Poster Boy Read Online Free PDF Page B

left-handed?”
    â€œMy right hand’s really sore.” She shook out her right hand as if, in thinking about it, she suddenly realized it hurt. “I bet my writing’s already better than yours.” She held up her notes.
    â€œYeah, it is,” I said.
    â€œYeah, it is,” she repeated and if I didn’t know what I knew, I would have slapped her.
    â€œLook at my rice.”
    A month ago, she’d put her cooked rice in three different jars. On one jar she pasted the word LOVE in hot-pink letters, on another the word HATE in black letters. The third jar had nothing on it. Each day she said kind words to the Love jar, verbally abused the Hate jar and deliberately ignored the third jar.
    â€œSee the mold spot in the Hate jar?”
    I saw one black spot glowing gray under the white surface of rice.
    â€œWell, check this out.” She picked up the unlabeled jar. “The ignored jar has three mold spots. See? Which proves that negative attention is better than no attention at all.” The proud scientist smiled.
    Normally I would have said something cynical.
    â€œAnd,” she picked up the third jar, “the Love jar hasn’t any mold yet. Neat, huh?”
    I nodded. This was the sort of thing she’d normally share with Dad, assuming rightly that I could care less.
    â€œThat is cool,” I said.
    â€œYeah it is.” She looked at me to see if she could continue. I stood there staring at her. She picked up her book. “Dr. Emoto says there’s ancient power in words because words come from natural vibrations in the environment.”
    I thought of the word rhabdomyosarcoma written on the scrap of paper in my hand. What sort of vibrations did that word came from? I knew what it meant now. Soft tissue sarcomas — meaning cancerous tumors — found in muscles used for motion, and affecting young children and teens.
    â€œAnd all matter,” she continued excitedly, “including us, is made up of rapid vibrations of particles. There’s nothing actually solid about matter. It’s just constant motion. Which means all things, including us, are in a continual state of change.” She looked at me, eyes wide. “That’s wild, huh?”
    â€œWild,” I agreed, thinking of that bump in her calf. It wasn’t a ganglian cyst you could Bible thump away. It was a cancerous tumor.
    â€œWhich is why the vibrations of words can affect things. Dr. Emoto says even our intentions create energy fields that affect matter.”
    I remembered saying that she’d better be really sick, and my stomach did some slow flip.
    â€œI have to take a message out to Mom,” I said.
    Maggie didn’t respond. She was too busy carefully writing with her left hand.
    Nervous, I knocked on Mom’s studio door. The door was the color of an eggplant. The former shed now had a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows, a skylight, plumbing, a dark room added on. Its shingle siding was painted. She called it her sanctuary.
    â€œCome in,” she said.
    The place, as usual, had the smoky smell of inks and dyes. Today there was the tang of turpentine.
    â€œHow’s it going?” I said.
    â€œI’m great because I finally came up with the design for the last banner. I’m going Oriental, putting mahogany brown Japanese characters along the border which I’ll box in so they could also pass for Celtic.” She was talking more to herself than me.
    â€œAnd look at the pillowcases Maggie’s done. Beautiful, huh? Birthday gift for her friend Sasha.” Two pillowcases were hanging on a clothesline in the corner in shades of plum and blue.
    â€œNice.” I took a breath.
    â€œShe does it all herself now. From coming up with the design to applying the ink — everything. Even does her own wash-ups, which I’m very thankful for. Did you ever see the ties she did for her teachers?”
    â€œNo.” Okay, just