Everyone changes. The way they talk, the way they dress, the way they grow, love, and think. Some of these changes happen fast. Other changes come slowly. But it's tough learning how to deal with being different, when a part of you wants to be the same as everyone else, when a part of you wishes things could go back to the way they were. This is the story of a boy who became a monster, then found his way back to just being okay with himself.
Everyone changes. The way they talk, the way they dress, the way they grow, love, and think. Some of these changes happen fast. Other changes come slowly. But it's tough learning how to deal with being different, when a part of you wants to be the same as everyone else, when a part of you wishes things could go back to the way they were. This is the story of a boy who became a monster, then found his way back to just being okay with himself.
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I think COVID messed me up.
I think it replaced the old me with a new me.
I think it slowly turned me into a monster.
People look at me and talk about me like I don’t fit anymore, like I’m the anti-magnet, as if I don’t notice when they run away, like they’re afraid of me. I’m pretty sure I know why they act like that, why they feel the way they feel, but lately, I’ve been trying to figure out how to exist, just being me, with them. Because there’s no chance things will ever go back to the way they were. Too much has changed.
The main thing people notice about me, now, is that I’m unusually tall. Like, taller-than-my-mom-my-dad-and-my-teacher tall. And I’m only 11. Mrs. Odalis (Oh-Dallas) didn’t even recognize me when I showed up to fifth grade last August. But to be fair, no one mistakes me for an adult. I’m too skinny and gangly and awkward to be a regular person. It’s like I grew up, but not out.
I’ve been told that most kids gain a few inches every year. And if I was like them, if I was normal, I’d be about five feet tall, give or take a fingertip. But the summer before fifth grade, I was five foot seven. By the holidays, I was five eleven. And now that I’m wrapping up fifth grade, with middle school around the corner, I’m six two. I can’t hide or disappear in a room full of kids my age. Not anymore.
But then you have to add in the fact that I’m fascinated by unusual things. You’d think, with my height, that I’d be the first one picked for basketball, because almost everyone in my class likes playing sports. But I hate sports. I hate cars. I hate all the stuff that cool people say they like. I’m not into movies or memes or music. The closest I come to normal is that I like to read for fun, which, now that I think about it, very few other kids actually do. And it’s because of what I read that I’m into so many strange things.
For example, there was this cave in Thailand where a bunch of kids got trapped for more than a week in 2018. The way I heard it, rain blocked them inside and then the water kept rising. All their bikes and bags were abandoned near the entrance to the cave and it took a whole bunch of people to get them out. But the way I see it, getting stuck in a cave is the ultimate dream. It’s not that I like dark places. I just like all the things that happen in dark places, or the things that hang out in dark places, like spiders and insects and those little brown bats, the ones that look like russet potatoes.
People say that I loom, that they turn around and I’m suddenly there, looking down at them, like a menacing teacher. But I don’t know how it’s even possible for me to sneak up on someone, being as tall as I am. I think sometimes, the reason I look at them, or the reason I follow them, or the reason they think I’m looming behind them is because I really want to understand them, and me. I’m usually just trying to figure out why they are the way they are, and then, when I’m alone, I’m trying to figure out why I am the way that I am.
“You’re so weird,” they often say. “Why can’t you just be normal?”
To be honest, I kind of go back and forth. There are days when I’m okay with being weird, or being a freak, or being a monster. Then there are days when I feel like we’re not supposed to be normal, because that adds up to a whole bunch of boring people in the world. There are other days when it really bothers me, being as different as I am. And I didn’t reach this point overnight.
Now that fifth grade is mostly over, thank goodness, I’ve been putting it all together. I’ve been looking back at all my years in elementary. I’ve been trying to figure out what happened, when all this weirdness started. And I think I know the answer.
I think COVID happened. Second grade.
Mrs. Odalis was one of the newest teachers at Pender Elementary that year. She didn’t know any of us back then. And we didn’t know her. But she came into our room and saved us from Mrs. Perklet, the teacher who left us after two weeks. Because I guess we were too loud. Or too curious. Or too much like kids, maybe. I just remember Mrs. Perklet yelled at us a lot. And Mrs. Odalis didn’t. Most of us will never forget the last thing we heard, as our angry old teacher was walking out the door.
“You’re the worst class I’ve ever had!”
I didn’t think it was true. But it was hard not to feel that uncomfortable knot in my throat. She made eye contact with a bunch of us all at once, and then she slammed the door. I saw Mrs. Perklet in the grocery store at the start of the next year. She was with a little girl, her daughter probably, both of them wearing masks, and I wasn’t sure how to feel. Angry. Curious. Scared. I felt all of it. And I didn’t like any of it. So I hid between my mom and my dad, back when I could do that, back when mom and dad were together, when everything was normal.
Anyhow. We were only alone about thirty seconds after Mrs. Perklet slammed the door and left the room. I guess the teacher next door heard the noise, heard some of us crying, and opened hers. Next thing we knew, Mr. Keller was walking in, trying to comfort us and calm us down, with Mrs. Odalis standing just behind him, looking about as uncomfortable as we were. They stayed with us for most of the day, which was pretty unusual, since he was the principal and Mrs. Odalis was new to the school. We learned later that her little boy was sick at home, and that she was worried about him, just like she was worried about us. She had only just been hired to start that same day. We were lucky.
She wore these multi-colored bandanas that covered her short brown (but slightly graying) hair. It was kind of her trademark, wearing some kind of a cloth on her head. But none of us knew why until COVID, not until she explained how viruses work, and cancer. The thing about Mrs. Odalis was how different she was from any of the other teachers I had in kindergarten or first grade. It was like she had seen the world beyond Missouri, like she knew how things worked, better than anyone else. They say she taught for fifteen years before getting sick, before moving to Colfax to start over. But to me, she was like a warm blanket on a snowy day. She made me want to read more and know more.
“Good morning, Ben.” I remember her saying one day, a few months after she started.
“Good morning, Mrs. Odalis.”
“What’s that book you’re reading?”
“It’s about pandas.”
“Oh? Which kind is your favorite?”
“The regular pandas, Mrs. Odalis!”
“Is there just one kind? I thought there were three kinds. Let’s take a look later.”
Sure enough, just before the rest of my class went to music, Mrs. Odalis came over to my desk and showed me pictures of the giant panda, which I knew about, as well as the red panda, and another one that neither of us could pronounce: the Qinling. Best I ever learned was Chin-leen. It’s a brown and white panda, but there’s only about 100 left in the world. And I only know that because I looked them up on my school computer, which I’ll get to later.
Back then, I was short, shy, and studious. My mom taught me to read before kindergarten, so I had a knack for trying to quietly impress my teachers. I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I did whatever I was asked to do. Even the name I had, back then, was about as normal as crayons and glue. Far as anyone was concerned, my name was Ben Rubik. I had solid grades and I didn’t bother anyone, not the way people say I do now. I was actually one of the regular kids, or as close to regular as anyone could ever be.
At the time, I had four main friends: Sevyn Miller, Baylee Khan, Jack and Cole Washington. We were all about spreading good vibes. We even had the shirts to prove it. Mrs. Khan made them for us. I saw it again recently, when Mrs. Odalis had me pull one of them off a shelf, but it was light gray, with blue letters: We Jive to Good Vibes.
Sevyn was super smart and skipped ahead to another grade for math and reading, but she still hung out with us during the day. Her dad used to raise abandoned rabbits and bring them to class, so we could ask questions. We were all pretty sure that one day, Sevyn would jump an entire grade past us, because she was that talented. The only thing wrong with Sevyn was that she never stopped playing with that stupid little box, with all the squares and colors.
Baylee was the littlest of our group, but she had the loudest voice and the strongest personality. If she didn’t agree with us on something, she made it very clear she thought we were very wrong. Most of us didn’t like to argue, so we got used to saying have it your way. Sevyn called her BK, for short, but the rest of us just called her Baylee.
Jack and Cole were the soccer-loving twins. They were hard to tell apart, at least for the adults, but we just kind of knew, like a feeling, like they were part of us. Their parents were both doctors, which was part of the reason they could be so fearless. They weren’t afraid of getting hurt.
I don’t think any of us minded that Sevyn was smart, or that Baylee was loud, or that Jack and Cole were into things that we weren’t all into. We just kind of fit. Over time, Mrs. Odalis called us the Prankless Five. She said we were too close and too bright to let anyone trick us or tease us. She said nothing could ever slip by us.
But then everything slipped by them. Like I said before, I looked up more stuff about those pandas, and that’s when I saw something about a virus in China. I didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound right. So I asked about it. Mrs. Odalis didn’t think it was serious enough to be concerned.
“People get sick a lot, Ben. All over the world. It’s nothing you need to worry about all the way over here in Colfax, Missouri. We’re safe.”
About a month later, my parents started to leave the news on during dinner. Lots of people in Italy were forced to stay inside, and the television made it look pretty bad. But it also felt like watching a show, not like real life. Because even when I asked my dad about COVID, he talked as if it was a normal cold. Again, nothing serious.
And then I got sick. Really sick. They told me I was one of the first kids in Missouri to get the virus. Even the doctors at the hospital were a little nervous around me. I was constantly tired and had trouble breathing, something they blamed on my asthma. I was too sick and too young to really understand how big this thing was, or how it was affecting other kids, or my teacher, or my parents. I just kept seeing and hearing from less and less people.
During the first few days, my mom would tell me that she was getting calls from Sevyn’s mom, or Baylee’s mom, or the Washington boys. But she also told me there were calls from Mrs. Odalis, and Mr. Keller, and a bunch of other parents, all of them worried about me. Then it all stopped. Mom got sick and then dad got sick and then I only had the doctors and the nurses, most of them staying out of the room and leaving me without anyone to talk to.
“Hello?” I remember calling out one night. It might have been the tenth or eleventh night. I felt a little better than I had in some time. But no one said anything back to me. And I didn’t know what to do. So I called out again, a little louder. Nothing. It was the first time I had ever been really scared. The clock said 4:05am, and everything was black. There were lights from the machines they connected to my little body, and there were cracks of light at the window and the doorway, but it felt empty and eerie, like a cave, like a place I was too young to be in alone.
 It was hard to ignore the blinking red lights in the corner of the room, near the ceiling, because every time I sat up to get a better view, they looked like eyes, like bats, like something was about to fly right at me. When I looked over on the left side of the bed, I kept hearing a rustling sound from below, like a hand reaching up, waiting for the monster to growl at my small, weak, and terrified heartbeat. When I looked over on the right side of the bed, I saw the shape of a person, a shadow in a chair on the far side of the room, someone I didn’t know, looking at the floor. These were all the elements of a horror movie, and I was rightly terrified.
“Hey!” I yelled. Nothing.
“Hey!” I yelled again, louder. Nothing.
“No! No! Get out! Get out! Get out!”
“Whoa,” said the person in the chair, lifting their head and standing up.
“Get out! Get out! Get out!”
“It’s okay, Ben. My name is Liz. I’m  the nurse on duty. It’s really okay. I’m here to help you.”
“No! Go AWAY! I want my mom!”
“Your mom isn’t here, Ben. I’m so sorry.”
“I want her here! Bring her here!”
“She’s sick. So is your dad, but he’s doing a little better than her. You call him soon. I promise we’re gonna take good care of you.”
“I wanna go home.”
“We can’t send you home, Ben. You still have to get better and your dad is in quarantine.”
At first, I thought she said Core-In-Teen. That wasn’t a word I knew, and I knew a lot of words. So I asked her to repeat it.
“Quar-an-tine. That means he has to stay away from people for a few more days, until he’s totally better and he can’t get anyone else sick.”
“I was calling out and no one answered. Why didn’t you answer? Why?”
“I fell asleep, Ben. It’s been a really long week, for all of us, but I won’t do that again. I’m sorry.”
“Where is my mom?”
“She’s here with us. In the hospital.”
By that point, I was starting to calm down. But I was still spooked by a couple of things.
“What are those red blinking lights up there? Up on the ceiling?”
“Those are motion sensors. They tell us when someone’s moving in the room, like I am right now, like you probably were over the last few minutes.”
“Why is there something rustling below my bed?”
“I’m not sure. Let’s take a look.”
The nurse moved around to my left side and asked me to be quiet. Neither of us heard anything. So I sat up a little more, to try and listen better.
“It’s you, Ben. Lean over and take a look. See? Every time you move, the bed sheets make a noise at the edge, down here. It’s just you.”
She pointed at the corner of the mattress.
“Why were you so far away from me in that chair?”
“Because we’re not supposed to stay close to our patients unless they need us. We’re still trying to understand this thing you have.”
“What thing?”
“So, you have COVID, Ben. And you’re one of the first little kids to get sick in Missouri.”
“I’m not a little kid. I know what COVID is.”
“Ah. Yes. You’re a big kid. I’m very sorry.”
That really annoyed me. Her sarcasm. Even if she was right about my size, back then.
But all of it made sense. The motion sensors. The bed sheets. The shadow of a nurse. I didn’t have any reason to be afraid. If anything, I was the reason those lights were blinking. I was the reason for those creepy sounds under my bed. And the fact that no one wanted to be near me, that everyone I knew had left me alone, I knew exactly what was happening.
I was becoming the monster.Â
COVID turned Ben into a monster, a loner, and the post-pandemic culture made him aware of who he was and who he really wanted to be. Before COVID Ben was one of a group of five good kids who spent all their time together. When COVID forced schools to close down, life changed for everyone and nothing was ever the same, especially for Ben.Â
Ben returns to school with more than just post-pandemic apprehension. He has gone through a super growth spurt causing insecurities and a bit of clumsiness. Bullies found him an easy target and Ben learned that being alone was a lot easier and less stressful. Despite the troubles he had in school, Ben continued to learn and fed his desire for information using books and his computer. When things start going wrong at home, Ben is really unsure of what he is supposed to do or who it is safe to talk to. Luckily, an old confidante he found in a teacher years ago resurfaces to help Ben see his strengths and his true potential.
Beyond the social implications in the story, this book presents numerous ways for children to learn and to grow, including playing chess and researching interests. By Ben continuously delving into books, he is a great role model for children to see that there is so much more beyond your own life, your own home, and even your own town.
I give this book five out of five stars. Although it is geared toward middle school readers it is a compelling story that will keep children and adults enthralled. Knowing the world had to heal after COVID, this is a story that is very relatable. The characters are very realistic and the situations are age appropriate. This is definitely a book for children who feel alone or those who find themselves looking down at the quiet kid. A great book to initiate discussion on so many topics including bullying.