Runt (4 page)

“Then they're pretty strong and they'll be fine.”

“But how do you
know
?”

“It's survival of the fittest, sweetie. It's nature's way.”

Ethan heard her kiss him. She said good night to the rest of them, the light from the bathroom momentarily cutting her body in two when she stood up, then she slipped out the door.

Ethan fell asleep thinking about the horses, as the rain pounded the house all night.

Freida knew Maggie wouldn't vote
for her poetry anthology cover and that Maggie would somehow be able to get the whole class to vote for someone
she
wanted to have win. That someone would, of course, be Larissa Peterson.

She knew it, even as she sat at her dining room table at home and worked on her design. Lots of people can draw really well, Maggie thought. Even Larissa. The key to being an artist is to be different, do something in a new way, with an original voice. Like they were always saying on
American Idol
:
Make it your own.

Freida had a drawer in the kitchen that held all her art supplies, scissors, tape, fimo clay, paper, glue, ribbons,
glitter, paints and brushes, stapler, hole punch, rubber stamps, markers, colored pencils, charcoal pencils, gesso board, an X-Acto knife that her mother didn't know was there. And on the outside of the drawer she had taped a sign:
DO NOT OPEN
.

It was open now and all the found objects Freida had been collecting were spread out on the table. Something to represent everyone in the class. A blue feather for Elizabeth's blue eyes. Half of an old lace from a basketball sneaker for Matthew. The torn cover of a fashion magazine for Zoe.

She carefully took apart one of her dad's old watches and separated the tiniest metal pieces on the board to represent time, the time they had spent together, in light and in dark. She had the wrapper to Kyle's favorite candy bar, a piece of the Nigerian flag because Assumpta's mother had been an African princess. For Ethan she found an actual strip of used film since he was so into photography now.

Only for Maggie she drew. It took most of the evening. She drew what Aristophanes described as the first humans, combined as one powerful being that spun on four legs like a wheel. Then she carefully glued all the other pieces over it, so only if you looked very carefully could you see what lay underneath.

“Oh my goodness, that's incredible.” Freida's mother walked into the dining room. “I wondered what you were doing in here so long.”

Freida held it up. The name of the anthology—when the class chose it—would go right in the center. She left a space so that nothing would be completely covered, but nothing would stand out more than anything else.

“Freida, it's lovely. When you stand back”—her mother took a few steps back—“it just looks like one colorful piece, but up close you see all the details. Is it for a special project?”

Freida looked at the board, her design, the work she put into it. It would be too hard to duplicate anyway. They would have to photograph it at a high resolution and reproduce it in three, if not four, colors. It would be too expensive. And besides, Larissa would win. Maggie would make sure of that.

“No,” Freida answered. “I just made it for me.”

“It's great you have that freedom, Freida,” her mother said. “I'm so proud of you.”

Sometimes it was better to get out of the game altogether instead of worrying if you were winning or losing.

COINCIDENCE
|kō'-in(t)-s
-den(t)s|

noun

1
a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection :
it's no coincidence that this new burst of innovation has occurred in the free nations | they met
by coincidence
.

2
correspondence in nature or in time of occurrence :
the coincidence of interest between the mining companies and certain politicians.

3 Physics
the presence of ionizing particles or other objects in two or more detectors simultaneously, or of two or more signals simultaneously in a circuit.

And the funny part was that she wasn't going to have to change her name.

Only Elizabeth didn't think there was anything funny
about any of it. Miss Robinson told the class she was getting married. She made it into one of her word games. Elizabeth didn't write down one word (even though
coincidence
was such an easy one). She just sat there wondering how she was going to get by for the two weeks Miss Robinson—who would henceforth be known as Mrs. Robinson—was away on her honeymoon.

coin

den

nice

need

Sometimes Elizabeth dreamed about Miss Robinson. She dreamed Miss Robinson was her mother and they went on picnics together. It must have been something she had seen in a TV commercial, with a red checkered blanket and a wicker basket, because on the picnic, in the dream, she spilled ketchup on her shirt and Miss Robinson cleaned it up right away with some special laundry detergent and she didn't get mad at all.

Miss Robinson never got mad. She taught language arts and social studies. She had her own library in the back of the room and kids were allowed to borrow books without signing them out or being told to be quiet while
finding one. She called it the honor system. She expected you to return the book. If you lost it, she expected you to replace it with some other (appropriate) book, but she didn't get mad.

It's not that Elizabeth didn't love her own mother. She did.

It was just a dream.

ice

dice

no

in

none

Regina Rashad won this time. She got to pick her prize from the drawer. Then Miss Robinson told everyone to take out their notebooks. It was time for language arts.

“I'd like to ask everyone what their parents thought of our anthology.”

“
The Answering Voice,
” Ethan called out.

“
The Answering Voice,
” Miss Robinson agreed. “So let's go around the room. I'd love to hear.”

Even the desks in Miss Robinson's room were arranged in a special way, like a giant horseshoe, two horseshoes—one smaller one inside the bigger one,
everyone facing the back of the room, where Miss Robinson sat directly in front of all her books. She started at the far left, outer horseshoe.

“My mom and dad loved it.”

“Very creative and wonderful.”

And then once somebody had used a word, it seemed it was the only word the next five people could remember.

“Just like a real book. The poems were all so creative.”

“Really creative.”

“All the poems were really creative.”

“Wonderful and creative.”

“My mom said it was really creative. She loved it.”

Elizabeth counted the number of kids till Miss Robinson got to her and asked what her parents thought of
The Answering Voice.
Only her mother hadn't seen the book of poetry. Her mother didn't even know about it, and Elizabeth hadn't talked to her father in three years—which was actually a very good thing, according to Elizabeth's mom.

So what would Elizabeth say? She had had all weekend to show her mom. She had Friday night and all day Saturday and all day Sunday. Friday was the vet and then there was Saturday.

“Not now, Lizzybeth,” her mother said. “Just let me
sleep a little bit.” And somehow the day got away from them. Her mother got up by lunch. The dogs needed to be fed. The kitty litter changed. There were two rabbits now, still outside in their hutch. At night her mother had her favorite shows on TV.

And then Sunday, after church. They stopped at the A&P for one of those already-cooked chickens. To be fair, Elizabeth probably forgot about it for a while on Sunday and then by nightfall, who knows?

“Elizabeth?”

She loved Miss Robinson. Miss Robinson thought she was smart. She liked Elizabeth's writing, her stories. Elizabeth always got a hundred on the vocabulary quizzes. Her best skill was using the vocabulary word in a sentence. But not just any sentence, like Maggie did when the word was “anticipate.”

“I like to anticipate the new year,” Maggie said, and Miss Robinson said that was good.

Elizabeth raised her hand. “They failed to
anticipate
the rain and so everyone at the picnic got wet because they didn't bring umbrellas.”

“Perfect, Elizabeth,” Miss Robinson said. “That so perfectly illustrates the meaning of the word.”

“Did your mother like the poetry book?” Miss Robinson was asking.

She didn't know how to answer, but Elizabeth started talking anyway, hoping maybe, she could find that feeling again, that so-good feeling she got when Miss Robinson was happy with her.

“My mother thought mine was better than everyone else's.” And once she had begun she just kept going. “I mean, the others were cute, like about snow and sunshine and everything. But my mother said mine was different. It was more meaningful.” There was no stopping her. “And my dad said mine was the best too. Rhyming poems are silly, he said. He liked mine the best because it didn't rhyme. And it was about something. Meaningful, you know?”

The whole room was suddenly very quiet and very very hot. Elizabeth knew there probably wasn't a laundry detergent in the whole world that could get this stain out.

Zoe: Ugg.. I haaaate goin to the orthodontist

Maggie: no fun.. but mayb u will c sum cute boyz in the w8ting room ;)

Zoe: we r l8 as usual

Zoe: of course my mom is blabbin on her cell && speeding.. smaarrrt

Maggie: wut? she tlkng crap bout sumbody?

Zoe: ya.. shocking

Maggie: wuts she tlkng bout now?

Zoe: wellll.. I guess she saw Larissas mom wearin a fake Louis

Maggie: lame.. tell her 2 get a life

Zoe: so annoying.. she won't stop tlkng bout it >:o

Zoe: least shes not comin in w/ me

Zoe: Hello?

Zoe: u still thr?

Zoe: ugg! its packed in here.. gunna take 4ever!

Maggie: read a magazine?

Zoe: no gud 1s they r all old

Zoe: Oh snap.. qt alert!!!!

Maggie: o ya!?!

Zoe: ya just checkin out my competition haha

Maggie: lol u r funny.. lyke WE have competition

Maggie: soooo.. nething gud??

Zoe: HAH! O man.. freckle-face miiiight have a chance lolol!

Zoe: Maggie u shud c this grl!! She prob has lyke 1002429834 freckles all over her skinny body.. yuck!

Maggie: pretty skinny or throw up skinny?

Zoe: Pretty skinny but UGLY jeans haha

Maggie: wut wud u rank her?

Zoe : hmm on a scale from 1 – 10 . . .

Zoe: 5.5.. 2 below me n 3 below u lolol