Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Oh. Why didn’t you just say so?” Deja grabs her plate. “Good luck, Seem.”
She swings her little narrow hips out of the kitchen, sass in every step.
“Am I in trouble?” Kassim mumbles, staring at his plate.
“No.” I lift his chin so he can meet my eyes. “The opposite. You’ve been so amazing, son. We have good news.”
I glance at Josiah, who, with brows lifted, inclines his head for me to continue.
“Ms. Halstead says you’re one of the smartest kids in the class.” I run a hand over his hair, which waves like Josiah’s when he needs a haircut, as he does now.
“Yeah.” Kassim nods like this is not new information, on the verge of preening. “I am.”
I huff a laugh, trading a quick grin with Josiah, whose eyes light with pride and affection.
“Confident, not cocky, son,” he reminds Kassim.
“Yes, sir,” Kassim replies, though the twitch of his lips marks him as less than repentant.
“You ever get bored in class?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, but it’s okay. The other kids have a lot to learn, so we have to go slower.”
Josiah allows himself a quick grin at that before going on. “Ms. Halstead doesn’t want you to get bored. She thinks we need to figure out a way to challenge you more. We aren’t sure yet if it’s just giving you work from the next grade, or if it might be skipping a grade.”
Kassim’s eyes go wide and his mouth hangs open. “Go to sixth grade now?”
“No,” I rush to clarify. “But maybe next year instead of going to sixth, going to seventh. We aren’t sure yet, but we want to talk to you about this. Make sure you’re comfortable and ready for whatever is next.”
“But if I skip to seventh,” Kassim says, the vee between his brows deepening, “Jamal would still be in sixth.”
“Right,” Josiah says. “Jamal and your other friends could still be your friends, but they wouldn’t be in your classes anymore. That’s if we all agree you should skip a grade. Like we said, we may find it’s better to just give you more challenging work in certain subjects. We just don’t want you to get bored.”
“And to make sure you’re meeting your potential,” I add with a smile. “We’re so proud of you, Kassim.”
“You are?” he asks, glancing from me to Josiah.
“Of course.” Josiah clasps the back of Kassim’s neck and squeezes. “You know we are.”
He nods, but a small smile teases the corners of his mouth, and he dips his head, hiding his expression.
“When we met with Ms. Halstead…” I begin, shooting a searching look Josiah’s way. He nods for me to go on. “She said if you do decide to skip a grade, we need to make sure you’re ready, not just academically, but in every way.”
“What’s that mean?” Kassim asks.
“A lot of kids are smart enough to skip a grade,” Joisah says. “But they end up having a hard time making new friends or adjusting. Ms. Halstead suggested maybe you should talk to someone about what you’re…well…”
He looks at me, and I realize he doesn’t know how to describe therapy in a way that Kassim would understand.
“Seem,” I say, leaning forward and looking directly into his eyes. “You know how I told you and Deja that Mommy needed to talk to someone?”
“Your therapist?” Kassim asks, eyes widening. “You said you were sick and sad.”
It sounds so stark and simple put that way, but it was true. There are days it still is. There may always be days like that, and I may be in and out of therapy for the rest of my life.
“Yes, that’s true.” I hope my smile is natural and reassuring. “But it’s also just good to have someone you can talk to about stuff that’s confusing or hard to understand.”
“Like robotics?” Kassim ventures. “Because there is a new level of—”
“No,” Josiah cuts in, chuckling. “Not robotics, though that always confuses me. More personal stuff like about Aunt Byrd passing away. And Henry.”
I draw a sharp breath through my nose at the sound of my son’s name on Josiah’s lips. He’s so rarely spoken it. I used to resent him for that, for not saying Henry’s name. For not being the sobbing, snotty mess I was every day for months. For holding it so damn together when I kept coming apart. Now I know we deal with things in different ways, though there are many things Josiah has not dealt with at all. I’m not his therapist. Hell, I’m not even his wife anymore.
Kassim’s expression shutters, and it breaks my heart a little seeing that face, usually so open, even at this age, trying to hide.
“I had to talk to someone about how much it hurt, you know,” I tell him. “When we lost them both.”
“That’s why you stayed in bed all the time and stopped combing your hair and stuff, right?” Kassim asks.