Me and Miranda Mullaly

by Jake Gerhardt

  Maureen: I said you could maybe borrow it.

  Sharon: I thought you said I could borrow it.

  Maureen: I was going to wear it tomorrow.

  Sharon: You can still wear it. It’s clean.

  Maureen: All I ask is people respect my things, is that so hard?

  Dad: Please pass the peas.

  Sharon: You can wear something of mine tomorrow.

  Maureen: Your things are too small.

  Sharon: What are you saying?

  Maureen: I’m saying I can’t fit in your clothes.

  Dad: Please pass the peas, please.

  I pass the peas to Dad and then everyone is quiet.

  Maureen: Is your purple sweater clean?

  Sharon: Yes.

  Maureen: Maybe I can wear that tomorrow?

  Sharon: Sure. You look great in that sweater.

  Maureen: Do you think?

  Sharon: Oh my gosh, yes!

  Maureen: You look good in mine.

  Dad: Is there any more chicken?

  This is about all I can stand and all I can remember, but it’s a pretty good start. Girls, obviously, like clothes and really think about what they’re going to wear.

  So here’s my three-point plan:

  1. Make a special point of noticing Miranda’s clothes. Definitely compliment her on her amazing style, color scheme, etc.

  2. No more pranks, no more thumbtacks. Miranda Mullaly is a serious girl and I’m really going to have to turn over that new leaf if we’re going to be a couple. I even wrap up my favorite thumbtack in one of Mom’s old scarves and put it in the top drawer of my bureau.

  So my three-point plan isn’t exactly three points, but it is a plan, and now that I have a plan, I feel pretty good about things. First thing I need to do tomorrow is make Miranda my lab partner. I’ll ask her before class even begins, right after I say something nice about the clothes she’s wearing. It’s foolproof.

  Duke

  After school I further contemplated the Miranda affair. What I couldn’t understand was why, exactly, she kept me from sitting on the tack? If I were a meathead like Chollie Muller, I’d probably go up to her and say something like, “Excuse me, duh, I was, um, wondering, duh, if you’d like to, duh, um, duh . . .” But I have a brain, and with a brain comes the ability to analyze situations. Unfortunately, however, I couldn’t get the image of her smiling face out of my head. I simply couldn’t think clearly. I didn’t know what to do next.

  I played with my dinner while both my parents, Neal and Cassandra Samagura, ignored me. They’re sociologists and are pretty much paid to observe others, which is ironic, since they always ignore me. They’re finishing up a book together, Ethel’s Story: The Untold Tale of Unplanned Pregnancy in Urban America.4 If I were a mean person, I’d introduce them to MTV so they could see their “untold” story has actually been told ad nauseam.5

  Apparently Ethel’s school, where Neal and Cassandra often observe her, is pretty crappy. God forbid they take an interest in me and see how substandard Penn Valley is.

  Anyway, if they ever did get around to asking me how my day was, and that’s a big if, this is what I would tell them.

  It’s not easy for someone like me to be a student at Penn Valley Middle School. The school is no good. The students are vapid creatures who think William Shakespeare is a rapper and believe Tupac is still alive. The teachers aren’t any better, punching the clock, drinking from the public trough, and looking forward to their next undeserved day off. Mr. Minkin, my English teacher, thinks A Separate Peace is great literature.

  Then I remembered Mrs. Stempen said we’d be choosing new lab partners tomorrow. I wished I could drop a note in Miranda’s locker, but I don’t know precisely where her locker is. So my best bet would be to strike up a conversation before class.

  One thing was very clear: I would have to get Miranda’s attention in an overt way. No more quietly getting straight As and leaving it at that. This was a woman with class, and, as Sherlock Holmes would say, this was a woman with a mind.

  “How was your day at school, dear?” Cassandra asked me as we sipped our after-dinner tea.

  I was about to comment on their poor parenting, but then a smile came across my face as I remembered Miranda’s kind eyes.

  “It was the best day ever,” I told her. And part of me knew it was true.

  3

  Lab Partners

  SAM

  So there I am, walking down the hall, not bothering anybody, when Mr. Lichtensteiner comes up to me and gives me the third degree about the bathroom across from Mr. Blyweiss’s room. I’m in a hurry to see if Miranda wants to be my lab partner, but Lichtensteiner is the kind of guy who thinks the most important thing in the world is for Penn Valley Middle School to run smoothly.

  “You know anything about the boys’ room across from Mr. Blyweiss’s room?”

  I’m sure somebody wrote something about Lichtensteiner on the wall and he thinks I did it. I get the blame for everything around here.

  “Why don’t you ask Mr. Blyweiss?” I say.

  You would think Lichtensteiner would have enough sense to take my advice. Instead he does this whole tough-guy act, like he’s one of these leg breakers from The Godfather or Goodfellas (two of my dad’s favorite movies to watch with me on “date night”).

  “You know anything about toilet paper?” Mr. Lichtensteiner asks. Is this school weird or what?

  “I know what it’s used for,” I tell him.

  “Wise guy, eh?” he says, breathing his coffee breath on me.

  I really don’t have time for this. I mean, I’ve turned over a new leaf.

  “I don’t have time for this,” I tell him. “And besides, I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

  Lichtensteiner nods his head up and down real slow, then takes a long look at me like he’s never seen me before and he wants to remember my face. He smiles an evil smile and I can see the scrambled eggs he had for breakfast in his teeth and the hairs that grow like weeds out of his nose. It’s all pretty disgusting.

  Thanks to Lichtensteiner holding me up, I get to biology just as Mrs. Stempen is going on about the lab partners. Apparently last semester it didn’t work out the way she wanted, and I have a feeling she’s talking about me. You see, there was a little bit of a problem with some of the stuff we did in lab. And of course, everyone thinks it’s my fault. But I only suggested taking the frog heart and putting it on a plate in the cafeteria. My best bud and lab partner, Jimmy Foxx, actually did it. I’m too grossed out by those things. And I still don’t know what happened with the chemical reaction we got going that ended with fire alarms and an evacuation. Anyway, it’s all behind me now, and since Lichtensteiner changed our schedules and split me and Foxxy up, I definitely won’t be partnered with him again.

  I’m really bummed I won’t get a chance to ask Miranda to be my partner. I sit back and sigh because when you’re having a day like this, there’s nothing you can do but sit back and sigh. Mrs. Stempen calls Erica Dickerson’s name and then my name. Erica Dickerson. Great. She’s the kind of girl you see all the time and who always acts like your best friend. Oh, and she thinks she’s really funny. But knock-knock jokes and the kind of obvious stuff anyone can find on the Internet are her idea of humor. Anyway, the last person I want to be partners with is Erica Dickerson.

  But back to Miranda. I’m going to keep my eye on her, which is easy because she does everything around the school. She’s a cheerleader. She edits the stupid school newspaper, which last year rejected my terrific idea for a feature called “Watch This! A History of Bad Ideas.” The first installment would have been a behind-the-scenes story about the fire in the science lab. But the snobs at the school newspaper (not Miranda) don’t have a sense of humor.

  Also, Miranda always seems to be organizing things. She’s the president of the student
council, though I would never set foot in a room with those nerds who think they’re better than everyone else. She’s usually getting people to sign petitions for things, and she’s especially upset about the goings-on in a whole bunch of countries that end in “stan.” Obviously, I’ll read up on the subject immediately.

  From where I’m sitting, I can get a good look at Miranda. It’s hard to describe what makes her so pretty. She’s got brown hair that you just want to touch. And brown eyes that you just love to look into. And like I said, she’s got terrific white teeth and an excellent posture. Watching her in class, you can see she has lots of energy and is very interested in what Mrs. Stempen is talking about. So she’s kind of calm and energetic at the same time, which I think is pretty cool since I can barely stay in my seat for five minutes.

  I’m still thinking about Miranda later on when in homeroom it hits me, or rather it falls right into my lap. Mr. Howe, who rarely does anything during homeroom besides grade papers and tell us to shut up, gets his fat butt out of his chair and says we need a new representative on the student council. This is perfect. Miranda Mullaly is the president of the student council. And how hard can it be to be a student council representative? Even Chollie Muller is a representative, so it can’t be that difficult.

  I throw my hand up right away.

  “Yes, Mr. Dolan,” Mr. Howe says, not even trying to care.

  “I want to be on the student council.”

  “Okay.”

  Mr. Howe goes to sit back down when Erica Dickerson, my new lab partner, raises her hand. Mr. Howe starts grading papers again and doesn’t see Erica’s hand, which is fine by me because I think I know what Erica is up to. Erica begins to cough, then calls out, “Excuse me, Mr. Howe. Excuse me.”

  Mr. Howe looks up from his papers. “Yes, Miss Dickerson.”

  “I think we should have a vote.”

  “We don’t need a vote, Miss Dickerson. Mr. Dolan is running unopposed.”

  “I would also like to represent the homeroom.”

  Mr. Howe huffs and puffs and sighs heavily. He is famous for looking at his watch throughout the day.

  “Okay, raise your hand if you want to vote for Mr. Dolan.”

  I shoot up my hand and look around. No one votes for me.

  “Okay,” Mr. Howe continues, “who wants to vote for Miss Dickerson?”

  Erica Dickerson raises her hand. It’s the only hand in the air. Not only does no one else vote, but no one else even knows what’s going on.

  The bell rings and somehow all the jerks hear that. My homeroom gets up to leave. Erica Dickerson goes to Mr. Howe’s desk. I follow her.

  “Well, Mr. Howe, what are we going to do?” she asks.

  “Why don’t you let Dolan do it? He’ll get kicked out in two weeks and then you can take over.”

  I’m about to give Mr. Howe a piece of mind, but I can’t think of anything to say that would not get me in trouble right then and there.

  “No, Mr. Howe. I think we need to have a proper vote,” Erica insists.

  “All right. Remind me next week and we’ll have a little vote.”

  “We’ll have to give speeches,” says Erica Dickerson.

  Mr. Howe looks at his watch again. Man, he must really hate kids.

  “Okay, you can both have two minutes one day next week and then we’ll vote. Will that work?”

  I know he’s delaying it because he figures I’ll either forget about it or get in trouble. But not this time!

  “Fine,” Erica says, and walks out the door.

  I follow her out of the classroom and think about saying something but decide against it. What a pain in the neck. Every time I come up with a good idea, somebody has to come along and ruin it.

  CHOLLIE

  This morning Mrs. Stempen walks into the science room all ready to go, just like Coach before a game. One thing I’ve got to say about Mrs. Stempen, she loves science. And I actually think she likes the students. Even Coach, who loves his players, sort of has a look in his eye at the end of the school day like he’s super annoyed with kids and all his classes. And then, just like me, he comes alive again at basketball practice.

  Anyway, Mrs. Stempen drops all her papers on her desk and goes, “Okay, class, I have good news. We’re going to start our semester projects today. I’m going to have you work with a partner for the project and lab by alphabetical order.”

  I’m not the biggest fan of partnering up for anything. In the fall we did some kind of group project in history class. I didn’t learn a thing because I didn’t do a thing because Duke Samagura was my partner and he did all the work. So the research I did about Franklin Roosevelt was never used, even though it’s really inspirational how he came back from being crippled by polio and all that. But for some reason, the teachers love to have us do group work.

  As Mrs. Stempen starts to call out our names, it hits me that my name is right after Miranda’s and there’s a good chance we’ll be partners. And then it happens.

  “Mullaly and Muller.”

  I like the sound of that.

  Miranda Mullaly looks back at me and smiles and I smile back. Things are already going my way and I haven’t even used Billy’s advice yet.

  But then Duke Samagura throws up his hand like it’s on fire. He almost ruins everything when he says I shouldn’t be partnered with Miranda since Kelly Muldowney is absent. Duke’s like that, always wanting to help out the teacher. And I usually think it’s pretty nice of Duke to want to always help out, but not this time.

  Fortunately for me, Mrs. Stempen doesn’t take Duke’s advice. So now it’s Mullaly and Muller working together in science class. I really like the sound of that!

  I can’t wait to tell Billy.

  Duke

  Thanks to Sam Dolan’s antics in lab last semester, Mrs. Stempen has decided to assign our lab partners by alphabetical order. I knew something like this would happen. Sam was partnered with his friend Jimmy Foxx last semester. They just had to dissect the frog and keep its heart to throw on a lunch plate in the cafeteria. They just had to start a fire with pencils and pens and the Bunsen burner. They just had to mix volatile chemicals to try to create a reaction that set off smoke alarms all over the school. And you can bet the school administration got a letter from me.

  First the thumbtack and now this. Was Sam’s New Year’s resolution to ruin my life?

  And then, to make matters worse, Miranda was paired with Chollie Muller, superstar athlete who’s about as sharp as a bowling ball. Not the worst guy in the world, though, especially compared to the likes of Jeff Gerson and Tom Kelly.6 Still, one would think Mrs. Stempen would find another dimwit for Chollie and let me work with Miranda. I worked on a U.S. History project with him last semester and he was no help whatsoever. He thought the Great Depression was a mental disorder. Poor Miranda. She could be working with me.

  After Mrs. Stempen announced the partners, I decided to lodge a protest.

  “Yes, Duke?” Mrs. Stempen said, seeing my raised hand.

  “Shouldn’t Miranda be partnered with Kelly Mul-downey?”

  “Muller comes after Mullaly,” Mrs. Stempen explained.

  “Yes, of course, but aren’t you forgetting about Kelly Muldowney? Kelly Muldowney should be partnered with Miranda Mullaly,” I informed her.

  From behind me some Neanderthal7 whispered, “What’s it matter to you, Samagura? What are you, in love with Chollie Muller?”

  I chose not to look back and acknowledge my abuser and instead remained focused on the task at hand.

  “Kelly can be partnered with Jeff Dugan, since they’re both absent today.”

  “Oh, I see,” I said very quietly and calmly. My mouth was dry and my heart raced and my blood boiled. And that’s when I decided to call in my friends Knuckles and Moose.

  Knuckles and Moose wear suits with striped
ties. Both have extremely flat noses and very hairy hands. When they make fists, they are like rocks. They are my good friends and keep me from getting in trouble.

  Last semester there was an incident at school involving me, a U.S. History textbook, and Barney Dixon’s skull. Barney called me a name (I honestly can’t remember what it was now) and I countered by hitting Barney in the head with the textbook. The school nurse thought Barney was concussed (I protested that one needed a brain in order to suffer a concussion), and the school disciplinarian, Mr. Lichtensteiner, threatened to have me expelled. Neal and Cassandra promised to have me see a therapist, and within no time I was back in school, Barney Dixon was cured of bullying, and a therapist named Dr. Todd was happily ripping off my parents.

  I must admit, however, that Dr. Todd did help by allowing me to summon up Knuckles and Moose whenever I feel like I may take matters into my own hands. In fact, Dr. Todd told me to imagine something different when I was feeling stressed or feeling as if I was going to smack somebody with a textbook. That’s when Knuckles and Moose strolled into Dr. Todd’s office and began to pummel him.

  “Do you see it?” Dr. Todd asked, noticing the smile on my face.

  “It works like a charm, Dr. Todd.”

  And Knuckles and Moose worked like a charm once again. I closed my eyes and imagined them straightening out my enemies in the back of the science classroom.

  When it was all said and done, I was stuck with Nikki Shepherd, which is about as exciting as working with a dolt like Chollie. But I guess it could be worse. At least she’s not drooling on herself like James Devine.8

  But I can’t get my mind off what could have been with Miranda as my lab partner. It would’ve paved the way to social engagements, future academic collaborations, and perhaps even marriage. Who knows? My uncaring parents, Cassandra and Neal, continued their academic work together at Vanderbilt after graduating from Duke.

  4