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Mr. Casie, the teacher.
I ask where my desk is, but Mr. Casie's got a table all set up for me instead. There's a computer on it, which he says he's ordered earphones and some software for.
"There's also an electrical outlet for whatever else you need, Mandy," he says. "I suppose you'll be bringing a tape recorder?"
I have a sudden vision of Mandy the camel, hunching along the hall under a load of equipment.
"I don't know," I say. "Maybe."
I wish he'd let me slip into a normal desk like everyone else, but before I can ask there's a bell ringing and the room is filled with the racket of talking kids.
Hannah squeezes my arm. "You'll do OK," she says.
I find the chair and sit, wonder where to look. Wish maybe I had a tape recorder after all because it would be something I could be busy with. I wonder if everyone's staring at me?
I hold my hands tight together; I will not put them up to check my hair, check if my collar is flat.
It seems forever before the bell rings again and the room gets quiet.
Then Mr. Casie is telling the class who I am, and I say "Hi," hoping I'm talking in the right direction.
"Man," says some boy, "math's hard enough when you can see the stuff."
But Mr. Casie's telling everyone what page to turn to and at the same time telling me to try to follow along.
Then I realize the class is doing statistics, new material for them but stuff I've had before.
I think, Mandy, you know this.
One thing I learned years agoâthe more scared I am, the better it is to jump in fast. I wait for a question that I'm sure about the answer to and put up my hand.
"Mandy?" Mr. Casie calls on me.
"You don't try to control variables in a random sampling," I say. "That's the whole point of random samplesâthe randomness evens out the variables."
The boy who said "Man" before says "Man" again, this time like he's impressed.
My heart's pounding and I hold my hands in my lap, hope nobody can see how they're shaking.
"Very good, Mandy," says Mr. Casie, as if I haven't done anything special.
Chapter 5
H ANNAH TUGS ME through the halls the way some mothers tug their children, like attachments that are a normal part of things. I hold her arm, but she does the tugging.
I've wondered how I'll find a bathroom, but we go to one between classes, without me asking. Hannah warns me, "The seat's wet, don't sit down." Then she says, "Sorry. Tell me when I overdo."
How am I supposed to figure out how to deal with Hannah when she answers what's on my mind before I say it?
The rest of the morning goes by in a growing blur of noise and smells and bits of touch too small for me to know what I'm feeling.
Changing classes is the worst, and the crowds in the halls make it impossible for me to use my cane. We get to both English and geography late; the English teacher passes over it, but I hear the geography teacher give an exaggerated sigh.
He spends the period drilling the class on a current events map, making them find places mentioned in news stories: Seattle and Cincinnati, Yellowstone Park and the Columbia River Basin. And after class, when Hannah and I are leaving, he says, "Mandy, perhaps this class is not the best placement for you. This class is based on knowing maps."
"I can do geography without seeing your maps," I tell him. "I've lived in half the places you talked about."
Jerk, I think. I'll decide for myself what I can and cannot do.
But fourth period I sit out a gym class because the teacher says she's not allowed to have me participate in any activities until the modified program she's worked out gets official approval.
After that it's lunch. Somehow Hannah guesses how much I need quiet.
"Instead of the cafeteria," she says, "maybe we could eat in Ms. Zeisloff's room. You can have part of my sandwich, if you didn't bring anything."
The resource room is locked, but the day is warm enough for us to eat outside. We sit on the grass, our backs against the building. It's blessedly silent.
Slowly the welter
I ask where my desk is, but Mr. Casie's got a table all set up for me instead. There's a computer on it, which he says he's ordered earphones and some software for.
"There's also an electrical outlet for whatever else you need, Mandy," he says. "I suppose you'll be bringing a tape recorder?"
I have a sudden vision of Mandy the camel, hunching along the hall under a load of equipment.
"I don't know," I say. "Maybe."
I wish he'd let me slip into a normal desk like everyone else, but before I can ask there's a bell ringing and the room is filled with the racket of talking kids.
Hannah squeezes my arm. "You'll do OK," she says.
I find the chair and sit, wonder where to look. Wish maybe I had a tape recorder after all because it would be something I could be busy with. I wonder if everyone's staring at me?
I hold my hands tight together; I will not put them up to check my hair, check if my collar is flat.
It seems forever before the bell rings again and the room gets quiet.
Then Mr. Casie is telling the class who I am, and I say "Hi," hoping I'm talking in the right direction.
"Man," says some boy, "math's hard enough when you can see the stuff."
But Mr. Casie's telling everyone what page to turn to and at the same time telling me to try to follow along.
Then I realize the class is doing statistics, new material for them but stuff I've had before.
I think, Mandy, you know this.
One thing I learned years agoâthe more scared I am, the better it is to jump in fast. I wait for a question that I'm sure about the answer to and put up my hand.
"Mandy?" Mr. Casie calls on me.
"You don't try to control variables in a random sampling," I say. "That's the whole point of random samplesâthe randomness evens out the variables."
The boy who said "Man" before says "Man" again, this time like he's impressed.
My heart's pounding and I hold my hands in my lap, hope nobody can see how they're shaking.
"Very good, Mandy," says Mr. Casie, as if I haven't done anything special.
Chapter 5
H ANNAH TUGS ME through the halls the way some mothers tug their children, like attachments that are a normal part of things. I hold her arm, but she does the tugging.
I've wondered how I'll find a bathroom, but we go to one between classes, without me asking. Hannah warns me, "The seat's wet, don't sit down." Then she says, "Sorry. Tell me when I overdo."
How am I supposed to figure out how to deal with Hannah when she answers what's on my mind before I say it?
The rest of the morning goes by in a growing blur of noise and smells and bits of touch too small for me to know what I'm feeling.
Changing classes is the worst, and the crowds in the halls make it impossible for me to use my cane. We get to both English and geography late; the English teacher passes over it, but I hear the geography teacher give an exaggerated sigh.
He spends the period drilling the class on a current events map, making them find places mentioned in news stories: Seattle and Cincinnati, Yellowstone Park and the Columbia River Basin. And after class, when Hannah and I are leaving, he says, "Mandy, perhaps this class is not the best placement for you. This class is based on knowing maps."
"I can do geography without seeing your maps," I tell him. "I've lived in half the places you talked about."
Jerk, I think. I'll decide for myself what I can and cannot do.
But fourth period I sit out a gym class because the teacher says she's not allowed to have me participate in any activities until the modified program she's worked out gets official approval.
After that it's lunch. Somehow Hannah guesses how much I need quiet.
"Instead of the cafeteria," she says, "maybe we could eat in Ms. Zeisloff's room. You can have part of my sandwich, if you didn't bring anything."
The resource room is locked, but the day is warm enough for us to eat outside. We sit on the grass, our backs against the building. It's blessedly silent.
Slowly the welter
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