act like the words “slow reader” tell them everything that’s inside. Like I’m a can of soup and they can just read the list of ingredients and know everything about me. There’s lots of stuff about the soup inside that they can’t put on the label, like how it smells and tastes and makes you feel warm when you eat it. There’s got to be more to me than just a kid who can’t read well.
CHAPTER 18
T r u t h s a n d U n t r u t h s
Keisha drops into her seat, annoyed that Mr. Daniels has asked her to do a paper over because he knows she can do better. I’ve always hated hearing that from teachers. And then I realize I’ve never heard it from Mr. Daniels. And all of a sudden that bugs me.
Since the day of the mystery boxes, I keep thinking about how good it felt to do something right. To fit in.
That’s what I want. To feel like everyone else. To be told that the work I know is terrible isn’t good enough. I want him to tell me I can do better and see it in his face that he really thinks so.
And then I remember that it
is
the best I can do. I haven’t written in class since I had the fake sling on my arm. After three days of wearing it, Mr. Daniels told me he was going to have the nurse call my mom about my injured arm, so I figured I’d better lose
Shay’s voice arrives before she does. “Look, Jessica,” she says as they walk by. “It’s the Island of Misfit Toys.”
“Yeah,” Jessica says. “It’s like a six-legged freak.”
Shay laughs and Jessica looks proud of herself.
“Uh, those girls are like walking pricker bushes,” Keisha says, taking a bite of her sandwich. “Don’t let them bother you.”
“They don’t bother me,” Albert says.
“It doesn’t bother you at
all
that she called us misfit toys?” I ask.
“It doesn’t bother
me,
” Keisha says. “That girl can flap her gums about me until the sun rises and sets again. I really don’t care.”
I wish I didn’t care. And I wish I wasn’t jealous of Shay and all that she has.
Albert is wide-eyed. “But
why
are the toys all misfits? Square wheels on a train can be fixed easily enough.” Albert has his most serious voice turned up to high. “And what’s wrong with the doll, anyway? Why is it a misfit? It seems to adhere to the standards of a typical doll.”
Wow. He is in full professor mode.
“The Charlie-in-the-box,” he continues, “is just like a Jack-in-the-box in every way but his name. Something is not a misfit simply because it has a different name.”
“That isn’t true,” I blurt out.
He looks shocked. I suppose he isn’t used to being corrected.
He holds up his milk carton. “Suppose I say this is orange juice. Doesn’t change what it is inside.”
“That’s different,” I say, thinking that the milk will feel like it’s orange juice if it’s told that enough.
“It
is
the same principle.”
I think of words like
dumb
and
baby
and think how wrong Albert really is.
“What about the cowboy?” Keisha asks. “He rides an ostrich instead of a horse. That has
got
to make him a misfit.”
“It is illogical to say he is a misfit just because he chooses to ride a different animal, provided he can carry out his cowboy duties.”
“Albert!” Keisha says. “How can you
possibly
say ‘cowboy duties’ with a straight face?”
“I don’t understand,” he says.
Keisha’s forehead touches the table, and he continues, “Especially when you consider that ostriches run faster than horses, require less water to drink, and can use their legs and feet as weapons. They are fierce kickers with sharp claws. I, for one, would trade a horse for that. That’s just logical.”
And then I think that if someone hung a sign on me that said anything, having that sign there wouldn’t make it so. But people have been calling me “slow” forever. Right in front of me as if I’m too dumb to know what they’re talking about.
People act like the words “slow reader” tell them everything that’s inside. Like I’m a can of soup and they can just read the list of ingredients and know everything about me. There’s lots of stuff about the soup inside that they can’t put on the label, like how it smells and tastes and makes you feel warm when you eat it. There’s got to be more to me than just a kid who can’t read well.
CHAPTER 18
T r u t h s a n d U n t r u t h s
Keisha drops into her seat, annoyed that Mr. Daniels has asked her to do a paper over because he knows she can do better. I’ve always hated hearing that from teachers. And then I realize I’ve never heard it from Mr. Daniels. And all of a sudden that bugs me.
Since the day of the mystery boxes, I keep thinking about how good it felt to do something right. To fit in.
That’s what I want. To feel like everyone else. To be told that the work I know is terrible isn’t good enough. I want him to tell me I can do better and see it in his face that he really thinks so.
And then I remember that it
is
the best I can do. I haven’t written in class since I had the fake sling on my arm. After three days of wearing it, Mr. Daniels told me he was going to have the nurse call my mom about my injured arm, so I figured I’d better lose
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