Kathryn Erskine - Mockingbird

I hear Dad calling my name but I don’t want to come out of my hidey-hole. I’m busy stuffed-animaling the carving of SCOUT. It’s warm and soft and quiet and safe in here. And I don’t have to Work At It. I’m thinking about staying here. Living here. Forever.

Finally when Dad says, Answer me please Caitlin! I answer because he asked nicely.

The door opens. Caitlin? His voice sounds funny. Are you in here?

I’m under the dresser.

What are you doing in here?

Thinking.

Thinking about what?

Thinking I’m going to stay here and make this my room now.

Oh? Why?

It was always supposed to be mine. I asked Devon if I could have it.

He’s quiet for a minute. Then he takes a deep breath. When Devon was gone to college.

He IS gone.

I hear the squishy breathy sound of Devon’s mattress squishing. But… he’s not just gone to college. He’s gone… forever.

I don’t tell Dad that I didn’t ask Devon if I could have his room when he was gone. I asked him a different way.

And Devon said it was a weird way and I shouldn’t say it like that and I asked why.

He said people would get upset.

I don’t want Dad to get upset.

So I don’t say what I really said: Can I have your room when you’re dead?

I think maybe I understand what Devon meant. Because now I have a recess feeling in my stomach.

I slide out from my hidey-hole and crawl past Dad’s shoes to my room. I get a clean piece of paper and make a sign. It says, Devon’s Room, and I draw Devon’s eyes in the top left corner. In the top right corner I draw his mouth with his lips curled up to show he’s happy. I draw his crooked nose in the bottom left corner. His chest is in the bottom right corner. It’s still not finished. And I guess it never will be.

EARLY TUESDAY MORNING RACHEL Lockwood comes into class and her face is scratched up and purple. Her left arm and leg are bandaged. Everyone crowds around her saying, Oh my gosh! What happened? Are you okay?

I fell off my bike, Rachel says.

How? someone asks.

I was riding past the middle school and I heard sirens and I thought there was another shooting.

Oh my gosh! Was there? a girl asks.

No — duh! a boy says. We would’ve heard by now.

Rachel shakes her head. No. But I was watching the police car coming up the road so I wasn’t watching where I was going and I went off the sidewalk and fell off my bike. She looks down. It really hurt. I was riding so fast to try to get away because I was scared of being shot like… She stops talking and turns to me. So does everyone else. It is very quiet.

You should watch where you’re going when you’re riding a bike, I tell her. That’s what Devon always told me.

Some people turn away and some shake their heads but I know I’m right. Emma and some of the other girls stand around Rachel so she is in the middle of a circle and they are all staring at her. I wouldn’t like that so I stare at them and hope they get the message to leave her alone.

Finally Rachel asks if her face looks really bad and Emma says, Of course not. It looks totally fine.

Rachel says, Really? She looks around and her eyes stop at me.

I look away because I wasn’t staring at her like those other girls.

What? she asks. Her voice is soft and shaky. Does my face look bad?

Even though I’m not looking at her I can feel her Look At The Person. I wonder how she knows that honesty is one of my skills. Yes, I say. It looks bad. It’s purple and puffy and really gross.

Rachel starts crying and runs out of the room.

CAITLIN! Emma yells. That was so mean! Didn’t anyone ever tell you how to be a friend?

That’s when I realize that maybe I should listen to Mrs. Brook when she talks about friends. Now that Devon isn’t here to tell me.

I try to say that purple is actually my favorite color but too many of the girls are yelling at me. They say that Rachel will be self-conscious and embarrassed and it’s all my fault.

I hate self-conscious and embarrassed. I decide to help Rachel. I’m a very helpful person. I look around the room but I know there’s no place for her to hide. There’s no sofa or blanket or anyplace where she can be in her Personal Space and not have people staring at her.

Then I have an idea. I pull her desk out of the row and push it all the way to the back corner of the room and shove it up against the wall where the terrarium was until the turtle died.

I hear voices saying, What is she doing?

She’s such a weirdo!

She’s finally cracked!

But I don’t care. I’m being a friend.

I go back and get Rachel’s chair and put it under her desk so it’s facing the corner. Now no one can see her face and she can hide from everyone. I’m happy until Emma and Rachel come back and Rachel starts crying again and Emma starts yelling and pulls the desk out of the corner and I try to stop her and Mrs. Johnson comes in and says, What in the world is going on?

Emma says how mean I’m being and Mrs. Johnson gives me her pinched lip stern look and says, What’s this all about? And I tell her I’m just trying to be a friend.

Some of the boys laugh but the girls are mad and Mrs. Johnson takes me all the way to Mrs. Brook’s room herself even though I know how to get there.

I sit at Mrs. Brook’s table and cry because even though I Work At It I still don’t Get It. I was being a friend!

I know you were, Mrs. Brook says, and I know that you might feel comforted by sitting in the corner and not having people look at you but Rachel doesn’t.

Why not?

To Rachel it felt like you didn’t want to see her so you wanted to get rid of her by putting her in a corner.

That’s not what I meant!

I know but try to put yourself in her shoes.

I Look At The Person.

Empathy, Mrs. Brook says. Remember? It means to try to feel the way someone else is feeling. You step out of your own shoes and put on someone else’s because you’re trying to BE that person for a moment. In Rachel’s case you want to try to feel how she might feel having all those obvious injuries.

I can’t because it didn’t happen to ME. I don’t have bandages or a purple scratched-up face so how am I supposed to know how it feels?

I think you can learn empathy. Mrs. Brook smiles at me. In fact I’m sure of it. She goes on to explain life the way Rachel sees it.

I listen but I don’t want to tell her that it’s not life how I see it. I also don’t want to tell her that I’m not sure I can learn how to do empathy. She seems so sure that I can.

I look down at my shoes. Quietly I slip them off. My feet feel cold and clammy because my socks are sweaty. I carefully touch my toes onto the floor which is hard and cold. I pull my feet off of the floor and shove them back into my sneakers. At least I tried dipping my toe in empathy.

I STARE AT THE SIGN I PUT ON Devon’s door for a long time. I realize they are the first eyes I have ever drawn. And how much they look like Devon’s. I wonder how the picture would look if I put the eyes together with the broken nose and his mouth. It would be a complete face. Of Devon. And I would always know what he looked like even when I grow up. He could always be with me.