Sophomores and Other Oxymorons

by David Lubar

  “About thirty seconds ago.”

  Who said only teachers could make arbitrary rules?

  Zenger Zinger for June 2

  Last week’s answer: “They took away the knight’s title,” John Peter said uncertainly.

  This week’s puzzle: “I’m puzzled why there are two separate places to moor your boat,” John Peter said _________.

  Final exams started on Monday, and lasted through mid-August. Actually, they were only three days long, but they sapped the life out of all involved, both test-takers and test-givers. I studied hard. I was in good shape for most of my classes. The only downside was English. Even if I nailed the final, and bumped up my grade for this marking period, the best I could hope for as a grade-point average would be about a seventy-eight. That’s a C+. No colleges that were strong in liberal arts would take me seriously when I applied. Whether I wanted to be a reporter, a writer, or a lawyer—an idea I’d started toying with more seriously recently—it would help to get into a good college. I could have lived with a bad final grade in bio, had I not ended up on Ms. Denton’s good side, but the English disaster would be hard to recover from, unless I really aced everything during my junior and senior years. And who knew what sort of teacher I’d get next time?

  Zenger Zinger for June 9

  Last week’s answer: “I’m puzzled why there are two separate places to moor your boat,” John Peter said paradoxically.

  This week’s puzzle: “I need an ocean to slake my thirst,” John Peter said _________.

  June 14

  It’s the last week of school, Sean. You had a much better year than I did. You’re learning to stand on your own. Maybe you can teach me to take baby steps.

  The last edition of the paper for the year carried a full-page feature story by Jeremy and me about the budget scam. So I finally had something in the Zenger Gazette, even if I shared the credit. Jeremy and I also got a lot of praise for uncovering the crime. Next year, the money budgeted for those clubs that no longer existed could be allocated to things like art and music. Principal Hedges had assured me that the newspaper would be put back in the main budget, so it would never be at the mercy of the voters again. I guess, if I’d only achieved one thing this year, that was a pretty good thing for it to be.

  Lee took a copy of my article to the school library and asked Ms. Paige to laminate it for me. From what I’ve seen, librarians love their laminators, and are overjoyed at any opportunity to use one.

  Zenger Zinger for June 16

  Last week’s answer: “I need an ocean to slake my thirst,” John Peter said sequentially.

  Today’s puzzle: “I have an innate talent for rebuttal,” John Peter said _________.

  June 16

  Tomorrow is the penultimate day of school, Sean. I have nothing special to tell you tonight, but you know I never miss a chance to use that word.

  “I’ve been thinking,” I told Kyle when we were waiting for the bus on Wednesday morning.

  “You need to stop doing that,” Kyle said.

  “I’ll think about it.” I paused to savor the joke, and then I told him, “You should ask Julia out.”

  He glanced in the direction she’d be coming from, as if she might overhear us from three blocks away. “Why?”

  “Because you’re afraid to,” I said.

  “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “That’s mostly true. You’re probably the bravest guy I know, next to Wesley. But everyone is a little afraid of asking Julia out. Right?”

  “Yeah. Except for you. You weren’t a little afraid. You were terrified.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” I said. “But the point is, the fear of asking her out is universal.”

  “That’s no surprise. She’s pretty much out of reach.”

  “But if everyone thinks she’s out of reach, who’s asking her out?”

  Kyle digested that for a moment. “Nobody . . .”

  “Exactly! So, yeah, it’s scary to climb Olympus and present your petition to a goddess, but it’s not a crowded climb. There’s no competition when you get to the summit.”

  “So I should ask her out.”

  “You should ask her out.” The suggestion rolled off my tongue, as if this were the simplest thing in the world. I was so much better at giving advice than taking it.

  “She’s really smart.”

  “You don’t seem to be intimidated around anyone else who might be sort of smart.”

  “I said smart, not nerdy.”

  “Either way, give it some thought.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Good. And I’m not a nerd. I’m an enthusiast.”

  • • •

  Since there wouldn’t be another issue of the paper until September, the last meeting of the year was a staff party. Mom had armed me with these killer caramel-fudge cupcakes. Jeremy’s folks had supplied a large assortment of tiny fruit pies.

  Some of the staff felt it was cruel to make everyone wait until next year for the answer to the final Zenger Zinger. But I didn’t want to print the answer right under the puzzle, especially since I thought it was one of the best I’d come up with. I was pretty sure someone would figure it out and spread the word around. And that word was “counterintuitively.”

  Sarah gave us all parting hugs. I noticed that hugs from others feel different when you have a girlfriend. This was just one of many ways my life had changed.

  After the festivities broke up, Mr. Franka said, “Congratulations, Scott.”

  “What for?” I sifted the possibilities through my mind. Nothing stood out as a clear winner. He’d already given Jeremy and me sufficient praise for the article.

  “Your English grade. I checked it out when I was entering the grades for my students. You got a 93.75.”

  I’d hoped for something like that. Though, given my experiences this year, I knew better than to make assumptions about grades. “I worked really hard this marking period. And parked my ego a bit more, which seems to be the key to getting along with Mrs. Gilroy.”

  “I’m not talking about this marking period.” He pulled up a file on his tablet. “You got a ninety-eight for the fourth marking period. But you averaged 93.75.”

  “No way.”

  “Way,” he said, grinning, I imagine, at the pleasure of slipping into the typical debate/discourse style of my peers. He held out the tablet. “See for yourself.”

  The lines he pointed to displayed my English grade for each marking period, along with my final grade.

  “That can’t be right,” I said.

  “It can’t not be right,” he said.

  “I have to talk to her.” I headed for the door, then turned back. “Thanks for . . . everything.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Do you teach juniors?”

  “No. They’re too serious.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Get out of here.”

  Mrs. Gilroy wasn’t in her room. I’d have to wait until tomorrow to ask her about the grade.

  FORTY-FIVE

  June 18

  Good morning, Sean. This is the last day of school. It’s hard to believe another year is almost finished. Or that I’m at the midpoint of my path through high school. I’m not going to summarize the year, or reflect on it. You can read this journal any time you want.

  Father’s Day falls on the overmorrow. Good news: you bought Dad a nice present. Bad news: your piggy bank is now empty. Great news: besides the expensive bottle of aftershave you bought him, Dad is going to get a present he’ll never forget. We managed to get everything put in place to go ahead with the limited partnership. It’s going to happen. A lot of people are eager to sign up for a share. Lee took a photo of the garage, and put Hudson and Sons, Mechanics and Wizards on the sign. It could just as easily have been called
Hudson and Friends, since Kyle’s, Lee’s, Jeremy’s, and Wesley’s folks each have a share. Mom got a frame for the photo. I can’t wait to see Dad’s face when he unwraps it.

  It turned out I had a bit of matchmaking skill. Mr. Bartock and Mr. Fowler discovered they enjoyed working together. They liked it so much, they were going to look for other deals to put together.

  Mom had a surprise of her own to spring on us at dinner. She’s going to run for the vacant position on the school board. We were all awash in amazement at the announcement. Except for you. You were awash in apple juice.

  As for my own personal future (yup—my own personal was doubly redundant), that’s looking good. I know I’ll always have family to watch my back. And friends. Even a girlfriend.

  Everyone says you work your hardest during your junior year. I guess I’d better do as much relaxing as I can this summer. I’m not going to slack off again in the classroom. You worked pretty hard this year, too, on fine motor skills and linguistic acquisition. I wish you’d hurry up with the latter, so we could have these discussions in a more interactive format. But there are small signs you’re turning into an actual human being. So am I.

  Hey, I’m babbling. Or, as Mrs. Gilroy would say, committing macrologia. Yeah, there’s a word for that. There’s a word for just about everything. The trick is to know when to use that word. And when not to. Because these are funny words. Not in the “what a weird spelling” sense. But in how they function. Sure, if I want to discuss poetry with Lee or Mr. Franka, I can point to where the poet employed antistrophe or epanalepsis (don’t even bother looking them up). But really, these are my wrenches. Dad looks at an engine in need of repair, and knows which wrench to take from the toolbox. He doesn’t hold it up and say, “Five millimeter metric socket,” for the benefit of others who might be in the vicinity. And he doesn’t try to drive a nail with a pair of pliers. If I’m writing a humorous story, I know antanaclasis would be a good tool. A persuasive essay is one place where chiasmus is very powerful. That’s it in a nutshell. Writers have tools. The tools need names. Not for anyone else. For the writer. For me.

  I have to go. I have a bus to catch.

  Kyle didn’t say much while we waited at the bus stop. He seemed distracted. Right before the bus pulled up, he walked over to Kelly and whispered something. She smiled and nodded. Kyle smiled back.

  That surprised me. He hadn’t said anything about trying to get back together with her. But if that was what he wanted, good for him for stepping right up to the plate.

  When we got on the bus, Kelly walked past her usual spot. Kyle took the vacant seat next to Julia, and started to talk with her.

  Gooder for him.

  • • •

  It was a half day. I could tell all the teachers were as ready for vacation as the students. Each teacher had some parting wisdom for us. Each one wished us luck. Each one told us it was a joy to get to know us.

  Anaphora.

  In geometry, Lee smiled at me and said, “I don’t know if the year rocked, but our worlds sure did.”

  “Yeah. It’s been an adventure.”

  Up front, Mr. Stockman said, “Trig is tricky.”

  Alliteration.

  In history, Ms. Burke told us . . .

  No. I’m not ending the year with a flood of rhetorical styles, terminating each class with a cleverly appropriate figure of speech. That’s too easy, too obvious, and too much of a gimmick.

  Damn. I seem to have sunk into an anaphoric rut.

  Let’s swap the anaphoric for the euphoric, and cut to the final bell, after our sophomore honors English class had been wished farewell and Godspeed by Mrs. Gilroy.

  “I’ll meet you in a moment,” I told Lee.

  “You can’t resist taking one last shot at digging your own grave, can you?” she said.

  “It’s become sort of my hobby,” I said. “But it beats cutting classes. Besides, you’re fond of graves.”

  “True,” Lee said. “Be sure to leave this grave to me in your will.”

  “Of corpse.” I walked over to Mrs. Gilroy’s desk.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  I pictured myself thrusting a spade into soft cemetery soil. “I think there’s a mistake in my grades.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  “Someone showed them to me.”

  “Let’s see.” She pulled a file folder from her desk drawer, and removed a sheet of paper with my name at the top. The grades were handwritten. Maybe that’s how the mistake had happened. Whoever put them in the computer had messed up.

  “Is this what somebody showed you?”

  The numbers on the sheet matched the ones on Mr. Franka’s tablet.

  “Yeah, that’s what I saw. But that’s not what they used to be. You changed them.”

  “Your powers of observation are increasingly impressive,” she said. “Perhaps you could seek summer employment spotting forest fires from a lookout tower.”

  “I didn’t know you could change grades after a report card came out.” As the words left my mouth, I could already hear her response in my mind. She didn’t disappoint me.

  “There are many things you don’t know, Mr. Hudson.”

  “But . . . why . . . ?”

  I expected her to ask if I’d prefer for her to change the grades back. Instead, she said, “You have a gift. I gave you a difficult time after your disappointing performance the first week. I pushed you beyond the bounds of what would be viewed as the rubric of the sophomore English Honors curriculum. You showed spirit. My health may have affected my temperament earlier in the year. In my defense, I’d been told before school started that you were a gem, and yet you made an entrance that reminded me more of a turd.”

  The coarse word from an unexpected source had a lot of power. “I can’t argue with any of that. I was a turd.”

  “As was I,” she said. “That’s enough scatology. Let us return to the topic at hand. I believe the adjusted grades I gave you are a fair reflection of your work. You also did well in classroom participation, despite facing some challenges.”

  “Challenges? You shot me down every time I spoke!” I didn’t shout. I wasn’t feeling angry. Just relieved, grateful, and perplexed.

  “I can get a bit overzealous in my peregrinations.”

  “Peregrinations?” I said. “That’s not the right word.” I froze. I had to be careful not to ruin everything by getting her angry.

  But she smiled, and I realized she’d made the mistake on purpose. “Nicely done, Mr. Hudson. Be careful. Most people don’t appreciate being corrected—especially people who are tasked with instructing you.”

  “I know.”

  “I do have to say that your opinion piece on terminal prepositions was well thought out, well written, and thought-provoking.”

  “You read it?” I asked.

  “One of my coworkers was kind enough to share it with me,” she said. “He felt I’d appreciate the enthusiasm with which you approached the topic.”

  “Mr. Franka?” I asked.

  “That would be the most likely somebody.”

  “Well written?” I asked.

  “Don’t grovel for praise. You heard me the first time. Don’t you have somewhere you’re supposed to be? Don’t you have someone young and lovely waiting for you?”

  “I do. Thanks for this.” I pointed at my grades. Then I pointed at the figures of speech on the board. “And thanks for that.”

  “Thank me by doing something with your gift,” she said.

  “I will.” I thought about my grades again. “This is sort of a deus ex machina way to end the year,” I said.

  “Sometimes, Mr. Hudson, if you are very fortunate, or very deserving, life imitates bad art,” she said. “When that happens, take the gift and be grateful.”

  Before I left, I reached int
o my backpack and pulled out my copy of As a Breath into the Wind and asked for her autograph. She thought for a moment, and then wrote two words below my name and above her signature: “Amaze me.” I promised I’d try.

  • • •

  As I walked through the corridors of J. P. Zenger High School, with Lee by my side, I thought back over our history. One slow dance last year, one long hug last September, pats on the hand, a kiss on the cheek. An embrace. Finally, a whole evening of dancing, and an act of courage in front of her dad. A first kiss. More kisses. More embraces. It was good. But I needed to stop being a slacker in one more aspect of my life.

  “We should celebrate,” I said. I remembered when she’d used that phrase, and I’d failed to follow up.

  “We should,” Lee said.

  “How about a movie?”

  “Sure.”

  I realized a movie could mean anything. Two friends just hanging out. A dance, a walk, a trip to the library—all of those were socially ambiguous. I seized the clichéd, stereotypical date, so there’d be no doubt what I was asking.

  “How about dinner and a movie? I’d love to take you out tonight.”

  Lee smiled, faced me, and took both my hands in hers. “It’s a date,” she said.

  I enjoyed the warmth of her hands in mine. Dad had nailed it. I couldn’t picture a world without Lee. “Yes,” I said. “It is.”

  So, finally, clearly, unmistakably, and far later than I should have, I’d asked Lee out on a date. That might seem like a distinction without a difference to anyone who doesn’t live inside my head. But it was important to me.

  We flouted the personal-displays-of-affection rule, and walked hand in hand to the bus lot, flaunting our relationship. “And here, we part,” I said.

  “But not for long,” Lee said.

  As I floated toward my bus, a long white limo pulled up in front of it. Wesley, wearing a chauffeur’s outfit, got out and waved me over.

  “You have to finish the year in style,” he said.

  “I thought you were too young to do this,” I said.

  “I can’t drive customers. But I can drive friends.”