Sticks & Stones Read Online Free PDF Page B

Liam had asked.
    Dr. Patel looked at me, and I nodded. The class was pretty new to show-and-tell, but everyone already knew that you couldn’t bring something amazing and then refuse to show how it worked. “Elyse is awesome!” he said.
    The letters popped up on my wrist one by one. A-W-E-S-O-M-E. The entire class oohed and aahed. Best. Show-and-tell. Ever.
    And then everyone started talking at once, and soon I was completely covered. AMAZING. COOL. PRETTY. SUPER-DUPER. FUN. GREAT.
    Words popped up all over my arms and legs, and since you never know where on my arm or leg one will appear, my body suddenly became like a scavenger hunt. Kids jumped out of their seats to run around me in circles and point at things.
    â€œI found FUN !” someone hollered from behind me. The word was right below my knee.
    â€œ COOL is over here!” Someone grabbed my arm and held it up for everyone to see. I laughed along with the group. Kindergarten was the best.
    â€œCalm down,” our teacher said. “Remember, Elyse is not a toy!” And then she said, in a very scary voice, that anyone who chose to call me a bad name would face serious consequences.
    â€œLike no stickers?” Nice Andy asked, horrified.
    â€œLike no stickers. Among other things.”
    And then the party ended a little bit, because we had forgotten all about the whole bad-words aspect of my amazing show-and-tell, and everyone got kinda depressed over the thought of no stickers ever again. Our teacher had given us really amazing scratch-and-sniff ones that morning, so it wasn’t really a risk anyone wanted to take.
    We had the same little show-and-tell session each year of elementary school. To remind people, I guess. It got a lot more boring as I got older. Dr. Patel just babbled on and on about CAV, and whatever teacher I had made the same serious-consequences statement. Stickers didn’t matter as much as we got older, but there was always something that did.
    On the first day of middle school, Mr. Todd had called me into his office to ask if I’d like him to keep the show-and-tell tradition going. He had already been filled in about CAV from old teachers and Dr. Patel.
    Obviously the answer to that was a big fat no-thank-you. CAV used to be cool, but now it was embarrassing. If I just wore my long sleeves and my long pants, maybe everyone would forget I had it. I’d be called names because of them forgetting, probably, but being itchy was better than being embarrassed.
    Mom found out I said no, of course, and begged me—practically forced me—to change my mind. The only way I could calm her down was to agree to carry a travel-size lotion at all times and put Dr. Patel on speed dial on my cell phone.
    The only thing I’d miss about the class talks was getting a picture from Nice Andy afterward. I still had some of them. Once, he gave me a giant piece of paper that said “U R SO NIS” above a picture of two stick people holding hands, surrounded by hearts. After another show-and-tell, the paper said, “CAV is ok and grate” next to a picture of me in a cape that said “Super CAV Girl.” In another, the line of nice words turned into a paragraph, and Super CAV Girl got eyebrows, pierced ears, a magic wand, a crown, and her own unicorn.
    I used to show the pictures to Jeg. “Cool,” she’d say. Then she’d say something like, “Let’s go read a book. You can do the characters’ voices. You’re great at voices!”
    Even though Jeg protected me from mean kids and bad words, she wasn’t nice to me because I had CAV. She was nice to me just because that’s how she was. Nice Andy made me great pictures. Smiled at me. Gave me compliments. But sometimes I wondered if he really knew anything about me at all.

 
    9
    STRING CHEESE
    Hey, Self—
    I’m baaaack! Did you miss me?
    You probably remember this, but in case you don’t, there was