Sophomores and Other Oxymorons

by David Lubar

  “We’re going to take a short recess.” Mr. Sherman banged his gavel. Then he and the rest of the board got up from the table and went into a smaller room off to the side.

  The woman in the business suit, who was the last person in line, put her hand on Mr. Fowler’s shoulder and said, “I’m Ms. Denton’s union representative. I want to thank you. I think you just saved everyone from a long, unpleasant legal battle.”

  “I’m happy to help,” Mr. Fowler said.

  He followed me to the back wall. Lee was there. I guess she’d come in with him. She gave me a thumbs-up.

  “Wow,” I said to him. “That was impressive. Thanks.”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “You’re very good at it.”

  “Don’t suck up to me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You weren’t bad yourself. You just picked a more difficult argument to support.”

  “I’m new at this.”

  “Despite what I said earlier, you should give serious consideration to being a lawyer.”

  I thought about the gut-churning experience of speaking to the board. “Do they let lawyers wear diapers?”

  As the words left my mouth, I flinched. That was not the best sort of joke to make to the father of the good friend you hope will become your girlfriend.

  But he smiled and said, “I usually recommend that to my opponents. They make extra-absorbent ones these days. That’s another miracle of science.”

  “Thank you, Scott.”

  I looked to my left, at Ms. Denton, who’d just joined us.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  “I would never have expected you to defend me,” she said.

  “I was defending a principle. But everything I said was true. You definitely motivated me to study hard.”

  “Though not in the best way,” she said. “I wasn’t being very professional.”

  I shrugged. I wanted to rub it in a bit. She really had treated me unfairly. But she’d been battered pretty roughly this week for sticking to her principles. I’d heard she’d gotten some pretty nasty phone calls. Her eyes were moist. This was getting awkward. “No worries.”

  She turned to Mr. Fowler. “And thank you,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “I was defending a principle, too,” he said. “And a good teacher. Lee loves your class. Though she tries not to reveal her passions to me and her mother.”

  “She’s a wonderful student. She has a good mind for science. Were you serious about representing me? I don’t have a lot of money.”

  “You wouldn’t need any. And I doubt you’ll need representation. The board may have taken a shift to the extreme right, but they aren’t foolish. Whatever most people believe, however devout or irreverent they are in their daily lives, whether they spend Sunday in church or at the stadium, most of them still worship money. If the board is arrogant enough to believe they can defy the terms of your contract, I’ll be happy to demonstrate how expensive their mistake is for them, and how rewarding it is for my clients.”

  The door of the side room opened. After the board members were seated, Mr. Sherman called the meeting to order. “All those in favor of stopping the termination process?”

  Four hands went up, including Mr. Sherman’s, though he didn’t look happy about it. Four mouths said, “Aye.”

  “Opposed?” he asked.

  Three hands rose. I guess they’d decided that they could save face among their supporters, as long as the majority ruled in Ms. Denton’s favor.

  “The ayes have it,” Mr. Sherman said. “Is there any other business?”

  There was none. Ms. Denton hugged Mr. Fowler. Then she hugged me. Her fellow teachers came over. More hugs were exchanged. Lee came over and hugged her dad. Then, she offered me a high five.

  Zenger Zinger for March 31

  Last week’s answer: “I got his heart beating again,” John Peter said repulsively.

  This week’s puzzle: “I have my father’s eyes,” John Peter said _________.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Appropriately enough, the third marking period ended on April Fool’s Day. I was pretty sure I’d maintained my eligibility. Better yet, we had another teacher swap in English.

  Mr. Franka went for an English lesson in the truest sense, telling us about something called Cockney rhyming slang, which was a combination of wordplay and a simplistic secret code. We also discussed other secret languages and codes. Mr. Franka ended the lecture with an explanation of shibboleths, giving me another cool word and concept to add to my collection.

  Near the end of the period, he said, “Good news. Mrs. Gilroy returns right after the break.”

  I walked over to him on my way out. “I’m glad she’s coming back,” I said. “I’m glad I’ll have another chance to show her what kind of student I am.”

  “Everyone deserves forgiveness and a second chance, Scott,” Mr. Franka said.

  “I appreciate that,” I said. “Did you ever mess up badly?”

  “Constantly.” His jaw clenched slightly several times, as if he were paging through a series of mistakes, in search of one suitable for sharing with a teen audience.

  “I blew up my best friend,” he said.

  “You killed him?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Luckily for both of us, I was pretty bad at chemistry.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was junior year. We were trying to make our own fireworks. I definitely do not recommend this. I overestimated my skill in creating fuses. And underestimated the stupidity of holding an enormous homemade firecracker in my hand. When I realized the beast was about to explode, I tossed it.”

  “At your friend?”

  “Not intentionally. But, yes, at my friend.”

  “Did he forgive you?”

  “Not back then. Not for maybe ten years. It takes a while to get over a lost toe. His dad forgave me a lot sooner. And that was probably more important. Although at the time, I didn’t really appreciate what that took. Dads are highly protective of their offspring.”

  “So I’ve heard. It could have been worse. Imagine if it had been his daughter.”

  “In that case, I doubt I’d be standing here,” he said. “As for you, basically, you screwed up, but nobody died, or was permanently damaged. You weren’t even responsible for Mrs. Gilroy’s collapse. Count yourself lucky. I suspect you suffered a bit of anguish, which seems fair. You learned a lesson. Time to move on. But take the lesson with you.”

  “I will.”

  “You are probably going to be writing throughout your life. You’re going to have a chance to hurt people with your skills. Choose your targets wisely.”

  “Speaking of targets, which toe?” I asked.

  “Second to last,” he said. “Right next to the smallest.”

  “Penultimate?”

  “I never thought of it that way. But yes, in that sense, it was the penultimate toe.”

  “Penultimate toe,” I said, savoring the sound of it.

  If I ever formed a band, I had a name for it.

  • • •

  We were off on Friday. Spring break had started. I went to the playground with my basketball. It was cold, but I felt like getting out and burning off some pent-up energy.

  Kyle was there. I was about to turn away when he rolled his ball off to the side and held his hands out. I tossed him mine and joined him on the court.

  We played one-on-one, to twenty. Playground rules. Make it, take it. One point per basket. You had to win by two.

  It got rough.

  And then it got brutal.

  Kyle won, but only by four points.

  By the end, as we dropped to the grass at the side of the court, I had a bloody nose, thanks to getting a jump shot stuffed back in my face, and a torn sh
irt.

  Kyle had a twisted ankle. I’m pretty sure he also had some sore ribs, thanks to an elbow of mine that got out of control.

  When I got home, Mom instantly asked, “Did you get in a fight?”

  “Quite the opposite,” I said.

  • • •

  Saturday, when we went bowling, Wesley picked me up in a flatbed truck with a giant statue on the back. The statue was one of those painted plaster things you see in front of restaurants. This one was a huge, smiling bee, painted in yellow and black stripes, wearing a chef’s hat. It must have been eight feet tall. I didn’t bother to ask Wesley about it. I had something else to discuss. I needed advice.

  “I want to ask Lee out,” I said.

  “You go out with her all the time,” he said.

  “Out on a date,” I said.

  Wesley stared at me like I was a puppy he was trying to train to do a basic trick. “So ask her out on a date.”

  “What if she says no?”

  “Then you won’t go out on a date with her.”

  “But that could screw up our friendship,” I said.

  “Not if she’s a real friend.”

  I wasn’t sure things worked that way when dating was involved. I stared at the clouds for a while, then asked, “What do you think I should do?”

  “I don’t,” he said.

  “Don’t what?”

  “I don’t think about what other people should do.”

  “Maybe that’s the secret to happiness,” I said.

  “It works for me. I have no idea whether it would work for you.”

  “So, what’s up with the statue?” I asked.

  “New job.”

  “Oh.”

  “I have about ten more to deliver. It’s kind of fun.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Except when they slide off . . .”

  April 5

  Happy Easter, Sean. I can’t believe Mom let me put bunny ears on you. They were totally worth the fifty cents I spent on them at the thrift shop. You’re still too young to hunt for eggs. I think next year might be the turning point.

  Mrs. Gilroy is coming back pretty soon. I feel like I’m getting a second chance. I think, maybe, studying all those figures of speech is sort of like drawing three bottles for a whole marking period. You start to appreciate techniques, styles, and interpretations. Last month, when we were studying famous paintings in art, we learned the names for a lot of techniques, like chiaroscuro and sfumato. I guess that’s sort of the same thing as in English class, except everything sounds cooler in Italian.

  I reread my freshman sports articles last night. Most of my figurative language was similes. Seriously, nearly everything was like or as something else. I found some scattered metaphors, along with a sprinkling of the usual suspects—alliteration, onomatopoeia, hyperbole, etc. Though a few more sophisticated techniques crept in, especially in the later pieces. I spotted one nice chiasmus. Hey, don’t look that one up yet. I know you’re dying to learn the meaning, but the origin of the word is pretty cool. I’ll tell you about it when I have a chance. I need to get going in a moment.

  Anyhow, as I was saying, it was good writing. I’m proud of my work. But with all those similes, it was like I’d been using the most basic LEGO set, with just a few pieces, or I’d opened a giant assortment of crayons and extracted a single color. I have a whole arsenal now.

  I made a serious effort to do nothing productive during spring break, and mostly succeeded. Sloth, when practiced with sufficient diligence and attention to detail, can be an art form. I did pick up a book on rhetorical terms at the used bookstore, but I barely glanced at it.

  I went back to the playground on Saturday. I thought about going earlier in the week, but it had taken that long for all the bruises to heal. I made sure it was around the same time as before. Kyle was there.

  “One-on-one?” he asked.

  “How about we avoid contact sports for a while?” I said.

  “Fine with me. Let’s just shoot.” He threw the ball to me. Hard. But not killer hard. Not brutal hard. Just Kyle harder-than-necessary hard.

  “I’m sorry your dad had all those problems,” I said.

  “He’ll be okay. He always bounces back. I’m sorry your dad didn’t get to buy the garage,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “He’ll get it someday,” Kyle said.

  “Yeah, he will. He was originally aiming for the year after next. Then Sean came along. That set things back.”

  “Babies are expensive,” Kyle said.

  “For sure. I tried to talk them into selling him. They couldn’t be persuaded.”

  “Maybe they could rent him,” Kyle said.

  “That’s not a bad idea. And the rental agreement could specify that he had to be returned fully cleaned. That would save a ton of work.”

  We speculated further on the details of a rent-a-baby contract, and gave some thought to pricing. At one point, as we were both laughing, I realized that this was something Kyle and I hadn’t done since the start of freshman year. We were talking. Kidding around. He caught me looking at him, and stared back. We both stopped laughing. The shroud dropped over us again. But for a moment, it had been like all the bad stuff had been erased. It was nice to see a glimmer of healing. I knew better than to try to artificially extend it.

  “I’d better get to work,” I said after we’d played for about an hour. “I have a ton of reading to do.” Our teachers had made sure our break was well spent.

  “That’s what you get for being a brain,” Kyle said.

  “Nice example of metonymy,” I said. “Or maybe synecdoche. I can’t keep them straight.”

  “I think you mean lunacy,” Kyle said. But he smiled when he said it.

  “You’re probably right,” I said.

  Sean Hudson Lease/Rental Agreement

  1. All rentals must include at least one overnight period. No returns can be made after 10:00 p.m. or before 10:00 a.m.

  2. Sean must be returned with a full stomach and an unfilled diaper. Any stomach contents ejected before the end of the rental period are your property. Attempts to include such post-peristaltic material in the return package is a violation of this agreement.

  3. There will be a $1,000 damage fee assessed if, while in your possession, Sean has learned to hum, intone, chant, coo, warble, or babble songs from any animated movie featuring rodents, birds, or princesses.

  4. Should you lose or misplace Sean, do not attempt to substitute another baby of equal value. For acceptable substitutions, please see the attached chart labeled “Toddler/Exotic Sports Car Conversion Rate.”

  April 12

  Last day of spring break, Sean. Back to school tomorrow. And back to class with Mrs. Gilroy and her figures of speech. I think I’ve made it pretty obvious that I feel the names of a lot of these figures of speech are absurd. I mean, meiosis? That’s vowel soup. But there’s one term that is totally cool. I mentioned it the other day. Chiasmus. That’s when two parts of a sentence or a clause have been flipped. Like in the well-known phrase that Mr. Cravutto has probably shouted ten zillion times: When the going gets tough, the tough get going. It’s pretty easy to construct. Here, I’ll make one up right now. You can take Scott Hudson out of the library, but you can’t take the library out of Scott Hudson. And it usually sounds deep, even if it isn’t. So it’s a great technique for persuasive essays and campaign slogans.

  But here’s the coolest part. The name comes from “chi” which is the Greek word for their letter x. And that’s sort of what happens with the words themselves, in the two clauses or sentences. They cross. Okay, maybe right now that’s not as cool, from your perspective, as the squeaky horn on the toy steering wheel Dad got you. But, someday, it will be.

  Monday morning, I enjoyed a whopping one-twelfth of an hour o
f extra sleep. We’d gotten a notice that my bus schedule had changed. But only by five minutes. It was still at the same place.

  Jeremy ran up to me as I was walking there. He looked like he was fleeing Godzilla.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “They combined some of the routes,” he said. “There are a lot more kids at our stop. They’re kind of scary.”

  So that’s why my pickup time had changed. It looked like the school board had found another way to save money and make our lives less pleasant. When I got closer, I saw that the new kids were from the other side of the development. “You’ll be okay,” I said. “Just stick close to me.”

  I walked over to Kyle.

  “Where’d you get the puppy?” he asked.

  “He followed me to school one day,” I said. “Which, apparently, wasn’t against the rule.”

  “Did the teachers laugh and play?” he asked.

  I was pleased he’d caught the literary reference. “No more than usual.”

  I introduced Jeremy, and told Kyle, “He’s a friend. Nobody messes with him.”

  “Got it,” Kyle said.

  “Thanks,” Jeremy said.

  “The universe keeps throwing us together,” I said to Kyle.

  “So the bus will probably break down,” he said.

  “That’s the most likely scenario,” I said.

  Kyle grabbed a seat right behind Jeremy and me. By the time we left the last stop, every seat was full. I guess it made sense to be efficient with the buses, but I didn’t like the way that we got hit with constant changes. I wondered what the board would do next.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Mrs. Gilroy walked slowly to the front of the room. No, wait. Mrs. Gilroy shuffled to the front of the room. Writing laboriously on the chalkboard, she carefully formed a sentence. Hang on. Laboring over each word, she crafted a sentence. She tapped the board enthusiastically to fully attract our attention. Scratch that. She smacked the board to capture our attention. She spoke the sentence solemnly. Just a sec. She intoned the words she’d written: “Adverbs are not always our friends.”

  Yeah, she was back. At least the marking period had ended, so I knew I’d have one good grade to average into the others, thanks to Mr. Kamber. The first thing Mrs. Gilroy did, after banning the lazy use of adverbs, was tell us to resume our exercises writing figures of speech. She also put all the terms we were studying back on the board.