Marco had heard this many times before and didn’t know how many times he could hear it again.
“Importantly, many of your teachers have noted that your ability to read lags far behind your class. In reviewing some of your recent assignments, I have doubts about whether, in fact, you can read.”
Marco’s chest tightened. He felt exposed, caught. His face went hot with shame.
“These matters should have been addressed a while ago, but I cannot speak to what happened before my time. I believe previous reports have incorrectly analyzed the problem. In my opinion, there may be some physiological explanation, so I have drafted a letter for you to take home to your parents.” Preside Livorno opened the manila folder, pulled out a piece of paper, and passed it over the desk.
“Why do you want me to give that to my parents?” Marco glanced at the letter, but couldn’t possibly read it, which made him wonder if it was some sort of test.
“It requires their signature. I would like them to consent to your seeing a neurologist, for an evaluation.”
“A neurologist?” Marco asked, aghast. He hadn’t thought he could feel worse than he already did about school, but evidently, that was possible. “Isn’t that a brain doctor?”
“Well, yes, in a sense—”
“There’s nothing wrong with my brain. I may not be as smart as the others, but my brain is normal.”
“You misunderstand me.” Preside Livorno pushed up his heavy glasses, flustered. “I’m not saying there’s something wrong with your brain. On the contrary, many of your teachers remark that your memory is excellent, you solve problems effectively, and your wits are quick. The neurologist I propose has expertise in a relatively new field, that of educational disabilities—”
“Just because somebody can’t read doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with his brain.” Marco jumped to his feet, mortified. “I can ride faster than anybody I know, but there’s nothing wrong with the legs of people who ride slower, is there?”
“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“But it is! On the one hand, I’m quick-witted, but on the other, my brain is disabled. Which is it? How can I solve problems effectively with an abnormal brain?”
“Marco, sit down and allow me to explain. I fear that you cannot succeed in school unless you—”
“No!” Marco slung his backpack over his shoulder. “I do an excellent job at the fascio. I organized the entire filing system for our bills. I handle reports every day. I’m entrusted with confidential communications. I’m the youngest assistant at Palazzo Braschi. No one else from school even has that job, did you know that?”
“Marco, I’m sure—”
“And don’t think I didn’t notice your attitude toward my boss.” Marco found his emotional footing, in anger. “You’re lucky I don’t tell Commendatore Buonacorso all about you. You betray your government with that disrespectful talk, sir.”
Preside Livorno blanched, which emboldened Marco. On the spot, he made a decision.
“Keep your letter, sir. Don’t dare send it to my parents. They’ll find it as insulting as I do. I’m finished with school. I quit.”
“What?” Preside Livorno’s eyes rounded in alarm.
Marco headed to the door, just as Preside Livorno rose from his chair.
“Son, you don’t mean this—”
“Goodbye.” Marco left the office and hurried to the exit. He joined the stragglers leaving school, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He had never been so embarrassed. He thanked God that nobody else had heard what Preside Livorno had said to him. He fleetingly wondered if the secretaries knew, then realized one of them must have typed the letter.
Tears came to his eyes, but he blinked them away. He suppressed his emotions and scanned the schoolyard for Elisabetta and Sandro. Sandro’s bicycle was gone, and Elisabetta always walked to school, so Marco took a guess that Sandro was walking her to the restaurant.
Marco dashed to his bicycle, jumped on, and pedaled from school. He realized it was the last time he would ever do so, and he tried to look on the bright side. He no longer had to worry that Elisabetta, Sandro, or any of his classmates would figure out that he could barely read. He no longer had to develop strategies to pretend. All of the games were over, and he looked forward to the future. He was free.
He rode through Trastevere and spotted Elisabetta and Sandro a block ahead, talking in front of the cheese shop. Marco was about to call to them, but a sudden realization stopped him. Now that he had quit school, he would lose the opportunity to see Elisabetta every day. Sandro would automatically gain ground with her.