The Humiliations of Pipi McGee

by Beth Vrabel

  Frau Jacobs, who induced the nightmare of my seventh-grade year.

  That year held the humiliation so huge that even I, someone so used to humiliation my name is synonymous with it, can’t even talk about it.

  My face burned. My ears burned. My throat burned.

  “Hello?” she said in the same sugary voice. “Miss McGee?”

  Tasha elbowed me. “Her mom works here,” my friend said. Where I was burning alive, Tasha had gone ice cold. Her glare should’ve frosted the air between us, turning our breath into puffs of white.

  Frau’s eyes slid to Tasha. “Are you in my German 1 class?”

  Tasha crossed her arms. “No.” It was a clipped word.

  Frau’s eyes widened. “Goodness,” she said in her fake, sweet way. “I suppose I would’ve remembered you.”

  “I suppose you would’ve,” Tasha snapped back.

  Frau’s smile stretched as she turned back to me. “I’m here to give spin a try. Melissa—why, she must be your mother—came to a faculty meeting last month to talk up the gym.”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled as Frau Jacobs continued smiling at me, and I realized she wasn’t going to move until I responded. “She was talking to the coaches about cross-training students.”

  “Well, I thought, why not give it a whirl, so to speak!” Frau Jacobs continued.

  I didn’t say anything. She blinked at me. “Which way is the class, Miss McGee?”

  Tasha sighed when I didn’t speak. She thumbed to the open gym behind her. “That way.” She thrust a towel into Frau Jacobs’s hands. “You’re going to need this.”

  “Oh, goody!” she said.

  I shuddered as Frau Jacobs passed.

  “Did you hear?” Tasha asked in the silence that remained. “Frau Jacobs dress-coded Anika Patel yesterday.”

  “Anika?” I echoed. “But she never does anything wrong, ever!”

  Tasha nodded. “She was wearing one of those shirts with shoulders cut out, you know?” She mimed cutting away at a triangle of fabric at the top of her arms. “The rest of it was a freaking turtleneck. Dress-coded for a turtleneck.”

  Something to know about Frau Jacobs, she had a particular idea about respect. As in, she demanded it from students while simultaneously ridiculing said students, making comments about how obsessed we were with social media and how we cared too much about what we looked like, and throwing out obscure questions regarding current events just so she could sigh heavily when Becky Sprenkle didn’t know that the president had landed in London earlier that week. “Maybe if you spent less time worrying about your makeup, Becky…”

  The biggest thing Frau went on and on about was our complete lack of self-respect as it pertained to dressing appropriately for school. She’d point out a girl’s “so-called leggings or whatever they’re supposed to be” and say how they should be treated like tights. The whole shoulder cut-out trend nearly threw her over the edge. She acted as if writing dress code violations was her civic duty or something. “Dress for the classroom,” she would singsong to a girl before sending her to the office. “Not the playground. The boys have come here to learn, not to be distracted by your shoulders.”

  “Wow.” I shook my head. “Did Anika have to go home?”

  Tasha sighed. “No, she wore the Shirt of Shame.”

  I shuddered. The Shirt of Shame was this extra-large white T-shirt with Northbrook Middle School written in Sharpie across the front. Kids who violated dress code had to wear it all day if they didn’t want their parents to be called. Poor Anika.

  A retching sound rippled through the gym. Mom stood beside her bike, the one at the front of the room facing rows of others, spraying vomit across the floor.

  Frau Jacobs turned toward me, slug smile still in place, as I rushed into the room to see what had happened to Mom, with Tasha close behind. “Looks like you aren’t the only McGee lady who finds controlling bodily fluids difficult,” Frau Jacobs said. She covered her mouth with her hand as Mom rocked back and let loose another torrent of puke. “I believe I’ll skip this class after all.”

  Tasha stood beside me. She pointed toward the door. “Yeah, well.”

  Frau Jacobs sailed by us and I leaned into Tasha.

  I pushed through the throngs of people rushing toward Mom. She knelt by her bike, a thin film of sweat beading along her forehead, mopping up the puke with one of the sweat rags. “What happened?”

  “Bad cheese,” she whispered. “I knew the cashew cheese couldn’t—shouldn’t—be a thing. But I let Alec talk me into it. Cashew and cheese have no business associating.” Her face looked a little green in the fluorescent lights.

  “Okay, everyone,” I said. “Spin is canceled, but the open gym has lots of bikes!”

  Mom moaned again as another cashew cheese wave caught up to her.

  “Stop thinking about it.” I knelt beside her, swiping another rag across the floor to clean up. Tasha lugged in the mop and bucket combo we kept in the closet. I usually helped mop up at the end of the day so we could get home faster, so Tasha knew where everything was kept.

  “Thanks,” I whispered to her as she quickly backed out of the room with her hand over her nose. Tasha was on the bus that day in second grade when I set off the vomit-a-thon. She has had a bit of a delicate stomach ever since.

  “Did everyone leave? I could probably rally,” Mom said.

  “Yeah, everyone’s gone.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Mom flopped back on the floor. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  “Why don’t you go home? I’ll clean up. Spin was the last class of the day, anyway.”

  Mom ran her arm across her forehead. “That’s probably a good idea. You’ve got everything covered here? I mean, Sasha is in the back leading an aerobics class if you need her. And Steve will be here in a half hour to take over at the front desk,” Mom said.

  I nodded. “Yeah, we’ve got it.”

  Mom squeezed my shoulder. “I know. You’ve been through so many spin classes, you could’ve just taken over.”

  “Only with better music and graphics.”

  Mom was just walking out the door a moment later, plastic grocery bag in hand just in case the cashew cheese struck again, when in walked Sarah Trickle, trailed by a half dozen girls, all of them on the Northbrook Middle School basketball team. Vile Kara Samson, of course, was the team’s captain.

  “Hi, Penelope!” Sarah said brightly. “Coach said we should start cross-training, so I was kind of hoping we could check out the spin class? I know we’re late and all, so if we have to do it another time—”

  Mom’s face split into her business smile—the one she wore special for prospective clients. “Oh! Yes!” She glanced back at me with wide eyes.

  For weeks, Mom had been trying to get an in with the coaches at the middle school. She said it’d be the way to really secure the gym’s position in town, if it was where local athletes went to train. And here they were, taking her up on it, just as she was leaving. Why, Cashew Cheese? Why!

  Mom bit her lip, then turned back toward Sarah and the other girls. “In fact,” Mom said, my day once more taking a turn for the worse, “my daughter has crafted a special class just for student athletes, with hip music and killer graphics.”

  “Oh, my stars,” Tasha whispered under her breath. “Your mom just said the words hip and killer.”

  All of the basketball players turned to me. I spotted Kara laughing behind her hand as she leaned into another player. But, of course, Sarah wasn’t laughing. Her perky little face brightened. “Oh, wow!” she said. “That sounds perfect!”

  “I don’t know,” Kara said. “Which daughter?”

  “Yep,” Mom said, carefully not meeting my eyes and ignoring Kara entirely. “Just go on back into the main gym and find a bike. Pipi—Penelope—will be right in to get you started.” The girls passed by and Mom called out, “And remember: we have meeting rooms here. You know, if you want a cool place to hang outside of school, you could make one of the meeting rooms
your space for clubs or whatev.”

  Tasha mouthed whatev at me, and I internally groaned.

  As the girls filed into the room, Mom clutched her stomach again. “Thanks a million, Pipi,” she said and darted to the bathroom.

  Kara narrowed her eyes as she passed me. “Ew,” she muttered.

  Sarah cocked her head at Kara. “It’ll be fun,” she said, and smiled at me.

  I tried to smile back, but I’m not sure it actually worked. Tasha crossed her arms and gave Kara a stare down. Kara shifted so her back was slightly to Tasha, but I heard her whispering.

  Great. Now I had to lead Vile Kara Samson and Sarah Trickle and the rest of the basketball team in spin. I curled my hands into fists to keep from rubbing my nose.

  “It’ll be fine,” Tasha said. She grabbed her backpack and was about to head toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” I held tightly to her arm.

  She shrugged off my hand and smiled. “What could go wrong?”

  “Don’t you say that. Don’t you ever say that to me.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tasha texted me an hour later.

  Then again twenty minutes after that.

  Finally, she called. “Why don’t you answer texts like a regular person?”

  “Because I can’t put into words what happened after you abandoned me.” I plucked Myrtle out of the tank and flopped back on my bed, perching her on my chest.

  “That bad?” Tasha whispered. “What happened?”

  I considered my words, not sure how best to phrase it.

  “Oh my stars,” Tasha breathed. “You passed out, didn’t you? You passed out and Sarah had to call an ambulance.”

  “No.”

  “Okay, good. That’s good. So, a light fixture fell out of the ceiling, startled you, and you broke a leg or something?”

  “Nope. Nothing broke.”

  Silence from Tasha.

  “Oh no. You farted. You totally farted in the middle of teaching the class. Don’t worry. We can handle this. Everyone farts. It’s going to be okay.”

  “I didn’t fart.”

  More silence. Then, “What exactly happened?”

  “Honestly?” I rolled onto my belly, holding Myrtle, who tried to swim in midair. I put her on the bed in front of me and she burrowed under my pillow. Sometimes being around Myrtle made me more confident about my own social skills. “It was… kinda amazing.”

  Tasha sucked in her breath. “What?”

  “For real.” As shocked as I was to be saying that, it did sting a little to hear Tasha’s surprise.

  “You didn’t McGee it at all?”

  “Well—” I started.

  “Lay it on me. I’m ready!” Tasha’s voice was high.

  “I was about to say that I really didn’t. When we first started class, I set up the screen with the green field and soft, easy music. I heard muttering in the back from Kara.” Tasha huffed from her nose but didn’t interrupt. “She said, ‘Yeah, sure. She’s going to help us play basketball.’”

  “That’s cold,” Tasha hissed.

  “I know, right? Third grade could’ve happened to anyone.”

  Tasha was silent. Okay, so maybe not everyone would get the baskets mixed up and let down every girl in their grade. But still, that was a long time ago.

  I continued. “But then Sarah said Kara didn’t mean it, so…”

  “So, Kara kept on being obnoxious, just quieter,” Tasha finished.

  “Right. And then the playlist got faster. I switched the scene to the woods and it slowly got shadowy—I used the dimmer remote Mom always ignores to actually make the room darker—and the music switched to super creepy, something’s-following-you music. Maybe for a little bit, I was kind of showing off, going superfast, but then I kind of got lost in the show myself.”

  “The show?”

  My cheeks burned even though I knew Tasha couldn’t see me through the phone. “It’s not really a show, but it kind of felt like it. And then we were through the woods and tearing through the city scenes, and the music was fast and loud, and then, before I knew it, we were back to the countryside scenes and class was over.”

  “And that’s it?” Tasha asked.

  “That’s it. I mean, aside from Kara falling when she stepped off the bike.” I snickered. “I had to stay pretty late to clean up all the sweat, too.” I worked to keep my voice low key. “Because, the truth is, I rocked that class.”

  “Huh.” Tasha went quiet.

  “They all said they’d be back on Thursday. Even Kara.”

  “Won’t your mom be better by then?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Mom still got a little pale anytime anyone said “cashew cheese,” which coincidentally had become Annie’s favorite words, but otherwise she seemed fine. “But Mom said I could lead it again if I wanted.”

  “Do you want to?” Tasha’s voice sounded strange.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Tasha didn’t say anything.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “Sorry,” Tasha responded. “I’m just having a moment.” She breathed out slowly into the phone. “Just imagine, if I were your mom, I’d be making a scrapbook page and labeling it, The First Time Little Pipi Joined Something.”

  “Oh, shut up,” I snapped. “It’s not like I’m joining the team or anything. I’m just leading a spin class. And maybe…”

  “Maybe what?” Tasha asked.

  “I don’t know.” I picked up tiny pieces of spinach Myrtle must’ve missed when she was eating on my bed earlier. “The team needs a manager, I guess.”

  “OMG. You’re the basketball team manager now?” she said. “I left you at the gym and you were one way, then I talk with you and suddenly you’re, I don’t know, different. Talking to Sarah Trickle. Being a spin instructor. Signing up to be a team manager. You know the girls’ and boys’ teams share a manager, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, feeling my face flush even deeper. “I’m not for sure. I’m just thinking about it.”

  “Jackson Thorpe!” Tasha gasped.

  “It’d work out in my plan, you know? The List. If I had more time around Kara and Jackson, I’d have more opportunities. Let the universe provide and all that.”

  “Yeah!” She whistled low. After a beat, she said, “Just don’t…”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t be yet another Sarah Trickle fangirl,” Tasha said super soft.

  “Weren’t you the one who told me I shouldn’t hate her so much? And you’re the one making mental scrapbook pages for my being a joiner.”

  “Yeah.” And finally, Tasha sounded like herself again—about to laugh but also ready to roll her eyes if necessary. “But that doesn’t mean you have to go and be yet another one of her bffs.”

  “You’re my best friend, Tasha,” I said. “Even if I manage the basketball team. Which I’m not even sure I want to do.”

  “Cool. So, how’s this going to factor in your plan for The List?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, shrugging even though she couldn’t see me. Myrtle peeked out from under my pillow. I sprinkled the spinach bits in front of her. “Just a few thoughts I’ve got swirling around.”

  I heard a whoosh through the phone as Tasha plopped onto her bed. “So,” she said, “what was with Frau Jacobs coming to the gym?”

  “I know, right? Hopefully it’s a one-time thing and I won’t see her again, ever. The one perk so far of being in eighth grade is no more Frau Jacobs.”

  You know that whole universe-will-provide philosophy?

  Sometimes the universe can be such a jerk.

  Because guess who I saw as soon as I got into homeroom the next day?

  “Good morning, class,” Frau Jacobs singsonged out from the front of the room, where she half sat, half leaned on the edge of Mr. Harper’s desk. She waved her hands to greet us as if she were the conductor of an orchestra, clearly expecting us all to sing good morning back to her. But it was t
he beginning of the day, so I was the only one paying attention. And no way in the world was I going to wish Frau Jacobs good morning.

  Frau Jacobs sighed heavily, throwing her arms and smacking them down on her thighs. She was wearing a long denim skirt and a bright yellow T-shirt, her school ID badge and a pen hanging from a purple crocheted cord around her neck—teacher-mourning-the-nineties attire. Sighing again, Frau Jacobs trudged over to the light switch by the entrance to the classroom, her plastic clogs slapping against the linoleum tiles louder than should’ve been possible. Thrusting her neck forward and shaking her head at us, she sighed again and flipped the lights on and off a few times. “Hello.” She drawled out the word in the sudden silence.

  “That’s better.” She straightened up and swung her fisted hand back and forth like some cheesy singer in a musical about to take off in a skip. She even had a bit of a bounce in her step as she made her way back to Mr. Harper’s desk.

  “Where’s Mr. Harper?” Jackson called out from the middle in the room.

  “I was about to get to that,” Frau Jacobs answered with a tiny smile. It reminded me of those cartoons where a cat swallows a bird and is smiling but also keeping it inside its mouth.

  “Will he be back tomorrow?” Kara asked.

  Frau Jacobs cupped her hand to her ear and peered around the room in mock surprise. “Did I hear someone speak just now without raising her hand?”

  Kara raised her hand. Frau Jacobs ignored her. Directing her attention to the rest of the class, she said, “Mr. Harper isn’t going to be here for a while. He’s taking a sabbatical.”

  “For real?” Ricky laughed under his breath, a grin stretching across his face. How could he be happy about this? “I can’t believe it! He did it, didn’t he?”

  “What are you talking about?” Jackson asked Ricky.

  Ricky spun in his seat to face Jackson. “He made it onto America’s Secret Bakers.”

  “The TV show? No way!” Jessica said.