“I’m sorry,” I tell him, and his whole face softens. He grimaces, and I wonder if his knee or back is hurting him the way they always seem to be. I know what I think, but people don’t want you to say what you think. “Answer my question! Is not liking a class a good reason not to go?”

I can’t speak, so instead I fiddle with the plastic tip of my shoelace. But for me it’s as if the pathway between brain and mouth is damaged, like a rare form of paralysis. When someone says something, they automatically know what to say back. “I…” For everyone else, talking just seems to come naturally. “Do you really think not liking a class is reason not to go?” Pearce lifts two gray brows, looking completely stunned. Knowing this, I pitch my voice a little louder. The main reason I don’t like English is because Miss Cross makes everyone read out loud, and when it’s my turn, I stumble over my words, and she tells me I’m too quiet. People are always telling me to repeat myself or speak up. “It’d be a lot easier for you to look someone in the eye if you got a haircut.” He glares harder when I start pushing my hair out of my face. But when I do what he says, the windowless office seems to shrink, and I shrink along with it. That’s when you want to look away the most. I’m not sure why people want you to look at them when they’re angry with you. It has a little creature carved at the top, and I’ve heard other kids talk about it, wondering if it’s a gnome or troll or a tiny replica of Mr. The principal leans forward, two fists wrapped around his tall, twisted cane. I’m sure I’ve missed more than that, but I guess no one realized I was gone. “You’re less than a month into high school, and you’ve missed your English class six times.” Pearce says my name sharp enough to make me flinch. THERE IS A room in this school that no one knows about but me.

A List of Cages by Robin Roe