Ah, LaRose! Maybe not an A student, but a worker, quiet, and so kind. Respectful, easygoing, pleasant, a little shy. Those eyelashes! What a sweet boy. Dreamy sometimes. And accomplished! He could draw anything he wanted. Sang, off-key but with expression. A talent show favorite with Johnny Cash tunes, the boy in black. Just a love, the teachers gushed, he makes it all worthwhile. They knew the teachers meant worthwhile dealing with Maggie, how the struggle for her soul was worth the effort once they got to LaRose.
Maybe things would be different now that Maggie was in ninth grade. Now that she had more freedom. Now that her whole other family—Hollis, Snow, Josette, Willard, and LaRose—was in her new school also.
Peter and Nola each ate a tasteless cookie from the plates set out in the hallway. They sipped scorched coffee waiting for the first teacher to finish with the parents before them. At last they entered the classroom.
If she’s trying to find her footing here by kicking in doors, that’s not an appropriate choice, said Germaine Miller, English teacher.
I am trying my hardest not to fail her, because I can tell she’s bright, said Social Studies.
If only she would do her homework! Cal Dorfman shook his head over math scores.
Nola explained that Maggie did math homework every night. Peter said he’d even tried to check it but she was so independent now. The three looked from one to another in distress. The teacher sighed and said that Maggie probably didn’t turn her homework in because she lacked organizational skills. From now on he would stop the class every day until she coughed up a homework paper. So it went.
Except for Physical Science. Mr. Hossel gave a pallid smile when they introduced themselves. But Mr. Hossel was already talking about what a hardworking daughter they had and how they must be extremely proud of her deductive skills, her logical mind, her disciplined approach to handing in homework and how well she worked on group projects. She seemed fascinated by the laws of motion, for instance, and she was excellent at calculating speed.
Nola gaped, Peter flushed. Mr. Hossel grew more animated.
She is super eloquent describing the electromagnetic spectrum, he cried.
We are Maggie Ravich’s parents, they reminded Mr. Hossel.
The science teacher scratched his hands, poked at his glasses, and went on.
I wish more students were like Maggie in terms of class participation. What impresses me is that she’s fearless. Shrugs off mistakes. That’s unusual in a young person—they are terrified of being laughed at—you know this age! But Maggie will play with an idea. Throw something out to spark discussion. At what exact moment does inertia become momentum? Can we measure that moment? It goes to the heart of everything, said Mr. Hossel with a pensive sniff.
Again he repeated those golden words: You must be very proud of your daughter.
Then he showed them her A.
Peter and Nola beamed out of Mr. Hossel’s classroom. They crossed the parking lot holding hands, brought together by the contradictions.
Finally, a teacher who gets her, Peter said.
He really was . . .
Nola faltered.
He really was talking about Maggie, wasn’t he?
Maybe at school, she only shows her real self to him, Peter answered. She trusts Hossel the way she trusts us. I see all of those things in her, the bravery, you know? The discipline. This teacher has just opened some door for her. I don’t understand, honey, but with this experience the sky’s the limit! She always had it in her, didn’t she. Always had it.
We weren’t wrong.
Nola clutched his hand tighter. They got into the car and drove home, silent, Nola gripping Peter’s knee.
As they pulled into the driveway, Maggie opened the door, waving with a happy smile. Usually, her cheerful greeting after teacher conferences was an attempt to mitigate the misery she knew she had inflicted on her father. Up until this year, she hadn’t cared if she pained Nola. But now she did care. She wanted to avoid bringing down her mother’s mood. She didn’t want to trigger a relapse. While they were gone, she’d made oxtail and vegetable soup, plus the little frybreads Josette had showed her how to make. Maggie loved, or at least pretended to love, making soup and frybread. LaRose charmingly stole pieces as they cooled, tossing the oily, hot bits of fried dough hand to hand. Maggie chased him around the kitchen island. Nola laughed at this, giddy. Peter should have been giddy too, but something about the scene was disturbing. It was as though the two were putting on a show for Nola, giving her a warm glimpse of normal brother-sister hijinks. They glanced at their mother, from time to time, anxious to make sure she was pleased.
That weekend, in celebration of Maggie’s Physical Science A, Nola wanted to bake a cake with her daughter’s name on it. Maggie told her that eating cake gave her diarrhea.
But you love cakes, said Nola.
Mom, I wanted to make you happy. But no cakes.
Maggie had read about obsessive-compulsive behavior in a library magazine and had resolved to keep her mother from embarking on addictive binges—plus she did hate cake because of all the cake making after Dusty was killed, and after LaRose appeared. Cakes brought bad feelings, especially cakes bearing names. She didn’t want cakes in the house.