Page 30 of Shelter
I sighed. She knew my secret. Our secret. But now I knew hers. And she’d helped us. More than once.
“I’ll talk to Ava,” I said, nodding. “I know she’ll help you.”
Frowning, Elise let go a frustrated breath. “I’d rather you help me.”
Her declaration sent my eyebrows skyward. “Me? Why?”
For the first time, I watched Elise Cormier hesitate. She pressed her lips together, inhaled and exhaled through her nose before speaking. “Because… you’re a lot older than me. You’resupposedto be smarter,” she said as though this were obvious. Then her eyes and the sides of her mouth pinched, and her voice dropped to almost nothing. “Besides, I don’t want Ava to know… to know that I’m dumb.”
I shook my head. “Elise, you’re not dumb,” I insisted, wanting her to believe it.
She dropped her chin and eyed me under flat brows. “Summer school? Every year? Repeating seventh grade?”
I held back a sigh. This was why I couldn’t help her. Helping her would mean caring about her. Caring about her feelings. Caring about her success. I already couldn’t take care of the people who relied on me to protect them. How could I take care of anyone else?
“Trust me,” I said, letting the bite of my frustration shape the words. “Ava will be a lot nicer than I’d be.”
She flinched at my tone, her eyes flaring just a little.
To my surprise, my stomach fell about three inches.
“Right,” she said, nodding, the familiar scowl sliding back over her features. “How could I forget?”
Chapter 7
ELISE
With the help of Ava Whitehurst, I finally passed seventh grade. Though I hated to admit it, Cole had been right about her. She was a good student, and she was patient with me. And, yes, she was a whole lot nicer to me than he’d ever been.
Even better, she stopped ignoring me.
At first, she’d come down to the kitchen to help after finishing her homework in her room. But after a few weeks, she started doing her homework at the kitchen table with me. When my mind and my pen would start to wander, and she’d catch me doodling a diamond ring in the margin of my math notebook, Ava would clear her throat and give me a pointed look, but I could always see that her mouth would be in a fierce battle against a smile. So, I’d smile back and put my eyes to my work.
I still hated math, and I detested reading, which meant that English, science, and history were all lumped together in one stinking heap of confusing boredom. But I quickly figured out that if I did my math work first — the least of all those evils — I’d finish up about the same time as Ava wrapped up the last of her work.
How that girl could read so fast, I’d never know.
But I soon appreciated her reading speed. Because to help me go fast, she’d read my science unit or my history assignment or a chapter from my English book. And when Ava read to me, it made sense.
A book in front of me was like an obstacle course. It was like trying to belly crawl under barbed wire with my hands tied behind my back. I was just as slow. Because the letters and words would slither around and trade places. And sometimes, even when I could figure out what the words said, my mind would picture something else. Like if I was readingTo Kill a Mockingbird —like I did two years in a row for seventh grade — and I got to the sentence, “Uncle Jack was a prince of a fellow not to let me down,” I’d understand all the words individually, but I’d picture a prince with a gold crown and yellow hair in a tower high on a mountain. And then I’d start wondering if he lived alone in that tower or if he had a princess with him. And then I’d wonder about the princess’s crown. And before I knew it, I’d be drawing the crown instead of readingTo Kill a Mockingbird.
But when Ava read to me, I never even thought of the prince. I thought of Scout listening in on her father’s conversation and the wisdom Atticus had all along. When Ava read meTo Kill a Mockingbirdthe second time through seventh grade, it was a completely different story.
And that was why when I got to ninth grade, I wanted her to readJane Eyreto me. For once in my life, I liked my English teacher, Miss Winston. And Miss Winston’s favorite novel of all time wasJane Eyre.And if we read it and passed a test on it, we wouldn’t have to take the final exam. We’d be exempt.
The summer after I repeated seventh grade was first one in years that I didn’t have to go to summer school. And now, looking at the opportunity to start my third free summer a day early, I jumped at the chance.
So, I begged Ava to readJane Eyreto me.
We started the book at the beginning of Easter break. And even with Ava reading to me, I have to say, Jane’s life made me want to walk into traffic. I was so cold just listening to Jane’s time at Lowood I had to ask Ava if we could sit out by the pool.
So that was what we did. It was early April and still too chilly to swim, but the afternoons were warm enough to sit on a lounger in our bikinis and try to work on our pre-summer tans while we readJane Eyre.By the third afternoon, Jane had found work at Thornfield, Ava’s nose was sunburned, and I was ready to hurl something at Mr. Rochester.
“How dare he ask Jane if her sketches are copies,” I said, offended on our heroine’s behalf. “And I wouldn’t play the piano for him. He’s a rude, obnoxious bully!”
Ava lowered the book to her lap. “I don’t know. I think maybe he likes her.”
I sat up on my lounger. “What?” I asked, screwing up my face. “What makes you say that?”
