Fish In A Tree

by Lynda Mullaly Hunt

My mind does this all the time—shows me these movies that seem so real that they carry me away inside of them. They are a relief from my real life.

I know I better keep the pencil moving, so I write the word “Why?” over and over from the top of the page to the very bottom. One, because I know how to spell it right and two, because I’m hoping someone will finally give me an answer.

I like Keisha. She isn’t afraid. And I’m afraid of so much.

I wish I knew what it was I should learn, because I know that I should know a lot more than I do.

I stare at the steaming liquid dripping into a coffeepot and start thinking of steaming volcanoes. And dinosaurs standing around drinking coffee, staring up at the giant meteor soaring through the air, commenting on how pretty it is.

I didn’t know it was a sym . . . a sym . . . a card for dead people.” “It’s a sympathy card,” she says. “And it’s for the people that miss the person that has died. Not for the dead.” “Well, don’t you think the dead person deserves a card more than anyone?” And she laughs.

“I miss Grandpa,” I say. Three words that hold sadness like a tree holds leaves.

“Time to set the world on fire!”

“Ally?” He pauses. “Can you tell me why you don’t want to be seen?” “I think it would be easier to be invisible.” “Why?” I shrug. I want to give him an answer, but I have both too many words and not enough.

I realize looking at him that, all this time, I haven’t been looking teachers in the face. I’ve been staring into their stomachs while I sit at my desk and they tell me the things that are wrong with me.

She thinks I’m a barrel full of crazy, but I keep going because sometimes my tongue goes on without my say-so.

There can’t be any place on the planet scarier than a school cafeteria.

I have never had the kinds of friends who have matching bracelets, but I have always wanted them. It’s like the bracelet tells the world that the person wearing it has someone who cares about them.

“Actually,” he says, “I don’t take my appearance lightly. I take you lightly.”

I’m not perfect, but at least I’m not mean. And then my heart sinks, because I realize that I just was. I guess I did it because I was lonely. Now I know that there are worse things than being lonely.

“Why do you always try to pull people down?” she asks. “Because some people deserve it, that’s why,” Shay answers. “Deserve to be pulled down? Really?” Keisha asks. Albert straightens his tie, which is the only part of his outfit that fits. He’s even wearing his sneakers with the backs cut out. “You know,” he says, “logically, if a person was to pull another down, it would mean that he or she is already below that person.”

In the end, neither of us had flowers when we walked into the auditorium. But we had bigger smiles than anyone else.

“Hey,” I say, trying to get the thoughts floating around in my head to land on the paper. I don’t know why the things in my brain get lost on the way down my arm.

“Well, you sit alone and we sit alone—but together, too—so I thought that we could all sit alone together.”

those girls are like walking pricker bushes,”

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.

“Why wouldn’t he live on Earth with people?” “He had once lived on Earth. He left to be alone. He wanted to be alone.” Keisha falls forward, dropping her arms on the table. “Why the heck would a man leave Earth with everything here to go off and sit on some rock in space all by himself?” Albert hesitates. “Well . . . he says it’s to ‘retreat from the unpleasantness of Earth and the company of people.’” Then he looks up right into my eyes. “I can see that. I can see why someone would want to avoid being with other people. A great number of them are not very nice to me . . . and, well . . .”

Sometimes a person will do just about anything for a wish to come true.

being lonely is never a choice. It’s not about who is with you or not. You can feel lonely when you’re alone, but the worst kind of lonely is when you’re in a room full of people, but you’re still alone. Or you feel like you are, anyway.”

We’re not gonna fit in, but we’re gonna stand out.

in order for Mr. Daniels to come up with this plan, he must have thought of me outside of school—when he didn’t have to think of me. I bet other teachers have never let me sit in their head one second longer than they had to.

This spelling stuff is all his fault, since he’s the one who got it in his head that we all needed to spell the same way. I’m thinking Noah Webster was a scoundrel and they should have put him in jail for this.

“I think it’s like saying ‘I’m sorry you’re going to die but at least people are going to bring you flowers.’”

‘Everyone is smart in different ways. But if you judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree, it will spend its whole life thinking that it’s stupid.’”

I see a mind movie where chess pieces come to life. They can travel around on the board all day by themselves and they are happy that they don’t have to just stand there and wait for somebody to pick them up and move them. I know how relieved they are, being able to do something for themselves.

I think about the words “learning differences.” And I’m filled with fear and happiness and questions. But I’m mostly filled with hope.

I look up and lock eyes with him and wish I had the words to tell him how grateful I am for his helping me. In this world of words, sometimes they just can’t say everything.

Be yourself.’ You always hear that.” “So?” Keisha asks. “Well,” Albert begins, “what if you don’t know who you are?” I get what he means, I think.

“There are always people ready to tell you who you are, like a nerd or a jerk or a wimp.” I think how it’s hard not to believe the bad stuff.

I think of words. The power they have. How they can be waved around like a wand—sometimes for good, like how Mr. Daniels uses them. How he makes kids like me and Oliver feel better about ourselves. And how words can also be used for bad. To hurt.

“No, it’s not blank. I drew a ghost in a blizzard.”

I try not to cry, I really do, but the tears leak from my eyes. Everything is so tight inside and I’m so tired of it being this way. It’s not like I wake up every day planning to be a failure.

I want you to consider that no matter how smart you are, success is reached with hard work, too.”

I guess maybe “I’m having trouble” is not the same as “I can’t.”

Albert is still confused, so I interrupt. “The shirts match because the three of us together are going to set the world on fire. Like Mr. Daniels says.” “Yes,” he says, “flint, steel, and magnesium are commonly used together for fire starters. I get it.”

“Just wanted you to know that you can always count on us.” “Well, that would make you either a set of fingers or an abacus.”

An elephant is a pachyderm. It means an animal with a thick skin.” I guess we’re all pachyderms, then. Or we pretend to be. His finger picks at the side of his thumb. “Elephants feel a wide range of emotions, but their behavior remains constant. On the outside, happy and sad often look the same.”

I smile because I really like Oliver. I’ve been thinking about myself so much, I never really noticed how funny he is.

I remember thinking that my reading differences were like dragging a concrete block around every day, and how I felt sorry for myself. Now I realize that everyone has their own blocks to drag around. And they all feel heavy.

Yes

“What letters do you see backward?” “Well, O, I, T, A, M, V, X, U . . . and some others.”

Mr. Daniels says I should concentrate on what I do well. I’m going to try to do that.

And there’s another mind movie. Of me being happy. Reading and making my art and finding a special Ally-shaped place in the world.

And remember: Great minds don’t think alike.