“So Athena went to her first ballet class. Her mom brought her special pink shoes and a black leotard. At her first class, Athena was shy, but the teacher and the other dancers were so nice. And the music was very pretty. So Athena learned to turn, and lift her arms, and point her toes. She learned how to take a bow at the end. Dancing made Athena smile every day.”
And then she took a bow.
“That’s why you dance so well!” I tapped. “Didn’t they say something about a dance on the last night?”
“I think so,” Karyn replied. “Let’s ask in the morning. That’ll be fun!” Then she added, “Uh, I have a story too.”
“Ooh, let’s hear it!” Athena said, nodding over and over.
“It’s a little embarrassing,” Karyn admitted.
“We won’t tell!” we all promised.
Karyn took a breath. “Well, okay. So, when I was in third grade,” she began, “I was the only kid in my class in a wheelchair.”
I sure could identify with that.
“The other kids were nice enough to me at school, but I never got invited to the birthday parties I heard them talk about after a weekend break. I guess it was too much trouble to deal with a wheelchair kid when your party included a bouncy house.”
Oh, boy, did we get that one.
“Anyway,” Karyn continued, “one day we had a substitute teacher. There was a fire drill that afternoon.”
I caught my breath. I bet I knew what was coming. But no, it was worse than I could have guessed.
“Did I mention the classroom was on the third floor?” Karyn asked. “It was music and was the only class I had that wasn’t on the main level. The regular teacher was a big guy who could easily carry me down the stairs if necessary. Even though that was way embarrassing!”
Our eyes went wide.
“Anyway, that stupid fire alarm went off, and everyone in class stood up and marched out like we’d practiced at a million fire drills before. The substitute looked at me and announced to the class, ‘Let’s head to the elevators, children!’
“A few kids looked at her like she was crazy, but nobody said anything. So we got to the elevator, which, duh, DOES NOT WORK DURING A FIRE EMERGENCY, and so the substitute said, ‘Let’s take the stairs. Hurry!’
“?‘What about Karyn?’ one girl asked.
“?‘She’ll be fine. It’s just a drill. And we’ll be right back.’?”
Jocelyn stared in disbelief as I gasped.
Karyn bit at her lower lip, her eyes full of hurt. “So the rest of the class hurried down the three flights of stairs. The substitute hesitated for a minute, but for real, she did not know what to do!
“?‘We’ll be right back,’ she told me.
“?‘You’re gonna leave me in here?’ I asked.
“?‘These things are over in five minutes. Just relax,’ she told me. Then she ran down the steps after the others!”
“Oh no, she didn’t!” Athena was quaking with rage.
“And she left me in the hall by the elevator door,” Karyn continued.
Our mouths fell open.
“What happened?” I asked though Elvira.
Karyn brushed away a lone tear. “Well, when my mom found out, she went ballistic.”
“I know that’s right!” Athena shouted furiously.
“What about the teacher?” Jocelyn asked, making frantic circles on the floor with her finger.
“Well, the substitute got fired,” Karyn told us. “And barred from ever teaching anywhere again.”
“Yes!” we all shrieked.
Karyn looked at each of us, blinking hard. “I’m not crying!” she said, then choke-laughed. “Well, I am. But not why you think.” She paused. We waited.
“It’s just… I never thought anyone else would understand.”
Athena jumped up and held out her Blankie. “Need this?” And now Karyn was full-on crying. But smiling, too.
“Thank you. I do need Blankie!” She hugged it close and wiped her eyes with her pajama sleeves. “Soooooo! Who’s next?”
Jocelyn stood up. “I got a story. Story, story,” she said softly, staring down at the floor. “It’s… well… sad.”
“Tell us, Jocelyn,” Karyn said just as softly.
Athena sat on Jocelyn’s bunk and patted it for Jocelyn to join her. “Nobody here but us!” she said. When Jocelyn sat, Athena gave a happy bounce.
Jocelyn took a breath, then began, “I’m in a special class at a regular school.”
“Yeah, us too,” Athena reminded her.
“But sometimes the kids in ‘regular’ are kinda mean, mean, mean.”
We all knew exactly what she was talking about.
“Well, you know how I like things in threes. It just makes sense to me, and my doctor explained that it makes me feel safe.”
We nodded. Whatever works!
“So I sit at lunch by myself every day. It’s just… less complicated.”
She wasn’t looking down anymore.
“My mom always gives me extra lunch money, and my teachers try to keep a lookout, but sometimes kids are, well… One day, on my tray I had three juice boxes, three bags of apple slices, and three chocolate pudding cups. But kids kept swiping them. I can’t start eating unless I have three in front of me, so I had to go back to the lunch lady and explain.”
“That’s awful!” Karyn exclaimed angrily.
“After a while, the lunch lady wouldn’t give me any more, and I ran out of money anyway, and I never did get to eat because the bell rang….” She sniffed, hard.
Karyn rolled close and grabbed Jocelyn’s hand.
“I told my mom, and she told the teacher, and the teacher gave the whole class a lecture on being kind to ‘special’ kids, but nothing really changed. So I ended up eating in the back of the teachers’ lounge every day, all by myself. But I still like the number three,” she added. “It’s just right for me!”
We were all dead silent when she finished. Our cozy room was filled with… deep blue.
I knew the counselors would be back any minute, and I hadn’t told a story yet. I wanted to tell them about what happened with Whiz Kids in fifth grade, how the entire team ditched me because they were too embarrassed to be seen with someone like me and didn’t like the attention I got. But even more, I wanted to do something, say something, to make everyone feel better.
That was when I remembered Mrs. V’s present.
“Look in the outside pocket of my backpack. Look for the small orange bag!” I tapped fast. Jocelyn, her face a question mark, hopped right up, unzipped that pocket, and pulled out the small cloth bag.