Focused Page 3

  “Henley, do you remember what we talked about earlier today?” Mom asks.

  She nods her head up and down. “I have a loose tooth.” Her voice is so soft, I can barely hear her.

  “That’s very exciting,” Dad says. “I guess it’s almost time for the tooth fairy.”

  Mom and I both scowl at him.

  Henley shakes her head and tries as hard as she can to push back her tears, but they trickle down her chipmunk cheeks. “I don’t want that.”

  “I know.” Mom rubs her shoulder softly. “That’s why I got you a bag to hang on your door.”

  It looks like a pillow and says, Special delivery for the Tooth Fairy only.

  Henley nods, like she remembers.

  “Sorry,” Dad mouths to Mom. I can’t tell if he forgot or if he didn’t know. Mom rubs his back with her free hand, which is what she does when she wants us to know that everything is okay, even when it’s not.

  Dad is away a lot. His job is to buy and fix companies. He’s the best problem solver around, which means that every few weeks he’s off to a new country or state. But he’s always back on Thursday. That’s something we can all count on. When he gets home, he tries hard to catch up on everything he missed, but it’s impossible, because things happen, little things that are so small they slip away when you aren’t looking, and they’re the kind of things that don’t seem like they even matter, until they do. When you add them all up, they matter a lot.

  “How was school?” Dad asks.

  It’s quiet for a few seconds. I take a big bite of my primavera, and then another, like I’m so hungry I didn’t hear the question.

  Henley takes a deep breath. “We’re going to a fawrm with chicks and cows and pigs.” It sounds like she’s racing to get the words out, like she’s afraid if she doesn’t, they might disappear.

  There’s a fly on the ceiling, circling us, waiting for the best moment to swoop in and join the party. In my head, his name is Floyd.

  “That sounds fun,” Dad says.

  Henley nods.

  “What about you?” He looks at me. Floyd lands on the salad bowl.

  I shoo him away and watch him fly as fast as he can over to the window where I can’t see him anymore.

  “Clea, how did it go today?” Dad asks again.

  “I beat Sanam in chess,” I say, because that’s the only part of my day I want to talk about. “She’s the best player on our team.”

  “That’s great. What about school?” he asks, glossing over my win like it hardly matters.

  “It’s actually a really big deal,” I say. “I dominated. Red even said so.”

  Dad looks at Mom. I can tell they’re trading secret adult messages.

  Floyd is buzzing around us again.

  “That stupid fly.” Dad swats and misses. Then he stands up and opens the sliding door so Floyd can escape. I wish I could join him. I’d much rather fly around outside and hide in the backyard until this conversation is over.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Henley repeats and slurps up the last of her spaghetti.

  “Are you finished eating?” Mom asks her.

  She nods a lot, like she’s a human bobblehead.

  “Then you may be excused.”

  Henley gets up, pushes in her chair, and curtsies. “Did you see?” she asks.

  “Very nice,” Dad says.

  We’re all quiet while she makes her way into the other room. Hilda stays sprawled out on top of my feet.

  Mom looks at me and puts down her fork. I don’t know what’s coming, but I can tell it’s bad, because she waits for Henley to turn on one of her shows before she says, “Ms. Pumi called.”

  “Why?” I ask. “What did she say?”

  “She’s worried about you. She said you came to class unprepared. You didn’t do your homework. Is that true?”

  I stare into my plate, diving deep into swirls of spaghetti and zucchini. It sounds a lot worse when Mom says it out loud.

  “You’re not in trouble,” Dad says. “And Ms. Pumi isn’t going to count this grade as long as you do all your work from now on.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  Dad nods. “We want to know what happened.”

  I shrug. “I messed up and then I tried to fix it and I made it worse.”

  “Do you think maybe being on the chess team is too much for you right now?” Mom asks.

  “NO!” I shout. “How is that even related?”

  “I saw you practicing chess problems last night, so I thought that was maybe why you didn’t have time to finish math. It’s a lot for anyone to take on. I know you love chess, but school has to come first.”

  “It does,” I say. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Okay.” Mom nods like she’s trying to believe me, but doesn’t. Not really. “You can keep playing—for now—as long as you come up with a better plan, because what you have been doing isn’t working. You have to finish all of your homework at home.”

  I nod, because I want to do everything Mom is saying, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I can’t.

  * * *

  After dinner, I go back up to my room and start my homework again. I can’t give my parents one more reason to take chess away from me, especially since they don’t even know what happened in Spanish yet. Only … the lights on the ceiling are buzzing, like there’s a bee stuck inside, and I keep looking up and then at the clock, instead of reading the questions in front of me. I need to stop messing up. Now. I still have math and history and science and my author project. And I’m running out of time. It’s already 6:46 p.m., which is almost 7:00 p.m. I wish the clock would stop, even for a few minutes, because I have so much left to do. It’s all piling up. And it feels like I can’t breathe.

  I close my book and take out my English presentation, because I already did the work, and now the only thing I have left to do is practice. I’m standing in the middle of my bedroom, holding up my poster and talking to my imaginary audience, when Henley walks into my room in her I’m sassy pajamas.

  She runs over and hugs the side of my arm, squeezing with all her strength, like she knows I need something, and she’s trying in her own way to make sure I get it. “Hilda is sleeping in here.”

  “She likes your room better,” I say.

  “We shawre.”

  “Not tonight.” I want to say yes, but I know Henley needs Hilda more than I do, and not because of the tooth fairy. A few weeks ago, I heard Henley tell Hilda that she’s supposed to be talking out loud more at school and that she thinks it might be easier for her to do that if they practice together before bed. I don’t want to take that away from her.

  Henley kisses me on the cheek and then skips over to the door.

  “Good night,” I say.

  I finish practicing my presentation and then plod through my homework.

  When Mom knocks a few hours later, she’s wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants with her hair pulled back, like she’s ready for bed.

  I look at my phone. It’s 9:00 and I still have so much to do.

  “How’s everything going?” Mom asks, standing in the doorway.

  “Almost done,” I say, because I know that’s the right answer.

  “That’s great. Do you need Dad or me to help with anything?”

  I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

  “Okay. Get some rest.”

  “I will,” I say. “Good night.”

  As soon as Mom walks away, I stand up, turn my desk lamp on and the ceiling lights off, and close the door to my bedroom. In case Mom decides to check on me again, I use an old sweatshirt to cover the small crack between the bottom of the door and the rug so the light doesn’t shine into the hall.

  By the time I finally finish my homework and climb under the covers, it’s really late. I’m tired and out of it. I set my alarm and stare at the ceiling, but I can’t fall asleep. I don’t even know how long I try before I give up and turn on an episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch, which is one of my
favorite shows. Red and I both love anything with witches and wacky plots.

  I guess we both like the idea of having magical powers to fix our problems.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Mom shakes me awake. “CLEA!” She sounds scared. “How are you not up yet? It’s seven fifteen! We have to leave right now.”

  “NO!” I shout and jump out of bed. School starts in a half hour. There are piles of books and papers covering the floor. I was supposed to wake up early and go over my presentation again.

  “I don’t understand why this is so difficult. You got up on time yesterday and last week.” She shakes her head. “What happened to your alarm?”

  I pick up my phone and open the clock, because I’m afraid that maybe Mom is right and I didn’t even set it. But it’s worse. My alarm is on and ready to wake me up at 6:15 p.m. Before I have a chance to explain, she says, “I’m taking your sister to school and then I’m coming back to get you. Please be downstairs in ten minutes. I can’t be late. I have an appointment with a student this morning.” She walks out of my room, and the bracelets stacked all the way up her arm jangle together, ringing in my ears.

  I run into the bathroom, turn on the shower, and let the warm water wash over me. It helps a little. I get dressed and pack my bag as fast as I can, checking to make sure I have everything that’s due today, including the poster for my presentation.

  The air outside is cooler than I want it to be. The morning sun finds its way through the layers of clouds and pine trees, but it’s not as strong as it was even a few weeks ago, when a tiny glimmer felt like a warm cozy blanket. I should have grabbed a jacket on my way out, and I think my sneakers from last year are too small, because they keep rubbing against my heel. But it’s too late to go back in the house and start over.

  It’s a six-minute ride to school, which is exactly enough time to review my project, but I don’t want Mom to ask questions, so instead I stare out the window, watching the houses and trees go by.

  “What happened?” Mom asks, turning down the radio so the voices sound like they’re buzzing and humming somewhere far away.

  I shrug, because I want to pretend I set my alarm for the right time.

  “Tell me something,” she says, trying again.

  “I messed up! Okay?” My words come out a little too loud.

  “There’s no reason to raise your voice. All I want to do is help you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, because it’s not her fault that I need to do everything better.

  Mom reaches out to me without taking her eyes off the road.

  I move my hand closer to hers so she can wrap her fingers around mine. Her skin is soft and warm and she holds on, like she’s going to protect me. “You’re okay,” she says. “You made a mistake. It happens to everyone. Let’s just move on.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  Like it’s that easy.

  * * *

  When I get out of the car, the bell rings. I walk quickly down the path and straight through the courtyard into school. I can’t be late for English.

  When I get to Mr. Lee’s room, I’m winded and my heart is racing. It seems like everyone else is relaxed and ready to go. I sit in the front and try to stop replaying all the things I did wrong so far today, because I need to be my best in school and chess. I can’t mess up anymore.

  I take a long, deep breath to calm myself down, and immediately realize I forgot deodorant! I check the front pocket of my bag to make sure my secret stash is there. It is! Phew. I just have to get through the rest of class before I can go to the bathroom with my backpack.

  When Mr. Lee walks into the room, I raise my hand. “Could I present first?” I ask as soon as he calls on me.

  “Absolutely. Come on up.”

  I unroll my timeline, which includes every single thing anyone would ever want to know about S. E. Hinton. I take a deep breath. I can do this. “Susan Eloise Hinton was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, on July 22, 1948, which makes her astrological sign Cancer.” I added that part in for pizzazz. “Her first novel, The Outsiders, was published in 1967 by Viking when she was only seventeen years old. She decided to go by S. E. instead of Susan Eloise because the narrator of the book is a boy.” I’m feeling confident and prepared the whole time I’m presenting, and when I get to the end, I know I did a great job making my oral biography informative and relatable.

  Quinn raises her hand. She’s sitting in the second row next to Vivi, looking super fancy and wearing a lot of makeup, like she’s trying really hard to remind everyone that she’s still important, even though she’s not the most popular girl in our grade anymore. She hasn’t been ever since Vivi moved here last year from Brazil. Quinn acts like she’s okay being second-in-command, but she used to be way more casual and nice before Vivi. I wasn’t expecting questions, but I feel prepared to answer basically anything, so I call on her.

  “Why did you pick S. E. Hinton?” She twirls the end of her long, blond ponytail.

  “I think it’s awesome that she wrote such a successful novel at a young age.”

  “But we’re not reading her book in class, so you did it wrong. The Outsiders was on the free reading list.” Quinn smirks.

  Vivi covers her mouth, acting like she’s trying not to laugh.

  “Clea,” Mr. Lee says. “Let’s talk more after class.” His voice is soft, but really everyone in the room knows I’m in trouble, which means that pretty soon the entire grade will, too, because … hello, that’s how things work.

  I grab my poster and sit down as fast as I can, wishing I could melt into my chair like a stick of butter.

  When the bell rings, I stay where I am and stare at the floor. We only got halfway through the presentations today, which means if I had waited, instead of volunteering to go first, like an idiot, I would have had time to redo my entire project before Mr. Lee and everyone else found out I did it wrong.

  Mr. Lee sits down next to me. His secret T-shirt today says Wicked. “I can tell how much time and effort you put into your work.” He points to my poster. “You gave it your all.” I look up at him, because it seems like maybe whatever he’s about to say isn’t going to be that bad. “But you didn’t follow the directions—and that’s a big problem.” I swallow hard. “Unfortunately, I have to give you an F.”

  No. This isn’t happening. I can’t fail.

  “Since this is the first big assignment of the year, I am going to let you present a different author on Friday. I’ll give you a new grade and deduct a letter.” He opens up the reading list and underlines the sentence at the top of the page that says Here is a list of books we will be reading and discussing in class this year.

  “Okay. Thank you,” I say, because even though the last thing I want is to get back up and try again in front of everyone, it’s the only way I won’t get an F.

  * * *

  After school, I go straight to the multipurpose room for chess. We’re practicing with the sixth-grade team today. Mr. Lee starts by teaching a new strategy and then he splits us into two groups for a few rounds of human chess.

  I’m standing on the life-size board dressed up as one of the white knights. There aren’t enough players for a full set, so we’re using big plastic pieces in place of pawns. Everyone else is positioned on the giant green and white squares, playing the back rank, except for Sanam and Red, who are on the sidelines, because they’re the team captains. Sanam is playing black and Red is white.

  The air in the room is stale and sticky. It smells like rubber. I adjust my itchy paper helmet without taking it off my head, because that’s against the rules and I can’t get eliminated for failing to follow simple directions. I need to do everything possible to stay in the game and prove that I’m good.

  The first two rounds go by fast. I move when I’m told, and I don’t mess anything up. But I’m too distracted by my costume to call out ideas and help us win.

  We only have one round left, and I need to stop rubbing my forehead and focus on the game, because I know I’m only mak
ing the itchiness worse, but it’s impossible to think about anything other than how uncomfortable my skin feels and how much I want to scratch.

  “C6,” Sanam says, because she wants her pawn to move ahead one square.

  Every square has coordinates. The columns—called files—are labeled A through H, and the rows—called ranks—are labeled 1 through 8.

  Quinn follows Sanam’s directions and moves the pawn in front of her forward one square. She rolls her eyes so hard, like she wants everyone on both teams to know she thinks Sanam’s move is weak and she’s not impressed. I think Quinn is jealous of Sanam and everyone who’s good at chess, because at the beginning of last year, Quinn was the best player on our team, and by the end, she wasn’t even in the top twelve. She was only an alternate. Not that there’s anything wrong with being an alternate. I’d love to be in that position, but I’d be pretty mad if the rest of the team kept getting better and I was the same.

  It’s the white team’s turn and Red hasn’t said anything. Every few seconds, he pushes his copper hair out of his eyes and walks along the edge of the board. Since anyone on the team is allowed to help, I look around, turning in every direction, trying to figure out the best way to win, because I want to prove I’m ready to compete in the next tournament and be someone who matters to the team.

  The game is a lot different from this angle, which I know is the point. It takes me time to adjust, but once I do, I start to see patterns in the pieces. There’s a rush of energy that flows through me, taking over my body. The cardboard helmet doesn’t feel that bad anymore. I almost forget it’s there. I’m focused on finding the answer. I can’t shift gears or think about anything other than what’s happening on the board until—I got it! I know how to win. “Red,” I shout. “Move me. You have to move me to g5.”

  “Eerrrrrrnnnnttttt. Wrong answer,” Dylan says. He’s standing a few squares away, dressed as the white king, making an X with his arms.

  “I’m right,” I say, because I’m 100 percent sure.

  Red looks at me and then at the board, like he’s trying to see what I see without asking questions that might give away my strategy.