Real by Carol Cujec (kiss me liar novel english .txt) 📗

Darcy roared, half laughing, half yelling. “Did everyone see that? She wasn’t even looking at the keyboard. Those weren’t her words. She was never the one typing anything. It’s all a big fake-out!”

A few minutes later, I sat in Jergen’s office, Celia and Ivy arguing with each other. Mr. Jergen held up his hands. “One person at a time. Tell me what’s going on here.”

Ivy jumped in first. “My girl Charity had a few choice words for that uppity witch who dissed her in front of everyone. Girlfriend has a right to speak her mind.”

“And what were those words?” asked Jergen.

Ivy hesitated and then pressed the speak button on the iPad. The insult sounded worse read in a robot voice.

Celia jumped in. “I don’t understand. That is not something Charity would say. She has never said anything like this before.”

Jergen frowned. “Do not make excuses for your students, Ms. Diaz. Charity must accept responsibility for her mistakes.”

“But first we need to let Charity tell us what happened,” Celia said. “Let her defend herself.”

“Sure thing.” Ivy sat next to me.

My arms started to shake again. What would she make me say now? In front of Jergen?

“Wait a minute,” Celia said. “Just give me two minutes.”

Celia flew out the door and returned two minutes and thirty seconds later. With Mason.

“Charity’s cousin has been working with Ana to help Charity type. I think in this case it would be best if he supports Charity.”

She turned to Mason. “Do you think you can do it?”

Mason took a deep breath. “I can give it a try if Charity is up for it.”

Mason sat next to me and held my elbow. Celia sat on the other side with her hand on my back.

“Ready?” Mason asked.

We typed slowly for about five minutes. Just as Ana had taught him, he asked, “Is that the letter you want? . . . Keep going . . . Eyes on the keyboard . . . Here’s what you have so far . . . What’s next?” Then he read my words. My words.

Ivy stole my voice. I would never waste precious words to fling trash at unkind people. It goes against my mission.

Ivy crossed her arms.

“Whatever. I may have thrown in a few burns, but I knew that’s what my girl wanted to say if she could. I mean, how do you expect an autistic kid to make it in school if they don’t stand up to jerks calling them names?”

I lifted my hand, and Mason supported me to type more.

Do not call me your girl. And please stay away from kids like me. You bully us by stealing our voice.

“Well,” Mr. Jergen said, “It seems that she can stand up for herself just fine.”

Ivy was fired from the district that afternoon.

…

I was not in the mood for a basketball game that evening, but Dad insisted. “C’mon, Cherry. Your team needs you. You can’t let ’em down.”

I dragged myself upstairs to pull on the bright yellow Hornets jersey. What a miserable day.

One thing I knew for sure—as much as I wanted to, I never died of embarrassment. So far.

On the court, I noted other girls staring as we did a few warm-up drills. Then Coach pulled me aside to watch the girls form for free throws. Dad helped me type so I could give a few tips to Grace and Ella.

Mrs. Bling-Bling paced on the sidelines, sneering in my direction like a tiger ready to pounce.

“You’re up, Darcy,” Coach said.

“Um, I don’t think so.” The other girls stopped chatting and looked at Coach. He did not put up with backtalk.

“Listen, girls,” he said, “Mr. Wood filled me in on what happened at school today, and he told me that Charity’s aide typed words on her behalf. That incident has been settled.”

“Yeah, okay, but how do you know that Charity is actually typing now?”

“Give it a rest, Darcy,” Grace said.

“Charity can speak for herself,” Dad said, and he held the keyboard for me to type. But my arms were quivering, and I pulled away from Dad.

Darcy glared at Dad. “No offense, Mr. Wood, but Coach said you used to be some big-shot basketball star back in the day. You could be using her to type your own words, and, no offense, but it’s kind of pathetic to manipulate your daughter to make her look like she’s a pro.”

Darcy was fearless now.

Coach was not taking it. “You wanna be benched for the entire game, Darcy?”

“Why? For stating the obvious? The other girls agree with me, am I right?”

Darcy turned to the team for support. Most of the girls gazed down at the floor.

The damage Ivy did might never be reversed. She was still stealing my voice.

Coach George clenched his teeth. “On the bench, young lady.”

That’s when Mrs. Bling-Bling pounced. “How dare you speak to my daughter that way! You should be more concerned about your job, Coach, than about defending a questionable student.” She hissed those last words and narrowed her eyes at me. Then she put her arm around her daughter. “Come on, sweet pea. We can discuss this matter with Mr. Jergen.”

They both strutted out of the gym.

Dad made me stay for the game, but I told him I could not play or coach the girls. My body wiggled and jiggled and shuffled on the bench. At halftime, when Dad saw I was about to burst, he took me home.

Coach George called to apologize and also deliver the news that we won 42–36.

All I could see in my mind was Darcy spreading seeds of doubt.

I felt like Pinocchio turning back into wood.

Attack of the Purple Elephants

Mom insisted on helping me type at school until Ana returned. I felt relieved, but also a little queasy at the thought of my mom following me to all my classes.

In English class, Ms. Beckett explained how to do research by finding articles in the library database. Mom was not really comfortable with computers, so she asked a ton of questions.

She kept saying, “I’m sure Charity understands this, but