The Perfect Score

by Rob Buyea

  I’d like to know why Mrs. Woods chose that book to put on display. Was it because it had a medal or for some other reason? Did she know about my grandpa? I picked it up and held it under my nose. It didn’t smell bad, so I started reading it.

  Just like the grandpa in Mrs. Woods’s book, my grandpa had lots of important memories. His were of Grandma. That’s all he had left of her, and they were his treasure. Grandpa didn’t dare throw anything out for fear of losing one of those memories forever.

  Over time, refusing to get rid of anything had turned into keeping everything. And I mean everything. Every piece of junk mail, newspaper, you name it, Grandpa kept it. And that was how his house had become a maze of papers stacked into towers. Mom said Grandpa was sick—not like cough-and-cold sick but brain sick—which is why he wouldn’t throw anything out. I told Mom it wasn’t Grandpa’s brain but that he was broken-heart sick.

  The bad news was, that dumb doctor gave Grandpa a clean bill of health after his physical. The good news was, if they couldn’t help him get better, then I would. I wished Mrs. Woods’s book told me how, but it didn’t. I needed to come up with something on my own. I would. I loved my grandpa.

  This time when I missed recess, Woodchuck wanted me to write about the appropriate use of the word “suck.” And she warned me not to give her a blank paper again. I had three synonyms for her when I got done: Brian, Chris, and Garrett.

  “And who might these people be?” she asked.

  “My older brother and his goons.”

  “I see.” She didn’t say anything more. That was a smart move.

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF #6

  September: Flowers and Flyers

  Although the CSA material was easy for me, I enjoyed my morning of “real work,” as Mrs. Woods called it, and I was looking forward to my afternoon in Mrs. Magenta’s classroom. I’d missed the previous day’s class for reasons that do not need repeating.

  As Mrs. Magenta’s wardrobe suggested, she had a very different teaching style. While Mrs. Woods conducted business like a lawyer and had a black-and-white approach, Mrs. Magenta was unpredictable. Her classroom resembled a mad scientist’s laboratory, with stuff everywhere.

  “Hey, Mrs. Woods loves flowers, too!” Scott exclaimed when he saw the oodles of tiger lilies Mrs. Magenta had perched on her front table.

  “Oh boy! Oh boy!” Trevor cried, bouncing in his seat and clapping his hands like a doofus.

  Honestly, the fact that Scott never realized Trevor was making fun of him infuriated me, but at the same time I also recognized the blessing in disguise.

  “Lots of people love flowers, Scott,” Mrs. Magenta said. “It’s hard not to appreciate something full of beauty. That’s why we’re going to spend today exploring and experimenting with these wonderful creations.”

  —

  Our first activity was a flower dissection. Using special guidebooks that Mrs. Magenta passed out, we had to create a diagram by taping the various flower pieces in our notebooks and labeling them. I found it fascinating, but Trevor and Mark seemed to be missing the beauty in it.

  “Hey, Scott. You’ve got something on your cheek,” Trevor said.

  I looked. There was nothing on Scott’s cheek, but he did have orange pollen all over his fingers, and he started rubbing the spot under his eye with those hands.

  “No, it’s the other side,” Mark said.

  Scott rubbed his other cheek.

  “Actually, it’s on your forehead,” Trevor said.

  Scott rubbed. He had streaks of orange covering his face when they got done with him.

  “Check out Scott,” Trevor called. “He’s a flower boy with war paint.”

  Of course, everyone laughed. I was disgusted. I couldn’t stand Trevor or Mark, and Scott was no better. Why did he have to be so clueless? Mrs. Magenta was busy elsewhere, so she missed all this. If Mrs. Woods had been around, she would’ve collared those two jerks and sentenced them to another day of no recess, but without her there was no one to look out for Scott. Fortunately, Mrs. Magenta got a phone call in the middle of class and Scott was asked to go to the office, so he was spared any additional torture.

  Following the dissection, Mrs. Magenta attempted to lead a discussion about pollination and flower reproduction, but as soon as she mentioned the male and female parts, things fell to pieces. Did she really think she could say those words in front of these boys? It was disappointing.

  After our conversation was cut short, we moved on to the last thing, which involved setting up mini-experiments with colored water and various colored lights. We would analyze our results at the start of tomorrow’s class. Once I had my equipment situated, I gathered my belongings and went to line up at the door.

  “Natalie.” Mrs. Magenta called my name. I walked back to her desk, wondering what she wanted. “Natalie, you weren’t here yesterday when I passed out this flyer, so I wanted to make sure you got one today. It’s about an after-school program I have starting in a few weeks. You’re a great candidate, so I hope you’ll consider it. I’d love to have you join.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll look into the possibility.”

  “Wonderful.”

  I was sitting in Mr. Allen’s office. It was so awesome that he’d moved from the elementary school to Lake View Middle the same year that I did. He’d been my principal there, and now he was the guy here. Mr. Allen and I went way back, so he didn’t scare me, but I didn’t like the thought of Mom finding out I had to pay him a visit, because then she’d worry, and she already had enough on her plate with Grandpa.

  “Scott, it’s been less than a week of school, and you’ve already landed yourself in my office. How’s that even possible?” Mr. Allen asked.

  “You invited me here,” I said. “How’s the new job?”

  Mr. Allen cracked a smile and chuckled. We’d had many conversations over the years, and he almost always ended up laughing and putting his face in his hands and shaking his head before we got done.

  “Invited. Now, that’s an interesting way of looking at it,” he said. “I invited you down here because Nurse Wilcox told me about yesterday’s recess. I was hoping you could tell me what happened.”

  “You just said Nurse Wilcox already told you about it.”

  “Yes, but I’d like to hear the story from you.”

  Mr. Allen used to ask me to write about my mishaps whenever they happened, but he gave up on that tactic once he saw it was hopeless. Dad used to get all kinds of frustrated about me not writing, too, but even he gave up the fight when he saw it was getting us nowhere. Grandpa tells me I better make sure I have a good secretary when I’m older to keep me organized and transcribe my dictations.

  Maybe it was because of our collage activity and my pencil with a big X drawn through it, but, whatever the reason, it didn’t take Mrs. Woods nearly as long as everyone else to figure out I wasn’t writing, and she left me alone. She told me all my reading was helping me more as a writer than our arguing about it ever could. I wished everyone had been as smart as her from the get-go.

  “You’ll write when it’s important to you,” she tried telling me again. “I’m not worried.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I said.

  “Don’t get wise,” she replied.

  I zipped my lips.

  So Mr. Allen sat and listened while I told him the story about recess. There was no writing involved. I was careful not to leave any parts out, and sure enough, he had his face in his hands and was shaking his head when I finished.

  “Mr. Allen, do you need to tell my mother about this?” I asked.

  “Scott, you and I have had many conversations over the years, and they always seem to come back to you trying to be helpful but then somehow things go wrong along the way. I know your teachers have had the same talks with you.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m not sure if Mrs. Magenta has shared
this with you yet, but she was awarded a grant for an after-school program this year. It’s called Art and Community Service. Since you like helping people so much, I think this sounds like a good fit for you and an appropriate consequence for what happened at recess.”

  I nodded again. “Mrs. Magenta told us about it, and I wanted to show my mom the flyer, but I lost it.”

  “Tell you what, as long as you agree to attend Mrs. Magenta’s program, I don’t see the need to tell your mother about this recess mishap. What do you think?”

  “You’ve got a deal!” I said. I jumped from my chair and shook his hand. Mr. Allen and I were good at making deals. This wouldn’t be the last one we made. “Thanks, Mr. Allen. I’ve got to go now, before I miss read-aloud with Mrs. Woods. She’s the best in the whole wide world.”

  “See ya, kiddo. And don’t run in the halls.”

  Too late.

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF #7

  September: Mrs. Magenta’s Program

  The moment I climbed in the car after school, I started my interrogation. “Mother, did you talk to Mr. Allen about what happened at recess?”

  “How about ‘Hi, Mom. How was your day?’ ”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Hi. And how was your day?”

  “Busy but good. How was yours?”

  “Scott was called down to the office during science class this afternoon. Did you talk to Mr. Allen?”

  “No, I did not. I know you prefer to handle these things on your own, so I’m staying out of it.”

  I sighed. “Thank you.”

  “You know, you don’t always have to be so grown-up, Natalie.”

  “Or perfect. You keep reminding me of that.”

  Now Mother sighed.

  “You also told me to make sure I’m being a good person, because that’s what’s most important.”

  “Yes, and I hope you don’t forget that.”

  “Well, today I found out about this new after-school program. Even though it might mean more time with individuals I don’t particularly care for, I think I want to try it. It’s about being a good person.”

  “Really? What is it?” Mother asked, brightening.

  I waited until she parked the car, and then I pulled the information sheet out of my backpack and handed it to her. “It’s called Art and Community Service,” I said. “I know it’s the right thing to do, but if I join, I won’t be able to help you and Father in the office on the afternoons when it meets. Is that going to be okay?”

  “Are you kidding? This is wonderful. I’m signing you up as soon as we get inside. Let’s go and tell your father this exciting news.”

  —

  Had I known then what I was getting myself into, I’m not so certain I would’ve joined—even if it was the right thing to do.

  “So whaddaya think of Woods?” Gav asked me. We were in his backyard playing catch. I got to hang out with Gav (and Meggie) for about thirty minutes after school. Then Jane would pick me up, and we were off to gymnastics. We had an hour drive to get to practice, which lasted three hours, and the hour drive back home, so there wasn’t any time for friends after that.

  “I think she’s pretty good at taking Trevor’s recess away,” I said. Gav laughed. I gripped the laces and threw the ball to him.

  “For real, though,” he said. “She’s pretty good at reading aloud, don’tcha think?”

  I almost dropped his pass. “Reading” and “Gavin” didn’t even belong in the same sentence together. Sure, I’d seen the way he fell into a deep trance every time Mrs. Woods opened her book and read to us, but to hear Gav bringing it up while we were playing catch was a whole different story.

  “Yeah, she’s the best,” I said, “but she’s even better at piling on the homework.” I lofted a pass his way.

  “At least it’s easy for you,” he said. He hit me in the numbers with another perfect throw.

  I didn’t say anything more, because school wasn’t easy for Gav—especially reading—but the truth was, this amount of homework was new for me, and I was struggling to get it all done around gymnastics. It wasn’t as simple as it used to be. I complained to Jane, but she didn’t listen. She couldn’t even begin to think about something possibly interfering with my gymnastics. “Just do what you’re supposed to,” she told me. She didn’t care, as long as I kept getting all As. And to make matters worse, she’d gone and found another thing to plug into my schedule.

  “Jane signed me up for Mrs. Magenta’s after-school program,” I said, squeezing the football. “She thinks it will look good for colleges, and it happens to meet on the one day when I don’t have gymnastics.” I let a deep pass fly.

  “Touchdown!” Gavin yelled, catching it over his shoulder and making it look easy. He spun around, planted his feet, and threw another perfect spiral. “Why is your mother so crazy about college?” he said. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know.”

  “Don’t call my mother crazy,” I said. I gunned the ball at him.

  “Take it easy. I didn’t call her crazy. I asked why she was so crazy about you going to college, that’s all. It’s not like it’s happening tomorrow.” He tossed a soft pass.

  “Jane says it’ll be here before we know it. She’s just looking out for my future. She wants me to do well in life.” I threw an easy one back.

  “Oh, and that means you have to go to college?” Gav said. “You know, my old man’s always talking about the college-educated people he meets on the job who don’t know their right from their left.”

  “And you listen to your father all of a sudden? Maybe he only says those things because he’s jealous.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Gav mumbled. He tucked the football under his arm and went and sat on their rusty and tired swing set.

  I walked over and plopped down next to him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “No, it’s true. And I’ll probably follow in his footsteps. I’ll grow up to be some dumb plumber.”

  I knew that was the last thing Gav wanted, but there was a good chance that was his destiny. “At least you know you’ll get a job,” I said, trying to sound optimistic. “Your dad’s right when he says that no matter how fancy the world gets, people will always need plumbers.”

  “I think Jane’s right. It’s better to go to college.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s only going to happen if I manage to get a free ride.”

  “You can do that easy,” Gav said, looking at me. “Randi, you’re awesome at gymnastics and school. You’ve got it. No sweat.”

  I smiled. He meant what he said. Gavin was the best best friend. We never stayed upset with each other, and we always knew how to make the other feel better.

  A car horn honked out in the front driveway. It was time for gymnastics. I hopped off my swing and pulled the folded paper out of my pocket. “Sign up for Mrs. Magenta’s program with me, please.” I handed him the flyer.

  “I’ll ask.”

  I knew he would. Gav was the most honest person in the world. “See you tomorrow,” I said. I turned and took off running. Jane didn’t like to wait.

  “Aren’tcha gonna give her a kiss?” Meggie yelled from the porch.

  “Be quiet or I won’t getcha snack,” Gav warned her.

  “Have fun at gymnastics, Randi!” Meggie called.

  Yeah, I thought, waving over my shoulder. Sometimes I wished it was me with the little sister to babysit, but that wasn’t part of my destiny.

  I waited till Mom got home from bartending that night to ask her and Dad about Magenta’s after-school program. I didn’t think they’d go for it, but I had told Randi I’d ask, and I always keep my word. That’s one thing I’m good for.

  I found my parents cuddling on the couch, watching TV together. “Can I ask you guys something?” I said.

  “Gavin! My niño. You’re still awake?” Mom sat up. “It’s late. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

 
“I know. I’ll make it quick.”

  “What is it?” Dad said.

  I did my best to explain about Magenta’s program. Mom and Dad didn’t say anything until I was done, and then they told me I could do it.

  “What?” I said.

  “You can do it,” they repeated.

  Talk about being shocked. Their answer made me wish I had asked if I could sign up for football. That was what I really wanted, but that was never gonna happen. It cost to join Pop Warner, and what money Mom and Dad made had to go to other places. Starting in seventh grade, there was a modified school team that you didn’t need to pay for, but Mom and Dad both worked such long hours that I knew there’d be no time for me to play ’cause I’d still have to watch Meggie.

  “Your mother won’t be bartendin’ quite as much anymore,” Dad explained, “so she’ll be around to watch your sister, which means you can start doin’ some of these after-school things.”

  “But don’t we need the money?”

  “Things are finally startin’ to look better for us, Gavin. Come next fall, you should be able to go out for the modified football team.”

  “Really?”

  “Sí,” Mom said, and sighed. “I’m still not crazy about all the concussion stuff I keep hearing in the news, but I can’t keep you from playing. Not when it’s your passion.”

  There was no hiding my excitement. This was the best news I’d heard in forever.

  “It’s like I told you,” Dad said. “Good things happen to people who work hard.” He leaned over and kissed Mom.

  So do bad things, I thought. Had he forgotten about what happened? One thing was for sure: a high school dropout wasn’t smart. I shouldn’t talk like that about my old man, ’cause he didn’t have a choice and had to quit school when his dad got sick so he could run the family plumbing business. He saved the business but not his father. Still, you don’t run around bragging about your old man when that’s his story. I didn’t want to end up a nobody like him, but my brain wasn’t very good at school. So I was gonna shine on the football field when I got my chance. Football was gonna take me places.