The chalk squeaked against the blackboard as Mrs. Abernathy’s spidery handwriting filled the green expanse. Eliza Pearce hunched lower in her seat, willing herself to disappear. All around her, the scritch-scratch of pencils on paper mingled with whispers and the occasional muffled giggle. She kept her eyes fixed on her own pristine notebook, unmarked except for the careful lettering of her name in the top corner.
“Now then, who can tell me the answer to question three?” Mrs. Abernathy’s voice cut through the classroom buzz.
Eliza’s heart raced. She knew the answer - it had leapt out at her the moment she’d seen the equation. But her throat closed up at the thought of raising her hand, of drawing all those eyes to her. She imagined their stares, their judgment. Half-breed. Outsider. She didn’t belong here.
“Anyone?” Mrs. Abernathy’s gaze swept the room, lingering for just a moment on Eliza before moving on. “Very well. Tommy, why don’t you give it a try?”
Two rows ahead, a boy with a shock of red hair and freckles splashed across his nose stood up. “Uh, is it… x equals 12?”
Mrs. Abernathy’s lips thinned. “Not quite. Would anyone else care to attempt an answer?”
Eliza’s fingers twitched. The solution danced in her mind, clear as day. But she kept her hand firmly in her lap, her eyes down.
“I see.” Mrs. Abernathy sighed. “The correct answer is x equals 15. Please make a note of it, class. We’ll review this concept again tomorrow.”
As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Eliza let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She gathered her things slowly, letting the other students file out ahead of her. It was safer that way, less chance of accidental contact or unwanted attention.
“Eliza?” Mrs. Abernathy’s voice made her freeze. “A moment, please.”
Clutching her books to her chest like a shield, Eliza approached the teacher’s desk. Mrs. Abernathy regarded her over the rim of her glasses, expression unreadable.
“How are you finding the class so far?”
Eliza swallowed hard. “It’s… fine, ma’am.”
“I see.” Mrs. Abernathy’s pen tapped against her grade book. “And the material? Is it challenging enough for you?”
A flicker of confusion crossed Eliza’s face. “I… I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I mean, dear, that I’ve noticed you haven’t been participating in class discussions or volunteering answers. Is that because you’re struggling with the concepts?”
“No!” The word burst out before Eliza could stop it. She flushed, dropping her gaze. “I mean… no, ma’am. I understand it.”
Mrs. Abernathy leaned back, studying her. “Then perhaps you’d care to explain why you chose not to answer earlier, when you clearly knew the solution?”
Eliza’s grip on her books tightened. How did she know? She hadn’t even written anything down. “I… I don’t like speaking up in class,” she mumbled.
“I see.” Mrs. Abernathy’s voice softened slightly. “Well, Eliza, I hope you’ll reconsider that stance. Your education is important, and I’d hate to see you waste your potential out of shyness.” She paused, then added, “You may go.”
Eliza practically fled the classroom, her cheeks burning. Outside, the hallway was a chaos of slamming lockers and chattering students. She kept her head down, weaving through the crowd towards the exit. Just a few more steps and she’d be free, at least until tomorrow-
A foot shot out, catching her ankle. Eliza stumbled, her books flying from her arms as she hit the floor hard. Laughter erupted around her.
“Oops,” a familiar voice drawled. “Didn’t see you there, half-breed.”
Eliza looked up to see Tommy Wilson smirking down at her, flanked by two of his friends. Her vision blurred with unshed tears as she scrambled to gather her scattered belongings.
“Aw, is the little squaw gonna cry?” Tommy taunted. “Maybe you should go back to your reservation where you belong.”
“That’s enough, Mr. Wilson.” Mrs. Abernathy’s sharp tone cut through the jeers. “Unless you’d like to spend your afternoon in detention?”
Tommy’s smirk vanished. “No, ma’am,” he muttered, shooting Eliza one last glare before slinking away with his friends.
Mrs. Abernathy helped Eliza to her feet, handing her the last of her fallen books. “Are you alright?”
Eliza nodded mutely, unable to meet her teacher’s eyes.
“Perhaps we should have a talk with the principal about-”
“No!” Eliza’s head snapped up, panic clear on her face. “Please, I… I’m fine. Really.”
Mrs. Abernathy frowned but didn’t press the issue. “Very well. But if this happens again, I expect you to report it. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Eliza clutched her books close, wishing she could disappear.
“Good. Now run along home, and don’t forget to review those equations for tomorrow.”
Eliza nodded and hurried out of the school, not stopping until she was well down the street. Only then did she slow her pace, letting out a shaky breath. Another day survived. Just 179 more to go.
The walk home took her past neatly manicured lawns and white picket fences, a world away from the small, slightly run-down house where she lived with her grandmother. As she approached, she could smell woodsmoke and herbs - Grandma Rose was cooking again.
“That you, little bird?” Her grandmother’s voice called out as Eliza pushed open the front door.
“Yes, Grandma.” Eliza dropped her bag by the door and made her way to the kitchen. The small room was filled with the earthy scent of simmering stew, mingled with the sharp tang of medicinal herbs drying in bunches from the ceiling.
Grandma Rose stood at the stove, her long silver braid hanging down her back. She turned to Eliza with a smile that creased her weathered face. “How was school today?”
Eliza shrugged, sinking into a chair at the worn kitchen table. “Same as always.”
Her grandmother’s dark eyes, still sharp despite her years, studied her face. “Which means not good, I’m thinking.” She ladled some stew into a bowl and set it in front of Eliza. “Eat. Then we’ll talk.”
Eliza picked at the food, her appetite diminished by the day’s events. But she knew better than to refuse her grandmother’s cooking. By the time she’d managed to finish most of the bowl, Grandma Rose had settled across from her, a steaming mug of tea in her gnarled hands.
“Now then,” she said. “Tell me what’s troubling you, little bird.”
The floodgates opened. Eliza poured out the whole miserable day - the shame of staying silent in class, Tommy’s cruel taunts, the constant feeling of not belonging. Through it all, Grandma Rose listened quietly, her expression thoughtful.
When Eliza finally ran out of words, her grandmother reached across the table to take her hand. “You have a gift, little one. A mind as sharp as an eagle’s talon. But you keep it hidden, like a turtle in its shell.”
“I can’t help it,” Eliza whispered. “When I’m there, I just… freeze up.”
Grandma Rose nodded. “Fear is a powerful thing. It can protect us, but it can also hold us back.” She squeezed Eliza’s hand. “Let me tell you a story.”
Eliza settled back in her chair, tension easing from her shoulders. Her grandmother’s stories were always a comfort, a link to a heritage that felt increasingly distant in this new world of integration and change.
“Long ago,” Grandma Rose began, her voice taking on the rhythmic cadence of a practiced storyteller, “there was a young Cherokee girl named Adsila. Like you, she had a gift - the ability to speak with animals. But the other children in her village mocked her, calling her strange. So Adsila stopped using her gift. She pretended to be like everyone else.”
“What happened?” Eliza asked, drawn into the tale despite herself.
“One day, a great illness swept through the village. The medicine man couldn’t find a cure. But Adsila, she heard the whispers of the forest creatures. They told her of a rare flower that could heal the sick. Because she had hidden her gift for so long, Adsila was afraid to speak up. But as more and more of her people fell ill, she found her courage.”
Grandma Rose paused, taking a sip of her tea. “Adsila told the elders what she had learned. At first, they didn’t believe her. But she insisted, and finally they sent a hunting party to find the flower. The cure worked, and the village was saved.”
“So they accepted her then?” Eliza asked hopefully.
Her grandmother smiled. “Some did. Others still thought her strange. But Adsila had learned an important lesson - that her gift, no matter what others thought of it, had value. From that day on, she used her ability proudly, and in time became a respected medicine woman.”
Eliza mulled this over. “But Grandma, how does that help me? I can’t talk to animals or cure diseases. I’m just… good at math.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, little bird.” Grandma Rose’s eyes twinkled. “Every gift has its purpose. Maybe your numbers won’t cure a plague, but they might build a bridge, or send a rocket to the stars. The point is, you’ll never know unless you let your light shine.”
Eliza sighed. “I want to. But it’s so hard. Everyone already thinks I’m different.”
“You are different,” her grandmother said firmly. “You’re Eliza Pearce, and there’s no one else like you in all the world. That’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of.”
A small smile tugged at Eliza’s lips. “I’ll try, Grandma. I promise.”
“That’s my girl.” Grandma Rose patted her hand. “Now, how about you help me with these herbs? I’ve got some salve to make for Mrs. Johnson’s arthritis.”
As they worked side by side, crushing leaves and measuring oils, Eliza felt some of the day’s tension melt away. Here, in this small kitchen that smelled of home and history, she could almost believe in the strength her grandmother saw in her.
The next morning dawned bright and clear, but Eliza’s stomach was a knot of anxiety as she approached the school. She’d spent half the night tossing and turning, torn between her promise to her grandmother and the paralyzing fear of standing out.
As she neared the entrance, a familiar voice called out, “Hey, half-breed! Forget your feathers today?”
Eliza’s shoulders hunched as Tommy and his friends guffawed. She quickened her pace, slipping inside the building without looking back. Her cheeks burned with humiliation and anger - at Tommy, but also at herself for not having the courage to stand up to him.
The morning crawled by in a haze of lectures and furtive glances. Eliza’s notebook remained stubbornly blank, even as her mind raced ahead of the teacher, solving problems almost before Mrs. Abernathy had finished writing them on the board.
As the class filed out for recess, Mrs. Abernathy’s voice cut through the chatter. “Eliza, a word please.”
Eliza’s heart sank. Had she done something wrong? She approached the desk hesitantly.
Mrs. Abernathy regarded her with an unreadable expression. “I couldn’t help but notice you haven’t taken any notes today. Is there a reason for that?”
Eliza shifted uncomfortably. “I… I remember it better if I just listen,” she mumbled.
“I see.” Mrs. Abernathy’s tone was skeptical. “Well, in that case, perhaps you’d like to demonstrate your retention by solving this problem for me.” She scribbled a complex equation on a scrap of paper and held it out.
Eliza stared at the paper, panic rising in her throat. It wasn’t that she couldn’t solve it - the answer was already forming in her mind. But to write it down, to prove she knew… that would mean admitting to her ability, opening herself up to more scrutiny, more chances to be singled out.
“I… I don’t…” she stammered.
Mrs. Abernathy’s expression softened slightly. “Eliza, I know you can do this. I’ve seen how quickly you grasp these concepts. You have a real talent for mathematics. Why are you so afraid to show it?”
Eliza’s eyes stung with unshed tears. “I just want to fit in,” she whispered.
“Oh, child.” Mrs. Abernathy sighed. “Fitting in is overrated. It’s our differences that make us special.” She paused, considering. “Tell you what. Why don’t you take this slate and work on some problems during recess? No one has to see but you and me.”
Hesitantly, Eliza took the small chalkboard and piece of chalk. “Okay,” she said softly.
“Good girl. Now run along and get some fresh air.”
Outside, Eliza found a quiet spot under a large oak tree, well away from the rowdy games of the other children. She stared at the blank slate for a long moment, Mrs. Abernathy’s words echoing in her mind. Slowly, she raised the chalk and began to write.
Numbers and symbols flowed from her hand, complex equations taking shape with a speed and accuracy that surprised even her. She lost herself in the elegant dance of mathematics, barely noticing as one problem led to another, filling the slate with her neat, precise script.
“Well, well. What have we here?”
Eliza’s head snapped up to see Tommy looming over her, a mean smile on his freckled face. “Looks like the little squaw thinks she’s smart.”
He snatched the slate from her hands. Eliza lunged for it, but he held it out of reach, studying the equations with exaggerated confusion.
“What’s all this gibberish? Some kind of Indian code?” He turned to his snickering friends. “Maybe she’s trying to call up the spirits of her dead ancestors!”
“Give it back, Tommy,” Eliza said, her voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger.
“Or what?” He dangled the slate tauntingly. “You gonna put a curse on me?”
Something snapped inside Eliza. All the pent-up frustration, all the times she’d bitten her tongue and shrunk away, came boiling to the surface. “No,” she said, her voice steadier now. “But I might just show everyone how a ’little squaw’ can run circles around you in math class.”
Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Eliza said, drawing herself up to her full height, “that I can solve problems you can’t even understand. It means I’m smart, Tommy Wilson. Smarter than you, smarter than most of the kids in our class. And I’m not going to hide it anymore just because it makes you feel bad about yourself.”
A hush had fallen over the playground. Eliza realized with a start that a crowd had gathered, drawn by the confrontation. Her cheeks flushed, but she held her ground, meeting Tommy’s glare with a steady gaze.
For a long moment, tension crackled in the air. Then, unexpectedly, Tommy laughed. “Yeah, right. Prove it, half-breed.”
“Fine.” Eliza held out her hand. “Give me back my slate.”
To her surprise, he did. Eliza took a deep breath, acutely aware of all the eyes on her. Then she began to write, explaining each step as she went, her voice growing stronger with each word.
By the time she finished, a stunned silence had fallen over the group. Tommy stared at the slate, then at Eliza, his mouth hanging open.
“That’s… that’s high school level stuff,” someone in the crowd murmured.
“She did it faster than Mrs. Abernathy could,” another voice added.
Tommy’s face had gone red, a mix of embarrassment and grudging respect in his eyes. “How did you learn to do that?” he demanded.
Eliza shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I’ve always been good with numbers. I just… understand them.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything before?”
The smile faded. “Would you have listened? Or would you have just called me names and told me to go back to my ‘reservation’?”
Tommy had the grace to look ashamed. “I… I’m sorry about that,” he mumbled. “I guess I was just… jealous. And stupid.”
Before Eliza could respond, the bell rang, signaling the end of recess. As the crowd dispersed, she found herself walking beside Tommy.
“So,” he said awkwardly, “do you think… maybe you could help me with math sometime? I’m kind of failing.”
Eliza blinked in surprise. “You want my help?”
“Yeah, well.” He scuffed his shoe against the ground. “You’re obviously good at it. And I don’t want to repeat sixth grade.”
A warm feeling bloomed in Eliza’s chest. “Okay,” she said. “I’d like that.”
As they entered the classroom, Mrs. Abernathy raised an eyebrow at the sight of them together. Eliza gave her a small nod, and her teacher’s face broke into a proud smile.
For the first time since starting at this school, Eliza felt a glimmer of hope. She wasn’t naive enough to think everything would be perfect from now on. There would still be challenges, still be people who saw her as different. But she had found her voice, and she wasn’t going to let it be silenced again.
As Mrs. Abernathy began the lesson, Eliza’s hand shot into the air. “Yes, Eliza?” the teacher called, a note of pleased surprise in her voice.
Eliza took a deep breath. “I think I know the answer,” she said clearly.
And as she stood to write her solution on the board, Eliza felt a shift inside her. She was Eliza Pearce - part Cherokee, part white, all brilliant. And she was finally ready to let her light shine.
In the days and weeks that followed, Eliza’s world began to change in ways both subtle and profound. Word of her mathematical prowess spread quickly through the school, and she found herself fielding questions not just from Tommy, but from a growing circle of classmates eager for her help.
At first, the attention was overwhelming. Eliza still battled her instinct to shrink away, to make herself small and unnoticed. But with each explanation she gave, each problem she helped unravel, her confidence grew. She began to see her gift not as a burden that set her apart, but as a bridge that could connect her to others.
Mrs. Abernathy, for her part, seemed determined to nurture Eliza’s newfound willingness to participate. She called on her regularly in class, gently but firmly pushing Eliza to share her insights. And after school, she began to provide Eliza with more advanced materials, challenging her to stretch her abilities even further.
“You have a remarkable mind, Eliza,” Mrs. Abernathy told her one afternoon as they pored over a college-level calculus textbook. “I don’t want to see it go to waste.”
Eliza ducked her head, still unused to such praise. “Thank you, ma’am. I… I like the challenge.”
Mrs. Abernathy’s eyes twinkled. “Well then, how would you like a real challenge? The state mathematics competition is coming up in a few months. I think you should enter.”
Eliza’s eyes widened. “Me? But… but that’s for high school students, isn’t it?”
“Typically, yes. But there’s no actual age restriction. And frankly, Eliza, you’re already working well beyond a sixth-grade level. I think you could hold your own against the older students.”
A mix of excitement and terror swirled in Eliza’s stomach. “I don’t know… What if I mess up? What if everyone laughs at me?”
Mrs. Abernathy’s expression softened. “Eliza, do you remember what I told you about your gift? It’s not just about being good at math. It’s about having the courage to use that ability, even when it’s scary.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “You don’t have to decide right away. Think about it, talk it over with your grandmother. But I want you to seriously consider it.”
Eliza nodded slowly. “I will. Thank you, Mrs. Abernathy.”
That evening, as she and Grandma Rose sat on the porch swing, watching the sunset paint the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, Eliza broached the subject.
“Grandma? What would you think if… if I entered a big math competition?”
Grandma Rose’s weathered hands stilled in their work of stringing beads for a new necklace. “I’d think my little bird was ready to spread her wings,” she said softly. “Tell me more about this competition.”
As Eliza explained, her grandmother listened intently, nodding at intervals. When Eliza finished, Grandma Rose was quiet for a long moment, her dark eyes distant as if seeing something beyond the horizon.
“You know,” she said finally, “this reminds me of another story. Would you like to hear it?”
Eliza nodded eagerly, settling back against the worn wood of the swing.
“Many years ago, when I was just a girl, there was a young man in our tribe named Ahuli. He had a gift for carving - his hands could coax the most beautiful shapes from wood, stone, even bone. But Ahuli was restless. He felt the pull of the wider world, wanted to see how his skills measured up against others.”
Grandma Rose’s fingers resumed their work with the beads as she spoke. “The elders cautioned him against leaving. They feared he would lose his way, forget his roots. But Ahuli was determined. He set out for the big city, taking only his carving tools and his dreams.”
“What happened to him?” Eliza asked, caught up in the tale.
“For a time, things were hard. The city was not kind to a young Cherokee man with little money and no connections. But Ahuli persevered. He found work, saved his money, and in his spare time, he carved. And oh, the things he created! Pieces that captured not just the forms of animals and people, but their very essence.”
Grandma Rose smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. “One day, a wealthy art collector saw Ahuli’s work in a small shop window. He was so impressed that he commissioned Ahuli to create pieces for his gallery. Soon, Ahuli’s carvings were sought after by collectors all over the country.”
“So he became famous?” Eliza’s eyes were wide.
“In certain circles, yes. But more importantly, he found a way to share his gift with the world without losing himself. Every piece he created carried with it a piece of his heritage, his connection to the land and the spirits. And when he had made his name, do you know what Ahuli did?”
Eliza shook her head.
“He came home. He used his success to set up a school, teaching young people from the tribe not just carving, but how to navigate the wider world without forgetting where they came from.” Grandma Rose set aside her beadwork and took Eliza’s hands in hers. “You see, little bird, sometimes we have to leave the nest to truly find our wings. But that doesn’t mean we forget how to fly home.”
Eliza mulled this over. “So… you think I should do the competition?”
“I think,” Grandma Rose said slowly, “that you should do what feels right in your heart. But know this - whatever you choose, I am proud of you. And your ancestors are proud of you.”
Tears pricked at Eliza’s eyes. She leaned into her grandmother’s embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of sage and sweetgrass. “I want to do it,” she whispered. “I’m scared, but… I want to try.”
“Then you shall,” Grandma Rose said firmly. “And I’ll be right there cheering you on.”
The next few months passed in a whirlwind of preparation. Mrs. Abernathy worked with Eliza after school and on weekends, pushing her to tackle increasingly complex problems. To Eliza’s surprise, Tommy became one of her staunchest supporters, often staying late to help her study or just to offer encouragement.
“You’re gonna knock ’em dead,” he told her confidently the day before the competition. “Those high school kids won’t know what hit ’em.”
Eliza managed a shaky smile. “I hope so. I just… I don’t want to let everyone down.”
Tommy’s freckled face grew serious. “Hey, listen. No matter what happens tomorrow, you’ve already won, you know that? You’re the smartest kid in our whole school. Heck, probably the whole town. You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone.”
His words warmed her, easing some of the knots in her stomach. “Thanks, Tommy. I’m really glad we’re friends now.”
He grinned, a hint of his old mischief returning. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head, Pearce. I’ve still got you beat in baseball.”
The morning of the competition dawned clear and bright. Eliza’s hands shook as she braided her hair, weaving in the small beaded ornament Grandma Rose had made for her - “A little piece of home to keep with you,” she’d said.
The competition was being held at the high school in the next town over. As they pulled into the parking lot, Eliza’s breath caught at the sight of all the other competitors - tall teenagers who looked so much more poised and confident than she felt.
“Remember,” Mrs. Abernathy said softly as they walked towards the building, “you have every right to be here. Your mind is as sharp as any of theirs.”
Grandma Rose squeezed her hand. “You carry the strength of your ancestors with you, little bird. Let it lift you up.”
The competition itself passed in a blur of scratching pencils and intense concentration. Eliza lost herself in the familiar comfort of numbers and equations, barely noticing as the hours ticked by. When the final bell rang, she looked up in surprise, realizing she’d been so focused she hadn’t even noticed the passage of time.
The wait for the results was agonizing. Eliza paced the hallway outside the judging room, alternating between hope and despair. What if she’d made some stupid mistake? What if they disqualified her for being too young?
Finally, a stern-looking man in a suit emerged with a sheet of paper. The crowd of contestants and family members fell silent as he cleared his throat.
“In third place,” he announced, “from Jefferson High School, Michael Chen.”
A tall boy with glasses stepped forward to accept his bronze medal, beaming with pride.
“In second place, from Washington High School, Sarah Martinez.”
A girl with long dark hair collected the silver medal, her family cheering loudly.
Eliza’s heart pounded. She hadn’t placed. She’d failed, let everyone down-
“And in first place,” the man paused for dramatic effect, “in a surprise upset, from Oakwood Elementary School, Eliza Pearce!”
For a moment, Eliza couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Had she heard correctly? Then Grandma Rose was hugging her, Mrs. Abernathy was beaming with pride, and she was being ushered forward to accept a gleaming gold medal and a certificate proclaiming her the state champion.
As cameras flashed and people pressed forward to congratulate her, Eliza felt as if she were in a dream. But the weight of the medal around her neck was real, as was the warmth of her grandmother’s hand on her shoulder.
“I’m so proud of you, little bird,” Grandma Rose whispered. “You’ve found your voice, and oh, how it sings.”
Later that evening, as the excitement began to die down, Eliza sat on the porch swing, turning her medal over in her hands. The screen door creaked, and she looked up to see Tommy approaching, a shy smile on his face.
“Hey, brainiac,” he said, settling onto the swing beside her. “Heard you showed those high school kids a thing or two.”
Eliza laughed, the sound light and free. “I guess I did.”
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, watching fireflies blink in the gathering dusk.
“You know,” Tommy said finally, “I’m really glad you decided to stop hiding how smart you are. It’s… it’s pretty amazing, actually.”
Eliza felt a blush creep up her cheeks. “Thanks. I’m glad too. And… I’m really glad we became friends.”
Tommy nudged her with his shoulder. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep that big brain of yours from floating away.” His tone grew more serious. “But really, Eliza. You’re going to do great things. I just know it.”
As the stars began to peek out overhead, Eliza felt a sense of peace settle over her. She thought of Adsila and her gift of animal speech, of Ahuli and his carvings. She thought of all the generations of her ancestors who had faced their own challenges and found their own unique ways to shine.
She was Eliza Pearce - part Cherokee, part white, all brilliant. And she was ready to see just how far her gift could take her, knowing that no matter where she went, she carried the strength of her heritage with her.
The porch swing creaked gently as they rocked, and in the distance, an owl called - a reminder that even in this new world she was forging for herself, the old ways were never far away. Eliza closed her eyes and smiled, feeling for the first time truly at home in her own skin.
She had found her voice, and she intended to use it.