A List of Cages(24)

“Why?”

“You have dyslexia. Aren’t you supposed to get—what are they called—accommodations?”

“No. I don’t think so. I don’t have dyslexia anymore.”

He gives my paper a suspicious look. “You don’t have Reading Improvement or anything?”

“No.”

“Maybe Dr. Whitlock could test you for it.”

“I don’t think I have it.” I’m just not smart.

“Well, if you did have it, it’s fixable. There are exercises, homeopathic drops….”

“Drops?”

“Yeah, there are remedies for everything. That’s how I got off my ADHD meds.”

I follow Adam as he flies into the courtyard. Once outside, he’s like a dog let off his leash. I sit on the bench while he kicks a pile of leaves, then swan-dives into them. He peels off his red hoodie and uses it as a pillow. Lying on his back, he lifts my essay over his face and reads it again.

“It’s good, you know,” he says after a couple of minutes. “You were always a good writer—stop shaking your head. It’s true. Sometimes people get too impatient. Your teacher can’t read your handwriting, and you can’t spell, so she just gave up. But it doesn’t mean you’re not good.”

I look at him closely, trying to read his face. He looks like he really means it. I think of my trunk full of stories, and my heart speeds up. Maybe someone could read them. Maybe someone could like them.

“People get so impatient, you know?”

I nod. I know.

“When I was younger, my ADHD was sort of out of control. It drove my teachers freakin crazy. I wasn’t trying to aggravate anyone, but it was like a physical impossibility to sit still and do work. In sixth grade I was failing every single class—seriously, every class—so Mom took me to a doctor and I got on meds.

“It worked, sort of. I mean I could sit in my chair without going insane, and I was quiet, so my teachers were happy. But then I got sick, like hospital sick. I was throwing up all the time. I couldn’t sleep. I was losing weight.”

I don’t want to picture Adam being sick.

“Finally my doctor said everything was a side effect of the medication. He told Mom he could switch me to something else, but she was like, hell no. That’s when she got really into nutrition and homeopathy. She’d do anything to make sure I’m well.”

“Are you well?”

“Yeah. I feel great.”

“So you’re passing your classes now?”

“A’s and B’s.”

“But don’t you…” He looks up, waiting for me to finish. “Don’t you still have ADHD?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I do. But I get good grades and I can function and I’m happy.”

“That’s good, Adam. I wouldn’t like it if you were unhappy.”

He lifts his shoulders off the ground, flashing a sort of smile I can’t decipher, then crawls out of the leaves and returns my essay to me. It’s even more crinkled now, and smudged with soil. “Next time you have to hand something in, just tell me. I can proofread it or whatever.”

I nod, but I know I won’t. If he’s being nice enough to offer, I should be nice enough to never do it. The wind picks up, but instead of putting his sweatshirt back on, he just fits the hood over his head. As he walks forward, it billows behind him like a cape.





IT’S THE LAST day of November and so freakin cold I don’t bother taking off my in-class-Siberia-layers when I’m walking to the van after school. I’m about to hop inside when I notice Julian standing totally still at the top of the back steps.

“Hey! Julian!” I call. He looks up like he’s been snapped out of a trance. I wave him over, and he approaches, slowly. “You miss your bus?”

He makes the suspicious face he makes sometimes, like he’s trying to come up with a story. “Yes.”

“Get in. I’ll give you a ride.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to. It’s not that far.”

“Where’s your house?”

“Wicker Street. By the water tower.”

“That’s like ten miles. Get in.”

“No really. It’s—”

“Julian, get your ass in the car.”

He quickly hops into the front seat, then looks around in awe. “It’s a spaceship.”

I’m chuckling when Charlie rips open the front passenger door and orders, “In the back.” I consider protesting, but Julian’s already climbing out. As soon as Allison, Jesse, Camila, and Emerald pile in back next to him, I peel out of the parking lot, and we all start talking about the birthday party Emerald’s having at her place tomorrow.

“Exactly who’s coming?” Camila wants to know.

“Well, us, of course,” Emerald says, “and Kerry and Mason and that group, and—”

“Wait, theater kids?” Camila sneers.

“Careful, Camila.” Charlie laughs. “Adam was almost a theater kid.”

“Yeah, maybe if I wasn’t so lazy.” I glance in the rearview, catch sight of a very pale Julian, and shit, I didn’t exactly forget about his car phobia, but I guess I thought he didn’t have it anymore.