The Entirely Fabricated Story of Lizzie Nickerson

Chapter 64

They sat in a small auditorium, occupied by no more than thirty kids with their parents or guardians. Most of the kids looked like nerds, which is not a judgment, merely an observation.

Sonya read from a booklet about The Cincinnati Academy of Science and Technology while Lizzie fidgeted in her seat, her eyes drifting over and over again to the phrase, The Power of Possibility engraved in the stone archway above the double wooden doors.

Scooter and his mom sat six rows in front of them to Lizzie's right. Occasionally, he glanced over his shoulder and smiled at her. It was a small measure of comfort, which she sorely needed in the unfamiliar room, surrounded by strange people.

She couldn't help but overhear the conversation from the seats behind her between a rambunctious boy named Franklin and his father. Franklin's anxiety overflowed, spilling into Lizzie's row. She leaned forward in her seat, elbows on her knees, with her head in her hands but she couldn't avoid getting splashed. She had no firsthand experience with kid-calming meds but from what she'd read, if anyone needed a giant Ritalin pill ASAP, it was Franklin.

The inability to compartmentalize her raging anxiety was the prime reason, Lizzie determined, that she was just not very good at navigating life. But when she caught another over-the-shoulder smile from Scooter, Lizzie was reassured. Maybe she wasn't giving herself enough credit.

"I don't like this," Franklin said. "Let's go."

"Give it a chance," his father whispered loudly. "Let's hear what they have to say."

"I don't care what they have to say. I wanna go."

Her toes cramped from the strain of rapid tapping. She wished they'd sat four seats to the right in front of the stone-faced girl with crippling shyness instead of Franklin the temper-tantrum brat.

"You're being stubborn and unreasonable," whispered Franklin's mousy father. Lizzie suspected it was because of people like this guy that bossy, self-centered kids such as Franklin existed, adults who'd spout embarrassing phrases such as, 'He has a big personality' as an excuse for their deficient parenting skills.

"Dad, let's go," Franklin whined and stomped his feet.

Lizzie shot the boy a disapproving look. "Oh, geez," she groaned. "Oh, my freakin' geez."

Sonya looked up from her book. "Lizzie!"

Catching Lizzie's glare, Franklin's dad admonished his son. "Franklin, stop making a scene."

"I wanna go!" The boy insisted. "Now!"

A familiar young woman walking up the aisle drew Lizzie's attention. She wore a blue blazer, khaki slacks, and a warm smile. She waved at Lizzie and then leaned in next to Sonya and said in a congenial, quiet voice, "You must be Sonya Finch."

Sonya nodded.

"I'm Vinka Iverson. I'm pleased to meet you. Won't you both come with me?"

Lizzie felt Franklin's glare when she rose from her seat. Words rushed up her throat, and she wasn't even sure what they were, so she gulped them down hard. A hissing sound escaped through her teeth directed at the petulant boy.

Sonya grabbed her wrist and shepherded Lizzie out into the aisle. As they followed Vinka toward the door, Sonya said, "Did you just make cat noises at that boy?"

"Yes, that was probably me."

Vinka Iverson escorted them to her office, a small cluttered room on the second floor. Lizzie and Sonya sat in mismatched chairs before a desk barely large enough to accommodate a computer and two monitors. Post-It notes obscured a large portion of Vinka's desktop.