Impossible Things by Robin Stevenson Read Free Book Online Page B

broke in shyly, “I like her accent too. And I think she’d be a good group leader.” He grinned at me and Felicia, his skinny face lighting up.
    An odd expression flickered across Amber’s face. Disconcerted. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she looked afraid. For once, she was at a loss for words.
    I cleared my throat and turned to the others. “So shall we brainstorm then? Like Felicia suggested?” I chewed on the end of my pen and tried to think about the assignment. “It seems to me that whether this is a good time to live in totally depends on who you are. Like, if you’re a kid in Afghanistan or Iraq, now is not so good. But if you’re black and live in the States, now is probably better than a hundred years ago.”
    â€œMmm. But still not so good,” Nathan pointed out. “And Canada isn’t that different.”
    I looked at him in surprise. I’d never heard him voice an opinion before. “True enough,” I acknowledged.
    Felicia tapped her pen on the table. “We’re not supposed to debate it,” she pointed out. “We just have to argue that now is better.”
    Amber hadn’t said a word. I snuck a sideways peek at her. “What do you think, Amber?”
    She shrugged uncertainly. “I guess now is okay.”
    â€œRiigght,” I drawled. “Words of wisdom from Amber, who thinks now is okay.”
    Amber flushed and turned her face away. I felt a heady surge of power, an odd exhilaration. Then I looked at Amber again and a wave of shame swept over me. I bit my lip. “Umm, Amber? I didn’t mean that. I’m thorry. Sorry .”
    She looked right at me and gave me a tiny almost-smile. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Cassidy.”
    Cassidy. Not Cathidy. Cassidy.
    That afternoon, Ms. Allyson had blocked off some time for us to work on our art projects. The contest deadline was only two weeks away, and I hadn’t even started. Actually, that’s not quite true: all I had done was start. Over and over. Start one thing, mess it up, toss it out, start another. I couldn’t seem to figure out what I wanted to do.
    Who Are We? I sighed. What the heck did that mean? I pulled out my notes and read over what Ms. Allyson had said. Writing can be a way to learn about ourselves, to uncover what lies beneath the surface…like a tool an archeologist uses to uncover a treasure buried deep in the earth . Well, I wasn’t convinced there were any treasures to unearth, but maybe writing would at least be something to do. I couldn’t face too many more crumpled up paintings and squashed clay sculptures.
    I picked up my pen and flipped to a new section of my notebook. In bold letters, I wrote: Who is Cassidy Silver?
    Ms. Allyson walked behind me and paused for a moment. “That,” she said in a low voice, “is a very good place to start.” She rested her hand briefly on my shoulder, and suddenly I missed my mom more than ever. Maybe tonight I’d try to talk to her. Maybe. I chewed on my pen for a moment; then I started to write.
    Cassidy Silver misses her mom. Cassidy Silver wonders how you talk to someone who doesn’t have time to listen. I thought about that for a moment. It wasn’t quite fair. Okay, sometimes she has time to listen, but how can I complain about my trivial little problems when she spends all day talking to people who have cancer or are suicidal or drug addicted or whatever? I always imagine she must be wondering how her kid ended up so self-centered and petty. I broke off. This wasn’t really about who I was. Or was it?
    Unlike her brilliant family, I wrote, Cassidy Silver has no amazing talents. I stared at the words for a moment and a slow smile spread across my face. I was going to learn telekinesis, and you couldn’t get much more amazing than that.

Ten
    Ever since I’d had Victoria over to my place, she’d been saying she should invite