Page 53 of The Broken Heart Playlist
“I don’t like reading,” she bursts out. “Reading is stupid and I hate it!”
It’s a passionate outburst and I’m shocked. This is a child who used to love to read. Who would spend hours curled up in her favorite spot, reading stories above her grade level. I remind myself she’s been tested for dyslexia, so I know that’s not the problem.
“Lisset, you can’t get through school without reading,” I point out. I hate to break it to her, but that’s the reality. Maybe the time has come for some tough love.
“You read to Uno the first time,” Gideon says to Lisset, not reacting to her outburst. “Remember?”
She nods.
“I think he was kind of excited for you to read to him a second time.”
Tears shimmer in her eyes. “But the other children watch.”
My spine straightens. What?
“They’re not in the sessions,” Gideon informs me, noticing my expression. “Everyone has their own ten-minute slot.”
“Honey, did someone say something to you?” I ask her carefully.
She hesitates, staring a hole in her lap.
We wait, not rushing her. At least, I hope I don’t look like I’m rushing her. I hope I’m projecting a calm, collected air. On the inside, though, I crave to jump to my feet and demand she tell me right now who these children are and what they’re saying.
Lisset’s words finally spill out in a rush. “Charlie laughed at me. He said I’m stupid because I read to a dog. And then the other kids laughed as well.”
“Does Charlie attend the program?” I ask in a deadly quiet voice.
Gideon’s eyebrows draw together a little. “No.”
I breathe in sharply through my nose. This Charlie kid, I’m going to grab him by the scruff of his neck and march his cruel, thoughtless self to the principal’s office. I’m going to make him pay. I’m going to make all of them pay. I’m...
“Mom, please don’t say anything!” Lisset cries out. “It’s not just Charlie, it’s the other kids too. Everyone thinks there’s something wrong with me because I was a good reader and now I don’t want to read anymore. If I go to the program and read with Uno, then it just makes them remember that I’m weird.”
It’s like a boulder has rolled onto my chest and I’m struggling to take in a breath under the enormous weight of it.
“You’re not weird,” I finally manage.
“Definitely not,” Gideon adds in a firm tone. “In fact, you’re one of the coolest kids I know.”
“Cooler than Charlie,” I mutter.
Lisset glances at me. “Mom, I can read, but I just don’t want to. Everything about reading is dumb.”
My daughter is not budging. Stubbornness seems to be an excessively dominant gene in our family.
“I’m hungry,” she announces. “Can I go eat now?”
A multitude of lectures and arguments are still bubbling inside of me, but I swallow them all down. “Yes, help yourself.”
“Thanks for being straight with us,” Gideon says to Lisset. He holds out his hand for a fist bump and she obliges. “See you around, kiddo.”
“See you around, Gideon,” she echoes before dashing to the kitchen.
I sigh, an admission of defeat, and see him to the front door. “Thanks for trying.”
“Sorry I wasn’t more help.”
“She’s so unbelievably stubborn,” I say in disbelief. “It’s so frustrating she won’t accept help.”
