But actually I wasn’t as happy as I probably should’ve been. Or as proud either. Because maybe it was silly, but I guess I thought just once I would get an A. And I guess maybe I thought it would happen that time.
I wondered what getting an A would feel like. The best feeling in the world, probably. Like going to a Yankees game with your dad and eating three hot dogs with extra everything.
But I didn’t get an A. I got a B. Getting a B didn’t feel like the best feeling in the world. It felt almost good. Almost happy. Almost proud. But not as good as an A.
I guess Betsy could tell I was feeling a little bit sad about the B, because when I was up at the front of the room sharpening my pencil, Betsy turned over the paper on my desk so you could see the grade, and right after the spot where Mrs. Rouse had written the B with her big red marker, Betsy wrote two other words, so that it said
B is for
And then after the for, Betsy had placed a gummy bear, right at the top of the test. A red one.
“B is for Bear,” I said, reading. And I popped the gummy bear in my mouth. Betsy smiled at me, and right then, I felt really glad about getting a B. I could tell Betsy was proud of me.
“You should get a gummy bear too,” I told her, looking at her test. “You should get a bunch, since you got an A.” An A was way better than a B, so it only made sense that you would get more gummy bears for that.
Betsy shook her head, and before I could ask her why, Mrs. Rouse shushed us for talking during silent reading, so she wouldn’t’ve been able to talk anyway. Instead she wrote a note on the corner of her notebook, and twisted it so I could see.
A isn’t for Bear. That’s what the note said. Only B is.
I thought about that, and then I wrote a note on the corner of my own notebook.
What’s A for?
That’s what my note said. Usually I always thought A was for Albie, but that didn’t make sense this time.
Betsy just shrugged, and when Mrs. Rouse got up to get something from the closet, Betsy wrote me a new note.
Anchovies?
It took me a long time to sound out the word, but when I finally did, when I figured out that Betsy meant those tiny smelly fish that no one ever wants on pizza, I laughed so hard I almost got both of us in trouble again.
If A was for anchovies, then I was glad I got a B.
• • •
I thought about it a lot that whole afternoon, and finally I decided that I didn’t think A was for anchovies after all. I worked really hard on my plan all night, and the next morning I gave Betsy the card.
A is for Art!
That’s what it said on the front. And on the inside, it was full of all the best drawings that Calista had taught me how to do—superheroes and unicorns and donuts and all my favorite stuff to draw. It said Good job, Betsy! in huge blue letters.
I could tell that Betsy liked it, because she tucked it carefully into her folder, and then she looked up at me and said, “Thanks, Albie.” And Betsy only said something when she really meant it.
smoothing
out the edges.
After a while, Darren Ackleman mostly ignored me completely, like he didn’t know I was alive at all. Not all days. But most days.
Some days, he pushed his shoulder into me while I was getting into my cubby.
Some days, he called me “dummy” or “retard” or worse.
Some days, it bothered me.