Free Out of My Mind by Sharon M. Draper

the back of our SUV. With those, he can roll the new chair into the back of our car and still have back muscles left over.
    For me, it’s all about the freedom. Now I don’t have to wait for somebody to move me across the room. I can just go there. Nice. So when they decided to startmainstreaming us into the regular classes, the electric chair was really helpful.
    Our fifth-grade teacher in room H-5 reminds me of a television grandmother. Mrs. Shannon is pudgy, wears lavender body lotion every single day, and I think she must be from the South because she talks with a real strong drawl. Somehow it makes everything she says seem more interesting.
    She told us on the first day, “I’m gonna bust a gut makin’ sure y’all get all you can out of this school year, you hear? We’re gonna read, and learn, and grow. I believe every one of y’all got potential all stuffed inside, and together we’re gonna try to make some of that stuff shine.”
    I liked her. She brought in stacks of new books to read to us, as well as games and music and videos. Unlike Mrs. Billups, Mrs. Shannon must have read all our records because she dusted off the headphones and even brought in more books on tape for me.
    “Ya’ll ready for music class?” she asked us one morning. “Let’s get this inclusion stuff goin’!”
    I jerked with excitement. As the aides helped us down the hall to the music room, I wondered if I’d get to sit next to a regular kid. What if I did something stupid? What if Willy yodeled, or Carl farted? Maria was likely to blurt out something crazy. Would this beour only chance? What if we messed this up? I could barely contain myself. We were going to be in a regular classroom!
    The music teacher, Mrs. Lovelace, had been the first to volunteer to open her class to us. The music room was huge—almost twice as large as our classroom. My hands got sweaty.
    The kids in there were mostly fifth graders too. They’d probably be surprised to know that I knew all their names. I’ve watched them on the playground at lunch and at recess for years. My classmates sit under a tree and catch a breeze while they play kickball or tag, so I know who they are and how they work. I doubted if they knew any of us by name, though.
    Well, the whole thing was almost a disaster. Willy, probably upset and scared about being in a new room, started yelping at the top of his lungs. Jill began to cry. She held tightly to the hand grips of her walker and refused to move past the doorway. I wanted to disappear.
    All of the “normal” children in the music class— I guess about thirty of them—turned to stare. Some of them laughed. Others looked away. But one girl in the back row crossed her arms across her chest and scowled at her classmates who were acting up.
    Two girls, Molly and Claire—everyone knew thembecause they were mean to almost everybody on the playground—mimicked Willy. They made sure they stayed just out of the teacher’s line of sight. But I saw it. So did Willy.
    “Hey, Claire!” Molly said, twisting her arms above her head and bending her body so it looked crooked. “Look at me! I’m a retard!” She laughed so hard, she snorted snot.
    Claire cracked up as well, then let spit dribble out of her mouth. “Duh buh wuh buh,” she said, crossing her eyes and pretending to slip out of her chair.
    Mrs. Lovelace finally noticed them, because she said sternly, “Stand up please, Claire.”
    “I didn’t do anything!” Claire replied.
    “You stand as well, Molly,” Mrs. Lovelace added.
    “We were just laughing,” Molly said defensively. But she stood up next to Claire.
    Mrs. Lovelace took both girls’ chairs and slid them over to the wall.
    “Why’d you do that?” Claire cried out in protest.
    “You have perfectly good bodies and legs that work. Use them,” Mrs. Lovelace instructed.
    “You can’t make us stand the whole class!” Claire moaned.
    “The board of education requires that I teach you music. There is