real Martians?”
“Well… I’m not sure. She did say you daydream a lot. Is that true?”
“Kind of. It isn’t like I plan to just start imagining stuff, except when I am playing. Otherwise, it happens by itself. I just forget what I am supposed to be doing. That’s when I get in trouble.”
“You know, Paige, it’s very important to pay attention in class. Your teacher is worried about you. She says you’re very smart and not working up to your potential.”
“Worried about me? No way. She hates me. She’s always frowning at me like this when she looks at me”—I made a face to show him what I meant— “and she constantly says stuff like ‘Paige, are you with us?’ and ‘Paige, you will not find the answer to the question outside the window’ and ‘Paige, for the hundredth time, pay attention, please!’” I did such a good impression of Ms. Bourgeois’ old-lady voice and mad face that Mr. Rodriguez smiled. “Nope. She hates me,” I sighed.
“Oh, no,” said Mr. Rodriguez firmly, “you’re wrong about that. She likes you a lot, and she wants you to pay attention and finish your work. She thinks you’re not trying because she believes you can do the assignments when you try. She’s concerned that you’re not focusing on your work consistently, not applying yourself.”
I sighed, slouching in my seat a little. “That’s what my dad says, too—that I just don’t apply myself. I wish I could figure out how to, but I don’t even know what it means.” I looked at the assistant principal, not sure that even I understood how the things in my life always got messed up.
“Do you ever imagine stuff, Mr. Rodriguez?” I asked.
“Sure. Sometimes, when I get stuck for an idea, I even do it on purpose. I just lean back here and look up at the map of the stars.” Mr. Rodriguez pointed to the ceiling.“That’s when I do some of my best thinking.”
I looked at the poster and realized that it was a map.
“Actually, it’s good to be able to daydream,” said Mr. Rodriguez. “The trick is knowing when and where to do it. It’s not a good idea to let your thoughts wander too much in school. Do you have any special place at home where you can daydream?”
“Yes,” I said, picturing my favorite spot immediately. “There’s an old tree in my front yard, close to the sidewalk. It has big, twisty roots that made tunnels under the cement and broke it up. You have to be really careful when you walk there. My tree is so huge that it makes lots of shade and no grass will grow under it.” He nodded, interested, so I went on.
“Do you know what I did? I tied an old blanket between these two big branches and I made a hammock up in the tree. It’s the most wonderful place in the world. I just lie there and imagine things. My tree is just perfect for climbing. It has these big knobby things on it in all the right places. Did you like to climb trees when you were a kid?”
“Sure,” he said. “In fact, I’ll tell you a secret.” He leaned toward me. “I would still climb trees if I didn’t think other grown-ups would give me a hard time about it.” I knew then that Mr. Rodriguez was just as cool as Captain Stone. “So you like to sit in this tree and think?”
I nodded, adding shyly, “Sometimes I feel like that tree is just as good a friend as my best friend Breanna. Sometimes I talk to my tree. But I whisper so people don’t think I’m crazy.”
“And the tree doesn’t answer back. Right?” Mr. Rodriguez smiled at me.
“No,” I giggled. “But I still like to think she understands. It makes me feel better sometimes.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “I had a stuffed toy that understood me when I was a kid. Now I just talk to the stars.”
“And the stars don’t answer back. Right?”
Mr. Rodriguez laughed. “Right.”
“Hey… stars!” I suddenly sat up straight. “That’s what I have to do my paper on,” I said excitedly, remembering. “Ms. Bourgeois assigned each kid in my class a paper. The one that has the best paper gets to sit on stage with Dr. Kelsey… I mean, Renee Lastrapes! That’s Dr. Kelsey’s real name, you know! She’s coming to our school! The real Dr. Kelsey Strongheart!”
Mr. Rodriguez smiled. “Yes, I’ve heard. Ms. Martin is busy planning. It’s all anybody has been talking about since I got here this morning.”
“I’m going to do the best paper in my class!” I told him. “I want to meet Dr. Kelsey more than anything else in the whole world! Do you ever watch Star Warrior, Mr. Rodriguez? Don’t you think it’s awesome?”
“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Rodriguez. “I know all about it. It’s my kids’ favorite show.”
Suddenly I remembered something else. “Mr. Rodriguez, you said you already called my mother. What did you talk to her about?”
“Well,” he replied, pausing, “I asked her how you were doing at home and if she thought you might really be the kind of kid who sees little green men.”
“Was she upset?” I asked.
“No, she seemed to find it rather funny. I hope you don’t mind, but she told me about Dr. Learner and her diagnosis.”
I froze. My mom told him that! How could she? Did she want people to think I was crazy? It was bad enough being called spacey.
Mr. Rodriguez didn’t seem to notice my frown. He went on. “She said that she took you to see a psychologist, Dr. Learner, and that the psychologist says that you have attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, the inattentive type, which means the kind where you sit still and daydream a lot.” He paused. “Your mom says she’s already explained to you about AD/HD, Paige. How do you feel about all this?”
How did I feel about it? Mad! Attention-deficit/ hyperactivity disorder (which my mom mostly just calls “AD/HD”) is something my hyper little brother has, not me! Dr. Learner is Mark’s psychologist. She helps him learn to control himself. But I am nothing like my little brother.
“It’s definitely not true!” I said. “My dad says it isn’t. Anyway, it’s all Ms. Keller’s fault that my mom made me go to that doctor. I’m definitely not hyper like Mark is.”
Ms. Keller was my third-grade teacher. Even now, a year later, I still blushed when I thought of the math paper that she made such a big deal about. During a quiz on times tables, my mind started to wander, and I decorated the answer sheet with this awesome picture of a princess at a ball. Wearing a sparkly gown made of multiplication signs, she was taking turns dancing with handsome multiples of the number five, all dressed in tuxedos made of division signs.
That day I was brought back to the classroom by the sound of Ms. Keller’s slightly hysterical voice, as she stood over my desk. “Paige, what on earth are you doing to your math test?” she exclaimed. I looked up. The whole class was laughing. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my whole life, and Jessica and Katie seem to bring it up at least once a month and probably will do so forever. It’s one of the reasons I am considering moving to China when I grow up.
As if reading my mind, Mr. Rodriguez went on. “Ms. Bourgeois pulled out an old math quiz of yours with drawings you did when you were in
