Read Online The Center of Everything by Laura Moriarty - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Moriarty
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Fiction - General, Romance, Contemporary, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Girls, Modern & contemporary fiction (post c 1945), Modern fiction, Education, First loves, Girls & Women, Multigenerational, General & Literary Fiction, Grandmothers, Mothers and daughters, American First Novelists, Single mothers, Kansas, Gifted, Gifted children, Special Education, Children of single parents
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this?” Ms. Fairchild asks.
“It’s a circuit.” He looks up at her, blinking quickly. “My dad helped me.”
“Where’s your triptych?”
He blinks again. “My what?”
She frowns. More people come in, and the ledge by the window slowly fills up with projects. No one else has made a triptych, but they are good projects, some of them, better than mine. Stephen Maefield made an aluminum-can crusher. He says it can be used to crush aluminum cans, but also many other things. Vera Miles has a prism. She takes it out of her pocket and holds it up to the light, and a lovely rainbow appears on the floor, red blurring into orange blurring into yellow blurring into short bands of green, blue, and purple. I think it’s beautiful, but I can see Ms. Fairchild is getting mad because no one has a triptych.
Ray Watley has a piece of cardboard with dead bugs pinned to it with colored thumbtacks. They are labeled underneath, but they are not even the real names of the bugs. They say things like BUG FOUND IN DRAIN OF BATHTUB and MOTH KILLED WITH SPRAY . There are at least thirty bugs pinned to the cardboard, and when he shows it to Ms. Fairchild, she makes a face and says, “Just put it by the window.”
Libby Masterson shows up after all, carrying a small velvet bag with a yellow string around the top. It is full of rocks, she says, special rocks, and Ms. Fairchild asks her to take them out of the bag and spread them out on the shelf. Libby doesn’t have a triptych either, but the rocks are beautiful. Some are blue and glossy, smooth to hold. Some look like normal ugly rocks on the outside, but they’ve been sliced open like oranges, and inside they are lovely, full of lavender crystals that sparkle in the light.
Ms. Fairchild shakes her head. “Libby, did you just go out and buy these rocks? Did you get these at the mall?”
Libby looks down at her shoes, so many friendship pins on them you can hardly see the laces. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s your hypothesis?”
Libby frowns, looking at the rocks. “Traci’s on her way in,” she says. “Her mom gave us a ride. She’s helping her carry her thing in.” She doesn’t notice that I’m still holding one of the smooth blue rocks. I slip it into my pocket. There’s a knock on the door and a “Hellloooooo?” It’s Traci and Mrs. Carmichael, holding a rectangular-shaped wooden object between them. Mrs. Carmichael is wearing a sweater tied around her shoulders again, a red one that matches the belt on her pants, and she smiles at Ms. Fairchild, making a face like Traci’s project is too heavy for them to even carry. Ms. Fairchild knows Mrs. Carmichael because she’s in the PTA and because when there’s a holiday, she brings cupcakes for our class.
Ms. Fairchild moves across the room quickly and helps them stand the wooden thing on one end, and then you can see it really is a triptych, made out of wood, five or six times the size of mine, not crooked. There are actual hinges in between the panels, the kind you would see on a door. It still smells like sawdust. I try to imagine Traci working in the garage of her redbrick house, with a chain saw or some other large tool, cutting away at the wood, plastic goggles pulled down over her face.
“Very impressive,” Ms. Fairchild says.
Mrs. Carmichael smiles at Traci. “That’s just part one. We’ve got to go back for part two.”
While they are gone, the rest of us stand around, looking at Traci’s triptych. She has used large amounts of red glitter and glue to write SEISMOGRAPHS AND EARTHQUAKES across the top. Below, she has written what seismographs do and what a Richter scale is. There are color pictures of the aftermaths of famous earthquakes—San Francisco, Italy. Underneath each picture is the number that particular earthquake got on the Richter scale.
It’s impressive enough on its own. We are all still looking at it when Traci and Mrs. Carmichael come back in, carrying something metal between them
“It’s a circuit.” He looks up at her, blinking quickly. “My dad helped me.”
“Where’s your triptych?”
He blinks again. “My what?”
She frowns. More people come in, and the ledge by the window slowly fills up with projects. No one else has made a triptych, but they are good projects, some of them, better than mine. Stephen Maefield made an aluminum-can crusher. He says it can be used to crush aluminum cans, but also many other things. Vera Miles has a prism. She takes it out of her pocket and holds it up to the light, and a lovely rainbow appears on the floor, red blurring into orange blurring into yellow blurring into short bands of green, blue, and purple. I think it’s beautiful, but I can see Ms. Fairchild is getting mad because no one has a triptych.
Ray Watley has a piece of cardboard with dead bugs pinned to it with colored thumbtacks. They are labeled underneath, but they are not even the real names of the bugs. They say things like BUG FOUND IN DRAIN OF BATHTUB and MOTH KILLED WITH SPRAY . There are at least thirty bugs pinned to the cardboard, and when he shows it to Ms. Fairchild, she makes a face and says, “Just put it by the window.”
Libby Masterson shows up after all, carrying a small velvet bag with a yellow string around the top. It is full of rocks, she says, special rocks, and Ms. Fairchild asks her to take them out of the bag and spread them out on the shelf. Libby doesn’t have a triptych either, but the rocks are beautiful. Some are blue and glossy, smooth to hold. Some look like normal ugly rocks on the outside, but they’ve been sliced open like oranges, and inside they are lovely, full of lavender crystals that sparkle in the light.
Ms. Fairchild shakes her head. “Libby, did you just go out and buy these rocks? Did you get these at the mall?”
Libby looks down at her shoes, so many friendship pins on them you can hardly see the laces. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s your hypothesis?”
Libby frowns, looking at the rocks. “Traci’s on her way in,” she says. “Her mom gave us a ride. She’s helping her carry her thing in.” She doesn’t notice that I’m still holding one of the smooth blue rocks. I slip it into my pocket. There’s a knock on the door and a “Hellloooooo?” It’s Traci and Mrs. Carmichael, holding a rectangular-shaped wooden object between them. Mrs. Carmichael is wearing a sweater tied around her shoulders again, a red one that matches the belt on her pants, and she smiles at Ms. Fairchild, making a face like Traci’s project is too heavy for them to even carry. Ms. Fairchild knows Mrs. Carmichael because she’s in the PTA and because when there’s a holiday, she brings cupcakes for our class.
Ms. Fairchild moves across the room quickly and helps them stand the wooden thing on one end, and then you can see it really is a triptych, made out of wood, five or six times the size of mine, not crooked. There are actual hinges in between the panels, the kind you would see on a door. It still smells like sawdust. I try to imagine Traci working in the garage of her redbrick house, with a chain saw or some other large tool, cutting away at the wood, plastic goggles pulled down over her face.
“Very impressive,” Ms. Fairchild says.
Mrs. Carmichael smiles at Traci. “That’s just part one. We’ve got to go back for part two.”
While they are gone, the rest of us stand around, looking at Traci’s triptych. She has used large amounts of red glitter and glue to write SEISMOGRAPHS AND EARTHQUAKES across the top. Below, she has written what seismographs do and what a Richter scale is. There are color pictures of the aftermaths of famous earthquakes—San Francisco, Italy. Underneath each picture is the number that particular earthquake got on the Richter scale.
It’s impressive enough on its own. We are all still looking at it when Traci and Mrs. Carmichael come back in, carrying something metal between them
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