Books : The Report Card : Excerpts

Chapter Five: Solitary Confinement

Ann and Todd were still in bed when I walked into the kitchen on Saturday morning. My parents were sitting at the table with their coffee mugs. I could tell they had been waiting for me.

I didn't like this part of the plan. This part of the plan was going to be pretty hard on Mom and Dad. And so were some other parts. It wasn't really fair to them, but it couldn't be helped. After all, I wasn't the one who had made up the rules around here.

Mom didn't even say "good morning." She said, "We opened your grade report last night, Nora."

My dad shook his head and growled, "Never seen such bad grades in my life -- even on my report cards."

I said, "I don't want to talk about it. You saw the grades. I got Ds. And one C. Those are my grades. I don't want to talk about it."

"Nora, please," Mom said. "There must be a reason you got such awful grades. Are you unhappy? Have the children at school been teasing you? Have you been feeling sick? Or is it something else?"

I shook my head as I scanned the row of cereal boxes on the counter. I poured some cornflakes into a bowl and said, "I don't want to talk about it, Mom. I got the grades I got, and that's all there is to it."

Dad exploded. "'All there is to it'?! Well, then you're grounded, young lady! And that's all there is to it! You don't want to spill the beans and let us help you out, then that's the way it is. You can just sit in your room until you decide to cooperate."

I munched my cereal, swallowed, and took a sip of orange juice. I said, "Fine by me." Then I said, "Am I allowed to read, or do I have to sit in the corner and look at the flowers on the wallpaper?" Which was a lot sassier than usual. But that was part of the plan too.

Mom put a hand on Dad's arm. She said, "Nora, don't be disrespectful. You know better than that. And you know us better than that too. We only want to help you. But first you've got to help us."

I looked at them. "But I don't want any help. Did I ask you to come to school and take my tests for me? Did I ask you to read my assignments for me? Or do my homework? I don't need help."

They didn't talk anymore and neither did I. After my last spoonful of cereal, I tipped up my bowl and drank the milk. I wiped the milk off my upper lip, laid my napkin on the table, got up, and put my bowl and spoon and glass into the dishwasher. Then I said, "I'll be up in my room."

I spent the rest of Saturday reading the article on the history of China in the Britannica. It was a long article. I'd been chipping away at it for almost a week and I was only up to a.d. 1368, the beginning of the Ming Dynasty. It felt good to have some forced reading time.

I was allowed out of my room for meals, and on Sunday morning I went to church with everyone, but then it was right back to my cell.

At about eight o'clock on Sunday night my mom came in and sat down on the edge of my bed where I was reading. I knew why she'd come. It was time to get ungrounded. The way I figured, unless you're a teenager with places to go and friends to go with and money to spend when you get there, grounding is a pretty pointless punishment.

And sure enough, Mom's first words were, "Nora, your father and I have decided that your grounding is over. But I don't want you to think we're not concerned about this. This isn't like you, Nora."

I looked up from my book. "Isn't like me? What am I like?"

My mom smiled. "Why, you're sweet and thoughtful, and you want to do your very best at everything, Nora. That's what you're like." I gave a little snort, but Mom ignored the noise. "And if you need help," she continued, "you're smart enough to ask for it."

"I told you, Mom. I don't need any help. And since when have I been sweet? Or thoughtful?"

Mom stayed focused on her main topic. "But there's nothing wrong with asking for help. We all need help now and then. Besides, you don't want to get a reputation for not caring about your work. Grades are very important, Nora. So, whether you like it or not, first thing tomorrow morning your father and I are going to school to talk with Mrs. Hackney. It's just not right that a perfectly normal student could be allowed to get all Ds. And one C. And your father and I did not get a single academic warning letter from the school, not one. The school has some explaining to do." She paused, her eyes searching my face. "You understand, don't you, Nora? We're not trying to embarrass you. But we have to get to the bottom of this."

I shrugged and said, "Sure. I understand." And I did. Completely. I had been certain they would visit the school after they saw those grades.

Mom stood up and started to leave, but she stopped at the door, turned back, and said, "Your dad and I love you, Nora."

I looked up and said, "I love you too."

And that was a fact.