by Lisa Yee
I strain to hear what they are saying but can only make out snippets. “It’s okay, Millie…. This explains a lot of things…. You are home-schooled…. Don’t feel bad … no shame in needing a tutor…. It must be a hard class…. Not everyone can be a genius….”
Wait! Something’s fishy here. Millicent is not home-schooled — she’s in high school. If Millicent is not correcting Emily and announcing how smart she is, that must mean that Emily doesn’t know Millicent Min is a genius. But why doesn’t Millicent want Emily to know about her IQ? It’s usually the first thing she tells people. Could she be covering for me?
Hey, wait a minute…. Not only does Emily think Millicent is dumb, but she thinks I am smart! I’d better do something fast so Millicent doesn’t change that.
I dig through Millicent’s briefcase until I find a copy of our contract. Why is it laminated? I stand behind Emily and hold up the contract for Millicent to see. She grits her teeth and gives me a small nod while Emily looks away. Relieved, I do the special wavy Roadrunners hand signal for making a good basket. Millie just scowls.
Finally Millicent returns. She stares at the huge pile of torn paper on the table. We try to continue our tutoring session, but it’s hard for me to focus with Emily in the library. Emily is far more interesting than English. On the other hand, whenever she walks by, I get to raise my voice and say things like, “Millicent, you should know this by now. Why is foreshadowing important?” Millicent looks like she’s constipated, but I sure am having a great time. I take one of her red pens and draw a sad face on her notebook.
“Millie, Millie, Millie, haven’t I taught you anything?” I ask, shaking my head and trying to look concerned, which is totally hard to do because I’m going to crack up at any moment.
When Emily isn’t looking at us, Millicent glares at me. Finally she slams her notebook shut. “Fine! It’s clear nothing’s getting done today. Let’s just quit early, okay? Are you happy now?”
“Well, yeah! Hey, Emily.” I run over to her. She’s looking at the magazines. “We can go now. We got done early today.”
“Wow, you must be a really great tutor!”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” I say, trying to look modest.
This is going to be so fun, pretending to be smarter than Millicent Min. But I can’t figure out why Millicent is playing along. What’s in this for her?
4:31 P.M.
At Burger King, Emily and I talk and talk and talk. It is so easy to talk to her. I’ve never met anyone like Emily before.
“So, you’re from New Jersey? That’s the home of the Nets. Julius Erving played for the Nets between 1973 and 1976. Drazen Petrovic also played for the Nets. Both of them are Hall of Famers.” Millicent is gaping at me, but I ignore her. “Do you miss New Jersey?”
“Yes, well, some things,” Emily says as she opens up a napkin and places it on her lap before biting into one of her cheeseburgers.
Wow, she’s got a lot of class. I set my basketball aside and do the same.
“My father loves the Nets too. We used to live in this great old house and our backyard was on the edge of the woods. I loved that house.” Emily lowers her head and adds, “But then my dad left and Mom decided we needed a ‘change of scenery.’”
Oh, she looks so sad. I can’t stand it. “Well, I’m glad you moved here,” I tell her.
“You are? Stanford, what a nice thing to say. Are you always this nice?”
I glance at Millicent. She looks like she’s dying of boredom.
“I dunno.” I hope I am not blushing too much. “Uh, how did you and Millicent meet?”
“Volleyball,” Emily states. “We’re on the same volleyball team.”
Millicent Min on a volleyball team? I start to snicker, then remember Millicent can blow my cover at any time. “Volleyball,” I repeat. “That’s a good sport. I play basketball.”
“Are you any good at it?”
I sit up a little straighter. “I’m on the A-Team,” I boast. “It’s the first time a seventh grader is on the A-Team.”
“Oh! No wonder you always carry a basketball.” Emily blushes and explains, “I saw you once at the drugstore.”
“Drugstore?” I try to sound vague.
“Yes, I was there with Millie, but it was a while ago.”
“The drugstore. Hmm, well, maybe that’s why you look a little familiar.”
Emily lights up and then says, “Wow, Stanford, so you’re on the A-Team and you’re really smart too? That’s a double whammy.”
Millicent clears her throat. “Stanford smart?”
“Well, yes,” Emily says. “After all, he’s tutoring you, isn’t he? He wouldn’t be a tutor if he weren’t smart, right, Stanford?”
Millicent and Emily both look at me, only one looks happy and the other looks horrified. Emily smiles as she sips her Diet Coke. I notice that she doesn’t have a straw, so instead of answering, I jump up to get her one.
I take my time. I have to remember to breathe. Emily thinks I’m smart. She thinks I’m a smart basketball player, and I’m fairly certain it’s possible she might like me.
“Hey, Emmie, lookit!” I’m back and holding up two fistfuls of straws. I hand half of them to her.
Even though I’m talking to Emily, Millicent speaks up.
“One: Lookit is not a real word,” she announces. “And two: It’s stealing when you take things and don’t use them for their intended purpose. Plus, consider the unnecessary waste and its impact on the environment.”
Emily bites her lip. She has nice lips. I’ve never really noticed a girl’s lips before, but hers look really soft. Millicent’s look hard since she’s always frowning.
“I guess we really shouldn’t waste them,” Emily says as she sets down her straws. She sounds disappointed.
“Fine. Great. Terrific. I’ll just put them back then,” I tell Millicent. I hope she is happy making Emily sad.
I put the straws back and spot something on the counter. “Are those free?” I ask the Burger King man.
I come back wearing a gold cardboard crown and hand one each to Emily and Millicent. Emily puts hers on immediately. She looks like a princess. Millicent tosses her crown aside and grinds her French fries into her mouth like she’s a pencil sharpener. She’s superskinny, so I suppose it’s good that she’s eating so much. Emily looks really healthy and sturdy.
“Emily, watch this,” I say.
I open up a napkin and press it against my face. Then I stick my tongue through it. Emily bursts into a fit of laughter. Then she tries it and I start laughing. It’s like we’ve known each other forever. Sometimes I even forget she’s a girl. Then I look at her sparkly eyes, her perfect skin, her crooked smile, and I know this is no boy I’m talking to.
“Here, Millie,” Emily says, handing her friend a napkin. “Your turn.”
I look at Millicent. Is she still here? She holds the napkin to her face and then wipes her mouth. “If you two will excuse me,” she says, standing up, “I think I hear my mother calling.”
She grabs her briefcase and storms out. This makes me happy until I realize that Emily is going with her. “Excuse me, Stanford!” she says before rushing after Millicent.
I am alone. A little boy at the next table puts a napkin to his face and sticks his tongue out at me. Is Emily ever coming back? I’ll wait for her. I’ll wait forever for Emily Ebers.
5:12 P.M.
I’ve been stood up. I just know it. She’s never coming back. I’m never seeing Emily again. I might as well be dead. Millicent’s told her the ugly truth and Emily has dumped me. I hate Millicent Min.
I can hardly eat my second hamburger. It tastes as bland as paper. Oh wait. I’m eating the wrapper. Hey! Look, it’s her! I start breathing again.
“I’m back,” Emily says, sliding into the booth.
“Where’s Millicent?” I try to sound like I care as I polish off my burger.
“She went home.�
�� Emily wrinkles her forehead. “I just don’t know about her sometimes.”
Emily leans forward and gazes deep into my eyes. My heart is racing so fast. Can she hear it? Who used up all the oxygen in the room?
“Stanford,” she says. “Please make me a promise.”
Yes, yes, anything…. I gulp and nod. I wonder if she’s going to ask me to be her boyfriend. Digger says that a lot of times girls are the ones who ask. This relationship is going a lot faster than I ever imagined.
Emily looks nervous. To help her out, I try to put on a very sincere face, a very caring face, a boyfriendish sort of face.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “All of a sudden you look weird.”
I immediately return to my regular face. “I’m fine,” I tell her. “I was, uh, just trying not to burp.”
“Oh! Listen to this,” Emily says. She takes a huge gulp of air and then burps out the words, “Hello, Stanford!”
I don’t believe it. Can I be hearing correctly? She’s burping and talking at the same time? None of the Roadrunners can do that! Emily Ebers is the girl of my dreams.
“You are too cool,” I tell her. We grin like idiots. I point to Emily’s second cheeseburger and ask, “Are you going to eat that?”
Her face clouds. “You think I eat too much, don’t you? You think I’m fat.”
“No, no, no,” I protest. “Not at all, I just thought that if you weren’t going to eat it, I’d help you.”
Emily’s face lights up again. “Well, I am kinda hungry. But I’d be happy to share it with you.”
As we both eat, I remind her, “Uh, was there something you wanted to talk about?”
“Oh, right.” She turns serious. “Please promise you won’t make fun of Millie for being so bad in English.” What? “She’s very sensitive about needing a tutor and won’t even discuss it with me. You know, not everyone’s as smart as you are.”
Okay, so it wasn’t what I thought. But the good news is that Emily really does think I am smart.
“It’s not nice to make fun of a person just because they don’t get good grades,” I explain to Emily. She nods. “Grades aren’t everything. You shouldn’t shut someone out just because they don’t do great in school. Sometimes a person’s feelings are more important than a stupid grade!” I suddenly realize that I am shouting.
Are those tears in Emily’s eyes? “Stanford, you are so amazing,” she whispers.
The people sitting near us are staring. The little boy sticks his tongue out at me again, only this time without the napkin. I try to ignore him. I’m not sure if I am trembling because of what Emily has said or because of what I have said.
Emily is still looking at me all sparkly-eyed. Suddenly it hits me — the nicer I am to Millicent, the more Emily will like me. I sit taller and thrust out my chest. “Yes, well,” I say, lowering my voice. “Let’s be good friends to Millie and respect her privacy.”
Using a suave move I once saw in a movie, I keep my eyes on Emily as I pick up my Coke to take a sip. Ouch! Uh-oh, I forgot about the straw. Now it’s lodged in my nostril and hanging out of my nose. Emily breaks out laughing. “Stanford Wong, you have the best sense of humor!”
Even though I know I should feel embarrassed, I don’t. I feel terrific.
JULY 31, 10:39 P.M.
I can’t stop thinking about her. Emily is actually interested in me for what I have to say and not just because I am a Roadrunner or a basketball player. I mean, she’s never even seen me on the court.
I wonder if Emily likes the way I look or if I seem dorky to her. Yin-Yin and my mom are always telling me how handsome I am. But even if I looked like a smushed toad, I’m sure they would say the same thing.
I look in the mirror and practice different smiles. Closed mouth, wide grin, lots of teeth. They all look stupid, so instead I flex my muscles. My body could use some definition. I think I need to start lifting weights. I cringe every time we have to use the locker room at school. Showers are the ultimate humiliation. I try not to look at the other guys, but I can’t help it. There’s only so much one of those scratchy white towels can hide, so you have to make a decision: front or back.
Like everyone else, I always cover my front side and then as much of my backside as the towel can reach. That leaves my chest exposed, but Tico says that’s no different from wearing swim trunks.
A few of the guys have a lot of armpit hair, and some of them have a lot of hair everywhere. There’s a bunch of kids like Digger who strut around showing everything. They’re not embarrassed at all. I wonder if Digger is one of those nudist people.
Gus and Tico are like me. They hurry up and shower and then hurry up and get dressed. We don’t look at each other. If you look at a guy too long, there’s a chance you’ll get thrown out of the locker room naked. That happened twice last year. One kid was so humiliated he had to transfer schools. The other kid got a note from his mom asking special permission for him to skip showers. Someone found out about it and now his nickname is Stinky Mama’s Boy.
Whether he’s naked or clothed, everyone stares at Stretch. He doesn’t look like one of us. Stretch doesn’t act like the rest of us either. He always has a book in his back pocket and even has been seen reading in public. Plus, there’s that mute thing. Girls really go for that strong, silent type. Maybe the next time I see Emily I’ll try not talking so much.
AUGUST 1, 10:45 A.M.
“Stanford, you seem to be having a good time. Care to share your daydream with us?”
Huh? Is he talking to me? Am I in trouble again? What did I do this time?
“Uh, no,” I mumble.
Mr. Glick is always asking me to stay after class. He’s not as bad as I used to think. I mean, he’s really awful and terrible, but not really, really, really awful and terrible. English is not as totally boring now that I know what Mr. Glick is talking about. I’d never tell that to Mr. Glick or Millicent Min though.
For some weird reason, class has been going by more quickly lately. Like right now, I am surprised to hear Mr. Glick say, “That’s all we have time for today. I’ll see you all tomorrow!”
Even though we’ve been dismissed, I stay after class just to talk. Not about books, just about stuff. “BK620s are the best basketball shoes in the world,” I explain to Mr. Glick.
“I’m better at watching basketball than playing it,” he chuckles. “But I’m sure the right equipment can make a difference. Or at least make a player feel like a better player, and in turn he might become one.”
As I try to decipher what Mr. Glick just said, he offers me another oatmeal cookie. His wife made them. I don’t want to hurt Mr. Glick’s feelings, so I take it. They taste like dog food. I know because when Yin-Yin put out the food for her imaginary dog, Gus dared me to eat one of the biscuits.
“You’re showing a lot of improvement in class,” Mr. Glick tells me. “Don’t forget, your Number the Stars book report is due next week. Another cookie?”
I take one more, even though it will probably kill me. We both chew for a long time in awkward silence. Finally Mr. Glick says, “Stanford, can I be honest with you?” I wonder if I’ve screwed up again. “These cookies are horrible, aren’t they?”
I grimace and nod. We both burst out laughing. “Here,” I say, reaching into my backpack. I break a Twix bar in half.
Mr. Glick bites into it and relaxes. “Better, much better,” he says as he deposits the rest of the cookies in the trash can.
3:29 P.M.
Millicent is waiting for me outside of the library. I greet her with, “Home-schooled! That’s a good one! Hey, how come you don’t want Emily to know you’re in high school?”
“College,” she corrects me. “I am taking a college course this summer.”
“High school, college, whatever. Why would you want Emily to think you’re stupid?”
“I don’t want her to think I’m stupid, I want her to think that I’m normal,” Millicent says quietly.
“But you’re nothing near normal.” She cringes when I say this. “I mean, you’re a genius and you’ve always been, uh, different.”
Millicent sighs and blows her bangs so they puff up. “Precisely why I want Emily to think I’m a regular kid. If she thinks I’m a genius, she might not act the same around me. She might shun me, like you and all the other kids our age.”
I was looking forward to teasing her some more but change my mind.
Millicent is asking me all sorts of questions about Number the Stars and I’m trying hard to think of the answers when suddenly Emily appears. She’s wearing a dress and looks really tan and beautiful, and she smells good. None of the Roadrunners smell like that, not even Gus the time his twin sister dumped perfume all over him.
I sit up straight and begin bombarding Millicent with questions about the importance of irony. “Come on, Millicent, we’ve gone over this a thousand times before.”
Millicent gives me a hard stare, then says sweetly, “Oh, Stanford, I forgot. You’d better explain it to me again.”
“Uh, uh, you remember,” I say, trying not to choke. “It’s, it’s, irony is, um … think hard, Millicent; you know this. You know this,” I repeat through gritted teeth.
Millicent looks triumphant. “Oh yes, now I remember. Irony can be an incongruity between what is expected and the actual event. Or it can be clever words used to convey an insult — for example, if I were to say, ‘The boy was soooo smart,’ when really he was quite the idiot.”
Emily smiles at me. I can’t help smiling back. The only one who isn’t smiling is Millicent. I guess she’s being a pretty good sport. Maybe I owe her one.
After our tutoring session, Millie rushes Emily out of the library. Just as I am about to turn into SSSSpy and follow them, Mrs. Martinez stops me. I wonder what she’s going to nail me for. I don’t eat in the library anymore and I’ve stopped bouncing my basketball inside.
I watch the girls disappear and brace myself for a lecture. Instead, Mrs. Martinez reaches behind her desk and hands me a book. “Stanford, I want you to have this.”
