CHAPTER 21
It’s Monday, and I’m as cold as the trees outside the classroom window. As I watch, it starts to snow, flakes falling silently onto bare branches. I wonder if the trees miss their leaves—dropped like a friend who turns out not to understand you at all.
My earmuffs are on. I am as alone as I was on the first day of fifth grade.
Eyes shut, I imagine myself back at the library, but it doesn’t work this time. Instead of my usual quiet zone, I remember too-loud Madge and shhh and inside voices from the librarian. I try thinking of Copley Station, overlaid with Belle’s sounds.
Madge is humming, and I open my eyes and glance at her. She must be remembering Belle too. If we were talking, I’d say, That’s Belle’s song! But I keep my mouth shut.
Madge sees me looking at her and says, “I don’t care about going together to Belle’s concert anymore. Oma says it’s too far, and anyway, we heard Belle for free.”
I can see she’s mad, and I am too, so I don’t say anything. Giving her the silent treatment is too easy for me.
Later, in the middle of Mr. Fabian’s textbook voice reading about historical monuments in Washington, DC, Jax shouts, “It’s snowing harder!”
Everyone perks up, turning to the windows. Snowflakes, heavy and wet, are falling. The grass and the sidewalks are already covered.
“Maybe tomorrow will be a snow day,” Madge says to Jax.
“Snowball fight,” he says, and they high-five. No one high-fives me.
“Quiet down,” Mr. Fabian says, and tries to bring us back to social studies.
I hope we have a snow day too. Snow days mean quiet reading time.
When Mr. Fabian passes back the place values test, my mood lifts when I see 100% at the top of mine.
“Eighty percent! I only missed four!” Madge exclaims.
“You did wonderfully,” Mr. Fabian says.
If we were talking, if my feelings weren’t still hurt, I would tell Madge how happy I am that she did well. Instead I say nothing, and she walks out with Jax, boasting about math tricks. Under my earmuffs, I pretend Madge doesn’t matter.
Deb-and-Kiki watch me watching Madge and Jax.
“The only reason Madge wanted to be Amelia Mouse’s friend was for math help!” Kiki says loudly to Deb.
I go still. Her words pierce through my muffs. Is Kiki right? Did Madge and I only practice trombone together because I taught her math tricks? Did we only go to the BPL together because I helped her take the T? Maybe we were never friends.
Madge and I slide into side-by-side chairs in trombone class. Madge plays the A-flat scale perfectly. We run through “Rondeau.” I miss the low note again. I edge my chair a little away.
Ms. Parker says, “Let’s do that again from the top. More breath, less brass.”
Madge blows loudly as if to complain.
I clap my hands over my muffs. I stand up. “Will we ever use mutes, Ms. Parker?”
“Too noisy for you?” Madge says, laughing. When I don’t laugh, her face falls flat like a wrong note.
Mom was wrong. We’re too different to be friends.
Fingers tight on my lunch bag on the way to the cafeteria, I hear someone shout, “Amelia!”
I stop and slide my earmuffs down, as if I’ve been caught. I turn and see Mr. Skerritt. You’d think he would know not to yell my name.
“How is fifth grade going?” His voice wheezes. “Ms. Parker and Mr. Fabian have been sharing good updates with me about your progress.”
I breathe in and out before speaking. I can’t tell him all the things I am worried about and how I’ve tried muff-less days and how sometimes it’s impossible and sometimes it’s better. And how right now everything is awful.
“I’m doing great.” I grip my lunch bag harder. I feel terrible for lying.
He looks thoughtfully at the earmuffs around my neck. “Have you added more sounds you like to your list? And do you put those earmuffs aside sometimes?”
I stretch the truth a little. “No new sounds, but I can play trombone without earmuffs.” Which makes me think of the holiday concert and my slide fail and the locked closet, and I blink hard to make the memories stop.
“I can hear you are trying.” He smiles so widely, his ears grow longer. “Be patient. It takes time to adapt.”
I swallow, hard. I didn’t expect Mr. Skerritt to understand me better than Madge. I walk into the cafeteria even more miserable.
I can’t eat at our table. As I turn away, I see Madge jostle Jax, who then collides into Deb-and-Kiki.
“Hey, watch it,” Deb says.
“Yeah, didn’t your mom teach you manners?” Kiki sneers. “Oh right. Madge doesn’t have a mom.”
Madge is fire-red-faced, her fists clenched. Her mouth opens, then shuts. For the first time, Madge doesn’t fight back. She turns toward me, and our eyes briefly connect.
I don’t know what to say, and anyway, we’re not friends anymore. I turn away, as if I didn’t hear. Between my muffs, I make excuses: I’m invisible, the old Amelia. It’s easier to be silent, easier to not be brave.
Outside the cafeteria windows, the snow is falling faster, thicker. Mr. Fabian is talking to the principal. I catch three words—“blizzard” and “close early?” They step out into the hall.
I’m almost to my old table in the corner when a commotion loud enough to reach my muffed ears makes me look back.
I don’t know what happened, but Madge’s arms are flailing. Her lunch flies out of her hands, and she lands splat on her butt on the floor. The laughter splashes from table to table around the whole cafeteria.
A snort-laugh escapes from my lips. I clap my hand over my mouth to take it back. Too late.
Madge’s eyes laser burn me as she scrambles up from the floor and runs out of the cafeteria.
I sit and turn my flushed face to the corner, my back to the cafeteria. I don’t watch Madge leave. I pull out my copy of Alanna. I try to read but remember instead how nice it was when Madge didn’t laugh at me when Noah made me jump with his trumpet blast, or when I fell out of the instrument closet. I really messed up when I laughed at her. How can I undo a sound I made? I grip the curved pages, bending my book open too far. I reach into my bag for my cold cheese sandwich.
A folded piece of paper falls onto the table. Someone snuck a note into my bag before lunch.
I open it and read:
Knaht uoy rof gnipleh em htiw htam! S’tel pots gnithgif.
Ruoy tseb dneirf, Egdam
Best. Friend. And I’ve been the worst. My heart crashes to the floor, like my trombone slide.