Laleh was curled up on her bed, in a cocoon of pillows and stuffed animals, when I went to check on her.
“Hey, Laleh. What’re you reading?”
She held up a worn copy ofThe Phantom Tollbooth.
“That’s one of my favorites.”
“I borrowed it,” she said. “Is that okay?”
“Of course. Can I sit?”
She moved her knees over, and I sat on her bed.
“Mom told me the news.”
“Yeah.”
“Is this what you want?”
Laleh looked down at her hands. “I don’t know.”
“That’s okay.” I wrapped my arm around Laleh and kissed the top of her head. “Are your classmates any better? Or Miss Hawn?”
“No,” Laleh grumbled.
“I’m sorry. I wish I knew how to fix it.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, though. I want you to know that. It’s not okay when your classmates do it to you. And it’s not okay when Soulless Minions of Orthodoxy do it to me. Just because they do it doesn’t mean it’s okay.”
“What’s a Soulless Minion of Orthodoxy?”
“Oh. That’s what I call bullies.”
Laleh scrunched up her nose.
“Sorry. But you know what makes it easier, when I get picked on?”
“What?”
“I know when I go to soccer practice, there’s no one like that. That I’m with people who care about me. And it makes it easier to go through the day, knowing at the end I get to go somewhere like that. Where I don’t have to worry.”
Laleh looked down at her hands again.
I closed them in mine. They fit so perfectly I wanted to cry.
“Will you try it out? Just for a little while?”
“Okay.”
“No, wait.” Chip pointed to my mistake. “i³is-i.”
“Crap.”
I scratched out my mistake and started over.
I had a test in Algebra II on Monday, and Chip had agreed to help me study, as long as we did it at his place so he could babysit Evie.
