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perhaps they should mention a few of the concerns they shared with me this morning. Then maybe Nora’s teachers canexplain things from their perspective. And if she wants to, maybe Nora could share a little too. How does that sound?”
    My mom nodded and smiled and cleared her throat. She was happy to talk first. Principals and teachers and counselors didn’t frighten her one bit. She’d been trying to boss them around for ages—ever since the time she tried to push Ann into the gifted program two years early.
    My mom said, “We really appreciate all of you taking the time to come and talk. It’s one of the things we’ve always loved about the Philbrook schools. Our first concern today, apart from Nora’s grades themselves, is that we had no warning that there was a problem, not so much as a note or a phone call. And we’d like to understand how that happened.”
    Nobody said anything for about three seconds.
    Then Mrs. Byrne said, “I can only speak about Nora’s grade in library skills, of course, but it’s pretty clear what happened.”
    Mrs. Byrne had her grade book open on the table in front of her. So did all my other teachers.My heart was pounding so hard that I was sure my mom and dad would hear it.
    Mrs. Byrne ran her index finger along a row of numbers. “On the first three quizzes and our first reference search, Nora got scores that averaged out to about seventy-two percent, which is a low C. And that’s what she had at the seventh week of the term. That’s when we mail out academic warnings to parents. And since Nora didn’t have a D or lower, there was no warning. Then on the next quiz and our final Internet research project, Nora did quite poorly. And that pulled her grade down. I entered her scores, calculated the average, and there it was.” Mrs. Byrne looked at me and smiled. “Nora is one of the library’s very best customers, so I didn’t like having to give her a D, but that’s the way it happened.”
    Mrs. Zhang nodded. “Exactly,” she said. “Numbers are numbers and an average is an average. Same thing in science and math classes for Nora. Her grades dropped off right at the end of the term, and that was it. No warning for you, no warning for me.”
    All my other teachers started nodding andagreeing. Mr. McKay cleared his throat and said, “Ditto in gym class. Cs all term, then a big fat F on the obstacle course fitness challenge. Dropped her to a D.”
    I could tell my dad didn’t like it when Mr. McKay said “big fat F.” But I sort of enjoyed it. I was proud of that F. I was probably the only kid in the history of the school to fail the obstacle course fitness challenge. It took a lot of creativity to look completely uncoordinated and totally out of shape.
    Dr. Trindler said, “I’d like to make an observation.” He was the guidance counselor. He was also the psychologist for the school district. He opened a big folder and started shuffling papers around. I knew what that folder was. It was the Nora Rowley folder—all the records from my past five years at Philbrook Elementary School.
    As he looked at the papers on the table, Dr. Trindler put the palms of his hands together and then flexed them apart so only the tips of his long, thin fingers were touching—apart, together, apart, together. It made his hands look like a spider doing push-ups on a mirror.
    He adjusted his glasses and then tried to smile at my parents. He didn’t look at me. “Mr. and Mrs. Rowley, I know this sort of report card can be upsetting, but honestly, grades like this aren’t that far out of line with Nora’s Mastery Testing profile, or with her academic history here at the elementary school. The Philbrook school system has very high standards. Nora’s been an average student, right there in the middle, with room to move either way. And sometimes grades can get