Remembering Raquel Read Free

I thought of how Raquel had come over every evening for two whole weeks. Made math fun. And understandable. The morning of the exam, she gave me a little white feather and told me that as long as I held on to it, I would ace the test; and that—in a pinch—I could also use the feather to make me fly.
    I'd actually walked into the test grinning. The only bad thing was Paul had asked me why. When I'd tried to explain, he'd gone "Huh?" So I'd had to spell it out: "You know, like Timothy Mouse giving Dumbo the feather for his self-confidence." And Paul had said, "Yeah? You've got the big ears for it, but which one of you really looks most like Dumbo?"
    But, feather or tutoring, I'd gotten an 89 and passed the test and graduated with all my friends.
    I still have that feather—somewhere.
    I thought of Erin rejecting me because I wouldn't look good enough in the photographs.
    "Maybe," I told Mom.
    That was last week. And I was, seriously, thinking of inviting Raquel to the spring formal.

Raquel's Blog
    Welcome, traveler to Gylindrielle's World.
Things I like:
    â€¢ Sword of Mawrth (Of course—Sword of Mawrth is part of my world as Gylindrielle. But Gylindrielle's World is kinder gentler greener; and happier than the Sword of Mawrth world. No running amuck with swords or barbed weapons, or even barbed tongues allowed. No denizens of Hades welcome. In Gylindrielle's World, all friends are true, and all food is nonfattening. Dragonflies are intelligent and friendly, birds don't poop, corners are not sharp, Christmas is never disappointing, and root beer is free.)
    Hmm, I'm having trouble thinking of anything else I like. I'll have to come back to this. Meanwhile, let's move on to:
Things I hate:
    â€¢Â mean people
    â€¢Â homework
    â€¢Â homework assigned by mean teachers
    â€¢Â hospitals
    â€¢Â hospital workers who are mean
    â€¢Â snack food that tries to pretend it's not that bad for you by labeling for impossibly small servings—like: 3 potato chips. Yeah right.
    â€¢Â weather that's too cold (meaning below 68 degrees)
    â€¢Â weather that's too hot (meaning above 72 degrees)
    â€¢Â hairdressers that don't listen to what you want—for example, Julie at the Hair Emporium: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?
    â€¢Â mosquitoes that whine in your ear at night. I mean, if you're going to suck my blood, go ahead and do it. When I'm in bed, I'm too tired to try to find you anyway. But must you gloat and keep me awake?
    â€¢Â oh yeah—and did I mention MEAN PEOPLE?
    So, welcome to my world. Feel free to look at my drawings. (Each one is labeled as to medium, and if there's a story behind it.) Feel free to comment, but only if you have nice things to say. Am I telling you that I'm the kind of person who only wants to hear good things about herself? Well,
duh
! I'm guessing you are, too—but maybe you're just too shy to admit it.

    A special welcome to everyone from the Sword of Mawrth boards. I am ALWAYS ready to talk about the game.
    Meanwhile, if you've got no life of your own and you've got time to kill, go ahead and read my ramblings.
    POSTED 3 DAYS AGO:
    TUESDAY/08:03PMEDT
    Our school is having a big dance next week. I don't know why I got it into my head that it might be fun to go. I mean, it's not like I can dance, or like I want to spend even MORE time with my classmates than I am legally mandated to by New York State, or like I'm into the music the rest of the people my age listen to and talk about, or like I want to hear ANY music at a volume that has been scientifically verified to liquefy a human brain so that you can't carry on an intelligent conversation but are reduced to that horror-of-all-horrors: SMALL TALK.
• "Lively music, huh?"
    â€¢Â "Good snacks, huh?"
    â€¢Â "I like what you did with your hair No, I said
hair.
HAIR.
HAIR.
Never mind."
    So why did I want to subject myself to that? Maybe I have a brain tumor that has skewed my ability to