Me and Miranda Mullaly

by Jake Gerhardt

  I’m standing, looking at them all cuddling together, happy as can be. And there isn’t room for me.

  “What about date night?” I ask. The girls and Mom are supposed to go out and me and Dad are supposed to stay home and eat pizza and watch movies. John Lutz is not supposed to be part of any of this.

  “We’ve decided to stay in tonight,” Mom says. “It’s too cold.”

  Mentioning the cold is the signal for Maureen to cuddle with Lutz. This is enough to turn my stomach.

  Mom is the only one who notices me.

  “Do you feel okay, honey?” she asks.

  I shrug.

  Mom puts her hot chocolate down and gets up from under the covers. She puts her hand on my forehead and I can feel her warmth.

  “You don’t look well. Do you want to rest in bed?”

  Suddenly I feel like hugging Mom and crying and really telling her about everything that has happened. I mean, I have a lot of emotions going on inside of me. Thankfully, I don’t cry (Lutz would never let me live it down) and Mom just thinks I’m coming down with something.

  Before I know it, I’m tucked under my warm covers and I have the second Twilight book to read. Mom gives me a kiss and leaves, and for the first time, I feel all right. I think it’s going to be okay.

  In no time I’m asleep, but it’s like the old movie A Nightmare on Elm Street. The difference is it’s not Freddy Krueger who’s after me, it’s Mr. Mullaly. And this time, I’m the one wearing underwear and he’s chasing me through the hallways of Penn Valley, and Lichtensteiner and the boys are laughing. And Miranda watches, horrified.

  I wake up screaming. Once I realize I’m safe, I hop out of bed and write out a list.

  How to make this up to Miranda Mullaly so she’ll be my girlfriend:

  *______________________________________________

  *______________________________________________

  *______________________________________________

  *______________________________________________

  All I can come up with is blanks.

  Maybe Erica Dickerson is right. Maybe I am an idiot.

  CHOLLIE

  For some reason Billy thinks everything that happened at the Mullaly house is hilarious. But I’m honestly having a hard time laughing about it. And it really hurts that Billy of all people is laughing at me.

  “Tell me again,” he says, wiping tears from his eyes.

  “Come on, Billy, I told you like ten times already.”

  Just telling the story is frightening. I have never seen the look that Mr. Mullaly had in his eyes on another human being before. I don’t know what he would’ve done to me if he hadn’t slipped on that ice.

  “Just tell me exactly what happened with the broken window and the snowball,” he says, and he closes his eyes and rubs his head like a fortune-teller. “I need to see clearly what happened so I can figure out where we go from here.”

  So I tell Billy the whole crazy, embarrassing story all over again. He stops me toward the end.

  “What exactly did you see as you were walking up to the door?”

  “I looked back and Sam was throwing a snowball at me. I ducked and it hit Mr. Mullaly right in the face. It was like a scene out of a movie, the way he fell back and screamed.”

  Billy still has his eyes closed but he’s trying not to laugh. “Go on,” he says.

  “Duke swung the shovel and missed Sam and smashed the car window. The car alarm was really loud and Mr. Mullaly ran outside yelling and he slipped and I ran and ran and ran the whole way home.”

  Billy doesn’t say anything for a minute and then opens his eyes and smiles. And it’s his good smile, his helpful smile. Not his smile that says he’s laughing at me.

  “Hey, Chollie, you know what?”

  “What?”

  “You’re in the clear on this thing. You didn’t break the car window, did you?”

  “No.”

  “And you didn’t hit Mr. Mullaly in the face with a snowball, did you?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. All I did was shovel the walk.”

  “You’re clean in this, Chollie. You’re going to come out of this smelling like a rose.”

  Billy’s right. I didn’t do anything wrong. And for the first time since it all happened, I feel hungry. And I really feel like a weight has been lifted, like I can breathe again.

  “So what should I do?” I ask, rubbing my hands together.

  “It’s obvious these other two dudes weren’t shoveling for their health. They were shoveling for the same reason you were. There’s competition. So you need to forget about hoping to see her at a dance or anything like that. Now is the time to act.”

  “Should I call her right now and explain what happened?”

  “I don’t recommend that. Her father is probably still stewing about the broken window and the snowball in the face. I know I’d be pretty mad.”

  Billy takes his phone and starts working on it.

  “I’ll tell you what, Chollie. I’m going to free up Friday night and drive you and Miranda to the movies.” He looks up at me. “So as soon as you see her at school, go up to her and ask her out. Friday night. Movie. You and Miranda Mullaly.”

  Duke

  Never before has a young man looked forward to reading a sociological manuscript more than I did that afternoon. I usually dread reading Neal and Cassandra’s academic work, but the manuscript (Ethel’s Story, if you recall) was just what I needed to keep my mind from stewing over Sam and Chollie.

  When I came to the midpoint of their study, I got up from my desk and stretched and made myself a cup of tea. I contemplated calling the Mullaly abode and explaining myself but thought maybe I’d wait a couple of days to allow Mr. Mullaly to calm down.

  Mr. Mullaly is surprisingly foulmouthed, and I was shaken to the core as he bolted from his house. But who could blame him after Sam had pelted him with snowballs? My only regret is that Mr. Mullaly didn’t catch Sam. And there is the little matter of my lightly tapping Mr. Mullaly’s car. Blast Sam Dolan for ducking! I’m certain that when Mr. Mullaly meets me and sees the kind of fellow I am, there won’t be any hard feelings. I can even tell him I was protecting him from Sam’s unprovoked snowball attack.

  Perhaps we’ll even laugh about the whole thing.

  Perhaps he won’t even want my money for the broken car window; though, being a gentleman, I’ll certainly offer to pay for the damages.

  Perhaps he will agree with me that Chollie and Sam were totally out of line. After all, I was at the Mullaly house first.

  I finished the manuscript and tried to no avail to clear Sam and Chollie from my head. Marcus Aurelius28 wrote long ago, “The true worth of a man is to be measured by the objects he pursues.” Clearly, in this day and age, Miranda is not to be referred to as an “object” but as an erudite, passionate, and empowered young woman. And obviously my pursuit of Miranda says a lot about me, and about Miranda as well. But what I simply cannot comprehend is how Sam and Chollie—neither of whom could count past ten without the help of their toes—figure into the equation.

  If they really think they are going to steal Miranda’s heart from me, they are both sorely mistaken.

  16

  Can Things Get Any Worse?

  SAM

  Lichtensteiner, the jerk, is the first to say something. And just when I thought we were on better terms after our little powwow in the bathroom Friday night.

  “Did you enjoy the snow this weekend?” he asks me after I get off the bus. I’m hardly in the school.

  I stop and try to read his face as all the students pass us by.

  “It was all right,” I say, trying not to look at the blueberry muffin pieces trapped in his teeth. But there’s no escaping his grossness. He’s got a big smile on his face.

  “Did you shovel
some walks, Dolan?”

  “I shoveled a couple of walks,” I answer.

  “That’s great, Dolan. You know, I would ask you to shovel my sidewalk and driveway, but I just got a new car.”

  Lichtensteiner laughs and laughs and laughs. So much for burying the hatchet. I sort of run away from him and go to the cafeteria because the last person I want to see is Miranda Mullaly in biology class.

  I feel a little bit better when I spot Foxxy and the boys messing around like they always do. It’s sort of like family and I practically have tears in my eyes when I see them. But then as I walk over they’re laughing and also making noises. As I get closer I hear they are making the sound of shattering glass with each step I take.

  I stop and they stop. Then I take another step and again they all make the sound of shattering glass.

  As I walk closer they pretend they’re being hit by snowballs.

  I stop again and this time when I stop, they begin to make kissing noises and I hear a couple of them singing, “Sam and Miranda sitting in a tree . . .” What are these guys, like, in the first grade? Grow up.

  And even though Foxxy is there without Holly Culver for the first time since they’ve been going out, and I really need to talk to him, I leave the cafeteria. It’s all just too embarrassing to stick around.

  When Erica Dickerson sees me in science class, her smile is even bigger than Lichtensteiner’s. And during the lab, when we’re supposed to be working, Erica tells me everything. Like how Mr. Mullaly wants to break my neck. Like how Miranda is really embarrassed because her father was running down the street in the snow half-naked.

  And I have to listen to this even though I haven’t gotten any sleep thanks to my nightmares.

  I realize now that I’m the guy who should be in my book Watch This!

  I really don’t think it can get any worse.

  Duke

  Knuckles and Moose have had a very busy day.

  Jimmy Foxx is the first to feel their wrath. He thought it would be funny to make the noise of breaking glass as I walked down the hallway.

  I stopped and looked at Foxx.

  “Are these sounds supposed to mean something?” I asked.

  Foxx is a friend of Sam Dolan and these guys are all alike, with their lowbrow humor. He just nodded like an imbecile.

  One of Foxx’s confederates joined in.

  “Hey, Duke, does Miranda Mullaly have a thing for guys in bow ties?”

  I quickly clapped my hands twice, and Knuckles and Moose emerged from the shadows and took care of business.

  It was once written, some say, by Winston Churchill,29 “If you are going through hell, keep going.” I don’t know if he had any days like this, but it is sound advice. I went through the day quietly and did not respond to any of the jokes or jibes from my classmates. I let Knuckles and Moose do the talking. After lunch I took haven in Mr. Wexler’s room. He was kind enough to excuse me from art class.

  It got worse when I got home from rehearsals.

  Cassandra and Neal could not hide their emotions. They both put their hands to their mouths when I walked through the door.

  “Oh, Duke, Duke, Duke,” Cassandra said as she walked toward me with her hands out. “What happened? Tell me, what happened?”

  Neal stood and watched the scene. He only needed a pipe to look like some fantasy father from a fifties television program.30

  “Tell us what happened, son.”

  “Mullaly?” I asked.

  Neal nodded.

  “He called today,” Cassandra explained.

  “What took him so long?” I asked. Maybe my voice was a little gruff, a little uncaring, a little bit the way Knuckles and Moose would sound if they talked. But I have changed. I’m not sure if it’s from reading too much James Thurber31 or simply from turning fourteen.

  Cassandra looked at me as if she were seeing me for the first time. “I think we need some tea. Let’s sit down and talk this over, okay?”

  She scampered off to the kitchen and Neal took her place, putting his hand on my shoulder. He looked down at me oddly. It was a look in his eyes I’d never seen before.

  We stood quietly till Cassandra called us in for tea.

  “I have your favorite, Earl Grey,” she said as she poured me a cup. “Tell us, please, Duke, what happened?”

  I don’t know what came over me, but I didn’t say a word. I only stared at her, and then began to nibble on my biscotto.

  “Duke?” she prodded. “You can tell me.”

  What could I say? Could I tell her how I didn’t have the guts to speak to Miranda? Could I tell her how I felt truly alone? Could I say I was now embarrassed to wear my bow tie? I said nothing.

  “Duke, we want you to know that we are here for you,” Neal said.

  “Would you like to see Dr. Todd again?” Cassandra asked.

  I had to laugh at that, especially since Knuckles and Moose were standing right behind them, eyeing the biscotti and cookies on the table.

  “Now, don’t misunderstand us,” Neal said. “We’re thrilled that you were out playing with your friends. It’s just that, well, from what Mr. Mullaly said, things got a little out of hand.”

  I looked Neal directly in his eyes, took my teacup, and finished my Earl Grey.

  “We told Mr. Mullaly we would pay for the damage to his window,” Cassandra added.

  I nodded to Cassandra, held on to the edge of the table, and pushed out my chair. I silently marched out of the room without looking back.

  When I got to my room, I did something I have never done before: I slammed the door like a petulant child. And it actually felt good.

  Slamming doors is a great reliever of stress.

  CHOLLIE

  School is pretty weird today. Everyone knows about what happened at Miranda’s house this weekend. So it’s super uncomfortable working with Miranda during science. I go from getting ready to ask her if she’s busy on Friday night to preparing myself to answer awkward questions about what happened.

  But Miranda doesn’t say anything. She just goes about her work and it’s really, really terrible.

  She doesn’t smile like she usually does.

  She doesn’t ask me if I had a nice weekend, which she usually does.

  She doesn’t ask me if I would like to copy her notes, which she usually does.

  And the day gets even worse when I come home and see Billy.

  “We got a problem, kid,” Billy says.

  “What?” I say.

  “Mr. Mullaly called.”

  17

  The Play’s the Thing

  CHOLLIE

  Even though Billy says I’m in the driver’s seat, it sure doesn’t feel that way. Miranda hasn’t said a word to me all week, and I really can’t ask her out because everything’s different now. Not only does Miranda not talk but her smile is gone, too. She almost looks like she could burst into tears at any moment.

  But even worse is what’s happening at home. Ever since Mr. Mullaly called, my mom says Billy has been a bad influence on me and she’s sick of him lying on the couch all day.

  She brings up the subject over dinner.

  Mom says, “Today, while you were lying on the couch all day wasting your life watching television and texting and whatever else you do, I called Uncle Tommy.”

  Billy says, “How’s Uncle Tommy?”

  Mom says, “Uncle Tommy is in need of a full-time pizza delivery boy. And you got the job.”

  “But that’s an hour away.”

  Mom goes on eating and says, “You’re going to move in with him.”

  Billy looks at my dad for help.

  “You heard your mother,” Dad says.

  “I think Chollie needs an older brother to help him navigate the turbulent waters of middle school,” Billy says as he ruffles
my hair.

  I think it’s a really nice thing to say, but Mom and Dad laugh so hard they practically fall out of their seats.

  “You’re moving out, working for Uncle Tommy, and then reenrolling in college next semester,” Mom says, biting a carrot.

  And that’s the end of the discussion, because when Mom says something, it’s the law.

  So now here I am, with Miranda not talking to me when we’re in science class and me trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do in a play I only joined to get closer to her.

  And here we are in Billy’s room. It’s Friday night and Billy is supposed to take me and Miranda to the movies, but instead Billy’s packing up his stuff.

  If that’s being in the driver’s seat, then it’s being in the driver’s seat right before a crash.

  Duke

  If it weren’t for the play, I don’t know how I would’ve survived the week. All week my classmates, for lack of a better word, made snide comments about my snow-shoveling abilities and my intentions where Miranda Mullaly is concerned. Poor Knuckles and Moose had to work overtime to keep the jokers in line. It was only the thought of getting up on the stage each afternoon that kept me going.

  The rehearsals have been, surprisingly, moving along.

  Besides Chollie Muller, who probably couldn’t fart and chew gum at the same time,32 our cast is talented. Sam Dolan has actually learned his lines. And even his sister Sharon, who will be spending a goodish amount of time with me on the stage, appears to be able to hold her own.

  And then, of course, there’s Miranda. I had forgotten how often her character, Gladys, is on stage with Sid. We have an amazing number together called “Hernando’s Hideaway,” which we will block and begin rehearsing next week.

  This might be my last opportunity to sweep Miranda Mullaly off her feet.

  SAM

  So I’m sitting alone in my room. It’s exactly seven o’clock. It’s date night, and Dad is waiting downstairs, deciding on which movie to watch and waiting for the pizza to be delivered.