Brainzilla throws her hands in the air. “Fine,” she snaps. Then she draws a deep breath in and says, “Okay.” A little more softly, like she really means it.
I nod at Flatso, who hands over the mic, and Bloom steps to the center of the stage. He clears his throat. “Listen, I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says, and I’m once again back in my balloon, floating and happy. We did it! We really did it! We have reached Marty Bloom!
He looks back over his shoulder and catches my eye. Then he smiles, and turns back to the crowd. “I’m sorry you’re all such a bunch of losers.
“Look at you!” Marty shouts. “Blubbering and telling us your pathetic secrets! God—keep it to yourselves! All this blahblah just makes me want to punch you! And these guys”—he jerks his thumb back at the Freakshow—“they’re the worst! I mean, Maggie is insane. She was in a mental institution—remember that part of the story? She’s probably heading back there after this is all over! Right?”
He stands there a moment, like he expects a response. But the crowd is completely silent. Nobody speaks. Nobody moves.
Finally, I step forward. I touch Bloom’s shoulder, and he turns to look at me, smiling a hideous smile. I want to hit him. I want to claw at him. I want to scream. I want to say something brilliant and witty and devastating. But, in the end, I say the only thing I can think of.
“Boo,” I say.
Bloom laughs. “What?”
“Boo!” Eggy shouts. “Boooooooo!”
“Cut it out, loser,” Marty says, but, suddenly, the entire crowd is booing and hissing, and shouting for Bloom to get off the stage. He tries to say something else, but I can’t hear him—the crowd is too loud. Someone actually throws a shoe at his head. Flatso and Tebow don’t need any encouragement—they escort him from the stage.
As I watch Bloom get booed off the stage, I feel both disappointed and relieved, which surprises me. Relieved?
I can give up on him now.
That thought is like a door opening.
He isn’t going to change, no matter what I do.
I couldn’t change Bloom. And I can’t change my mother. The only person I can change… is me.
Wow.
Chapter 68
INNER CHILDREN
Do you know what situational irony is? Ms. Olsson pop-quizzed us on it a couple of weeks ago. It’s when you expect one thing to happen, but something completely different happens.
The Scream Out gave me a mini revelation about how I couldn’t change people. And then this happened:
Ironic? Or just weird?
Everyone in the class is staring at the chalkboard. Nobody speaks. I think most people are too afraid to ask if she really means it about the pop quizzes. Because—you know—what if she doesn’t?
But I have to know. “Um, excuse me, Ms. Olsson,” I say. “Did you write that on the board? About the pop quizzes?”
“I don’t remember calling on you,” Ms. Olsson snaps.
I put my hand in the air.
“Yes, Ms. Clarke?” she says, starting the conversation over from the beginning. So I repeat my question.
“Yes, I have written that on the board. It has come to my attention that pop quizzes are a great deal of pressure—perhaps more than necessary. My main objective is to be sure that you are completing and comprehending the reading. So I am instituting a new policy: I will assess your understanding of the reading by gauging your participation in classroom discussion. Every single person in this room is expected to make at least one comment per class. Your grade depends on it.” And then she smiles at us.
Tebow makes a low whistling noise, and I realize that Ms. Olsson is serious. This is a bit of a shock to my system. I feel a little like you do when you jump into a cold pool—at first, it takes your breath away. Then you realize that you feel pretty good. Ms. Olsson just wants us to talk about books? I can handle that.
I can more than handle it!
Some of the teachers were at the rally, and everyone must have heard about it, because there is definitely a kinder, gentler vibe in school. In math, Mrs. Rosewater gives us a pep talk. Well, sort of. She reads from Oh, The Places You’ll Go!, which is one of my favorite books. It kind of makes me feel like I’m back in kindergarten… in the best possible way.
“Do you think this is because of the rally?” Brainzilla asks me during PE class, where our dodgeball unit has somehow been converted into a unit where we help one another over a wall, perform trust falls, and work together to untie human knots.
“That or a full moon,” I reply, casting a sideways glance at Bloom, who has managed to avoid making eye contact for the entire day. I guess it’s the best we can hope for from the Haters. And it’s fine with me.
We didn’t change what we’d expected to—but we did change something. So I’d give our Operation Happiness an A-minus. And that’s not bad.
Chapter 69
GETTING GOOGLY
Studies show that periods of unstructured time lead to periods of greater creativity.”
“What do you mean by that?” Ms. Kellerman asks me. Yes, I’m back in her office by executive order.
“Didn’t you hear the Google lady?” I ask.
Ms. Kellerman writes something on her yellow pad (probably subject is hallucinating), and I explain, “The lady from Google, who came to talk to us last week? The Future Careers Club organized it?”
“Oh,” Ms. Kellerman says, scratching out what she had written on the pad.
“She said that everybody at Google gets time to wander around and create or just think or whatever for an hour or so every day. They actually get paid for it. So—that’s what my diary is,” I explain. “It’s just my unstructured brain. It’s not for sharing. I can only be relaxed and honest in my diary when I’m sure nobody is going to look at it.”
Ms. Kellerman is doodling something on her pad. Then, suddenly, she seems to realize what she’s doing. She looks at her goofy little flower doodle for a moment, then looks up at me. “I think I can understand that,” she says slowly.
We sit in silence for a moment. Mr. Tool is still insisting that I come talk to her for an hour a week, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe I should give Ms. Kellerman more of a chance. Maybe if I talk to her a little, she’ll see I’m not as crazy as she thinks.
“I’m not going to show you my diary,” I tell her, “but maybe I could tell you what I’m thinking, sometimes.”
“I just want to help you, Margaret,” Ms. Kellerman says. “You’ve been going through a difficult time. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
And—in that one moment, a space shorter than a second, really—I realize that Ms. Kellerman and Ms. Olsson have been making the same mistake. They’ve been trying to squeeze my thoughts out of me. But I don’t need to be squeezed.
I can just talk.
Chapter 70
ARE YOU READY FOR THIS?
I’m not sure I am.
I go on another date with Tebow.
And Laurence.
This time, we go ice-skating. I’m a pretty poor ice-skater, so the whole thing involves a lot of falling over.
“Are you okay?” Tebow asks, reaching for my hand. He pulls me upright, then takes both of my hands in his. “You just have to relax. It’s like walking—the more you think about it, the more awkward it is.” He begins to skate backward, pulling me with him, and for a while, we’re doing pretty well.