Paper Things: Chapters 27–43

“To me, Carter feels like a place where I could belong. It’s where everyone in my family went—Mama and Dad, Gage, even Janna. It’s a part of my history, but it’s also my future.” I shrug, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Anyway, that’s why I want to go to Carter.”

When I get to the library, I find a carrel and pull out my application to Carter.

I think about Omar as we meander closer and wonder if he and his family are living at the family shelter—or perhaps one of the long-term motels.

“But Ari isn’t old enough, remember?” says Gage.
“I’ll leave her age blank when I fill out the paperwork,” says West. “It will look like an oversight.”

And then something occurs to me, something that feels so right that I wonder if this was why my brain was fixating on those pictures.

I raise my hand tentatively and say, “What exactly is ‘civil disobedience’?”

“Ari, would you mind staying for a few minutes at the end of class?” Ms. Finch asks quietly as she walks by my workstation. My heart plummets.

Although I can hear voices from downstairs, I feel a million miles away from anyone. The rooms are cavernous. I can see why Chloe wants more furniture, to make it feel more homey.

I don’t want to provide details—details that will make it sound even worse than it was, details that will incriminate Gage.

“Before I had you guys, I had all kinds of ideas about how kids should be brought up. When I first met you, I couldn’t believe how lax your mother was. She seemed to ask so little of you and Gage, and you seemed to get away with so much. She never—”
“Gage is a good guy,” I interrupt.

Janna nods. “You’re right. In some ways, he’s quite mature for a boy his age. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before. I was so sure that he was going to turn out to be just like your father—impulsive and headstrong, following his passions and ignoring reality. But I’ve done a lot of soul-searching while you guys were away, and I think I might have misjudged your brother. Maybe your father, too.”

Janna nods. “You’re right. In some ways, he’s quite mature for a boy his age. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before. I was so sure that he was going to turn out to be just like your father—impulsive and headstrong, following his passions and ignoring reality. But I’ve done a lot of soul-searching while you guys were away, and I think I might have misjudged your brother. Maybe your father, too.”

“I’d like to help you in any way I can,” says Janna. “I know that we’ve butted heads in the past, but I really do want what’s best for you—and for Ari. You’ll let me know if you need help?” she asks, and her voice is more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard it.

Gage beckons her into the kitchen with a nod.

Janna’s whole expression softens, as if she’s just realized something huge. “You thought I didn’t want you. You thought I’d taken you and Ari in because I felt obligated to. Oh, Gage.”

“All from collecting coins on the street?” Janna asks incredulously. I smile and tell her that all kinds of valuable things are around us—we just have to open our eyes.

“Keisha is organizing a Crazy Hat Day tomorrow,” I confide, hoping that I haven’t misjudged Mr. O. and that he’ll keep it a secret from Mr. Chandler.

I push my way through the throng until I can see Keisha, who’s standing very straight and speaking to a reporter while she takes notes.

“As I’ve explained to students and faculty alike, these so-called traditions are frivolous and disrupt learning. Just take a look around! Valuable learning is being disrupted at this very moment. Students are not in class, where they are supposed to be; instead, they’re making hats in the hallways and trying to get their picture in the newspaper!”

“As I’ve explained to students and faculty alike, these so-called traditions are frivolous and disrupt learning. Just take a look around! Valuable learning is being disrupted at this very moment. Students are not in class, where they are supposed to be; instead, they’re making hats in the hallways and trying to get their picture in the newspaper!”

I cringe and turn around slowly, expecting to see a glowering Mr. Chandler.
Instead, I see the news reporter and photographer.

“What’s going on here?” the reporter asks.
She looks nice, but all I can focus on is her pencil poised in the air, ready to take down my every awkward word.

Then, during social studies, the intercom hums to life, and Mr. Chandler’s gruff voice crackles into Mr. O.’s classroom: “Attention, students. After discussing the matter with the members of the Port City School Board, I have decided to reinstate the Eastland Elementary traditions...."

I think about how cool Keisha was this morning, getting kids to wear their hats and speaking eloquently to the news reporter.

Maybe Sasha’s right, and they can’t legally discriminate against me for something like that, but I still can’t really believe that a school like Carter would want to admit a student whose most noteworthy quality is that she didn’t have a home for a month and a half.

Earlier this month, Arianna Hazard (who is credited with having had the original idea of a civic protest) and Daniel Huber hung snowflakes throughout the halls to bring attention to the issue.

She shakes her head as if trying to clear out what’s not important. “Relationships can be very complicated,” she says. “I think I was trying too hard to shape your father into the man I wanted him to be. I had a specific course for the two of us, and I was forever outlining my plans. Your mother was different; she was more playful, more spontaneous, and more accepting. I think your father liked who he was when he was around her.”

Instead of using animation or movie clips as I thought I might, I stop my slide show midway and present a little melodrama—a short old-fashioned play that has lots of scary action—just like the plays that Louisa May Alcott used to perform with her family, and like her characters performed in her books.

It’s a warm May day, and I’m looking up—taking in the new green leaves, the cloudless sky—when something catches my eye. It’s an airplane, a paper airplane, jutting out from a shrub.

“You must be so proud of Arianna!” he says. “We certainly are!”
Janna looks completely flabbergasted, like the wind’s been knocked out of her sails. But soon she’s grinning, too, and laughing.