Lessons I Never Learned at Meadowbrook Academy

by Liz Maccie

  “No, no! I’d be happy to hang with you.”

  I took another deep breath. “Thanks. You’re doing me a huge favor.”

  “Don’t mention it.” The redness in Mervin’s neck was already going away.

  And together, side by side, we walked into gym.

  Physical Education

  10:26 a.m.

  Fortunately for us, a volleyball game was already well under way by the time Mervin and I made our grand entrance. The gymnasium shined with its slick, polished wood floor. In all honesty, I really did hate gym class. I think my personal aversion had something to do with the fact that I had been overweight for the majority of my formative years, and in elementary school, a “big” kid and a kickball just don’t get along.

  When I was in fifth grade, I had a gym teacher named Mr. Sneakers. No lie. He was French or from Wisconsin or something, so he pronounced his name “Snek-eh.” The “r” and last “s” were silent. He had slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair, and he reeked of Old Spice cologne. The sweat suits he wore were always far too tight, and I caught him more than once checking out the pretty girls as they climbed the ropes during the Presidential Physical Fitness Test. Mr. Sneakers taught gym and sex education. I have to admit, I had my own sneaky suspicions that he probably took some of those “educational videos” home with him at night.

  When my class would play dodgeball, Mr. Sneakers would purposely position me in the front row. Inevitably some kid would peg me as hard as they could, Mr. Sneakers would die laughing, and I would be called “out” right from the start. It was horrible. This one time someone pegged me, per usual, but then a most unfortunate thing happened: my pants split wide open, exposing my ass. Pants, might I add, that belonged to Anthony because I couldn’t fit into clothes for girls my own age.

  I ran off, humiliated, embarrassed, and hysterically crying. I hid behind the cafeteria for what seemed like an eternity, until Anthony found me. He was carrying an extra pair of his sweatpants. Coincidentally, he had been looking out his classroom window (the middle school was located on the same property) at the precise moment I was pegged with the ball. On his way to my rescue, Anthony made a less-than-calculated decision when he stopped and punched Mr. Sneakers right in the face. Anthony was suspended for a week, I got an “F” in gym, and Mr. Sneakers eventually got fired.

  I turned to tell Mervin about Mr. Sneakers, but he wasn’t standing beside me anymore. I looked back and saw that he was still at the gym entrance, visibly shaking.

  I rushed over to him. “Mervin, are you okay?”

  “It’s just…I’m feeling…a little…” and then he fainted, with his backpack still on, right there on the shiny gymnasium floor.

  Our gym teacher, Ms. Dalton, was a tall, slender, extremely fit woman. She had pretty blonde hair that bounced right above her shoulders and a cute button nose, the kind someone would pay to get during plastic surgery. She quickly sprinted over to us, her toned legs engaged and her white tennis skirt swishing back and forth. With purpose, she put her hands on my shoulders and moved me aside. Then she leaned down to Mervin’s limp little body.

  The kids who were playing volleyball stopped their game and came over to see what all the commotion was about. I felt horrible and wished there was something I could do to help. Ms. Dalton shooed the kids away and told them to go back to what they were doing, but no one listened. She grabbed a navy blue bandanna from her skirt pocket and asked me to get it wet over at the water fountain on the wall next to the bleachers. I threw my paper and pen on the ground and did as she asked, just as Mervin was coming to.

  I handed Ms. Dalton the moist bandanna, and she put it across his forehead. She helped him slowly sit up, although his backpack made things a bit awkward, and told him not to stand just yet. The entire gym class was staring at Mervin. A few dumb-ass guys made some jokes at his expense, and most of the other kids laughed. Ms. Dalton told everyone, very sternly, to go back to the volleyball game and this time they listened. I felt so bad for Mervin. I knew this incident would definitely leave emotional scars, the kind you discover during a therapy session when you’re 40.

  Ms. Dalton finally helped Mervin to his feet. He looked pale, disoriented, and like he might possibly blow chunks all over the place. During the fainting, Mervin’s glasses had fallen off his face. I quickly picked them up and gave them back to him. Ms. Dalton asked a young male teaching assistant to watch the class while she brought Mervin to Nurse Brown’s office. I tried to go with her, but she told me to join the volleyball game instead.

  As Ms. Dalton helped Mervin out the door, I mindlessly meandered around the outskirts of the volleyball court. I knew gym was almost over, but I really didn’t know what to do with myself.

  Then I heard my name.

  It was Thaddeus.

  With all the commotion, I hadn’t even noticed that he was there.

  “Come here. There’s a spot for you.” He moved a few feet to his left.

  On the other side of the net, a tall, lanky guy with a huge puss-filled zit on his forehead screamed, “Don’t be such a douche, Thad! Hit the ball!”

  Thaddeus completely ignored this kid and motioned me over. With everyone now staring, I walked up to him.

  “Here, you serve.” He held out the volleyball to me.

  “No, I’m okay—”

  “Just hit the damn ball,” a girl with horse teeth on Thaddeus’s team said. “It’s a tie and the bell’s gonna ring.”

  Thaddeus motioned again for me to take the ball. “Go on.”

  “But I—”

  He pushed the ball into my hands. Its leather was smooth, and I could feel the stitching against my palm.

  The tall, lanky zit monster screamed out again, “Come on, douches! Hit the damn ball!”

  Thaddeus leaned into me. “By the way, that guy over there,” he pointed to zit head, “that’s the guy that made fun of you this morning.”

  I could feel my entire face light up.

  Thaddeus threw his hands up in the air. “I’m just saying…”

  I steadied myself and focused on obnoxious zit-head. Then I threw the ball up and whacked it as hard as I could, aiming directly for the puss in monster boy’s zit. He and his pimple dove to reach the ball and…missed! It pounded down on the court, scoring the winning point for Thaddeus’s team just as the bell rang.

  A bunch of kids rushed me. I got compliments, high fives, and pats on my back. Even the girl with horse teeth said, “Awesome serve!”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  It was really great to feel that I belonged, even if it would only last a few moments.

  The class quickly emptied out, and I walked with Thaddeus as he grabbed his backpack off the bleachers. “You are now officially a rock star. Hands-down rock star,” he said.

  I couldn’t stop smiling. “Thanks for giving me that extra incentive.”

  “Glad to be of service.” He opened the gymnasium door and held it for me as we exited out into the crowded hallway.

  It occurred to me that I had forgotten my paper and pen back in the gym. Two beautiful girls with arms linked and matching pleated skirts passed by. I decided to screw my stuff in the gym, not wanting to take any chances that Thaddeus might wander off with those girls instead of me.

  “Now, don’t go getting a big head and switching sides on us next time,” he said.

  To be in close proximity to him felt so good and so nerve-wracking all at the same time. There was something about him that made me feel nauseous, but in an indescribably good kind of way.

  “Yeah, well, I won’t be drafted by anyone else, unless it’s the Yankees.” I thought throwing in some sports lingo, as random as it was, could potentially up my real estate.

  He looked at me. “You’re a Yankees fan?”

  I sensed he was into what I was saying, so I decided to lay it on thick. “Oh, God, like totally a fan. Huge, huge fan. How ’bout you?”

  “Let’s see, how can I put this? I am the greatest fan that ever liv
ed.”

  I was sooo in good. I mean, I just bought myself some serious selling points. Anthony once told me that every guy’s dream is to find a chick that loves sports.

  “Do you have tickets?” Thaddeus asked. “My family’s got a season pass, box seats.”

  And in an instant, my world came crashing down. My family didn’t have season tickets to anything. We were lucky our TV worked half the time. Just last week, all eight of my uncles were over watching the game and drinking beer, when our TV blew a fuse right before the last inning. My mother panicked and grabbed my neon pink boom box that I had gotten for my birthday. My father, my brother, and all eight of my uncles huddled around my radio as the Yankees hit the winning run.

  I hated this feeling that I would never be good enough to matter. I just couldn’t tell Thaddeus the truth. I desperately wanted him to like me. To accept me. So I looked right at him and said with as much conviction as possible, “Yeah, we have box seats…”

  We turned a corner and headed down a less crowded corridor.

  “Cool. Which box?”

  “Which box? Uh, well…behind home plate.” It was the only thing I could think to say.

  Thaddeus stopped walking. “Your family has box seats behind home plate?”

  “It’s really no big deal.”

  “No big deal! Are you kidding me? I would do anything to sit behind home plate. Maybe I could tag along sometime, before the season’s out?”

  A rotund, worried-looking boy with a fist full of paperback books crashed right into me. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he gathered his books and took off again down the hall.

  Thaddeus reached out and helped me steady myself from the collision. “You’re having trouble standing today, huh?” He smiled.

  His hand on my arm felt incredible.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I awkwardly giggled.

  “So what do you say?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Tagging along behind home plate? Only, you know, if you had an extra ticket.”

  “Oh, God yeah, no definitely, of course, no problem,” I stammered while looking at a boy and girl kissing behind one of those potted trees.

  “Thanks. That’d be really great.” He smiled and I wanted to die. “What class are you going to?”

  I took out my crumpled schedule from my pocket and looked at it. “Lunch.”

  “First period lunch, nice. That means you get first pick at anything that’s good.”

  An instant panic swept over me about being ridiculed everyday at lunchtime when I was overweight.

  “See ya.” Thaddeus tucked his bangs behind his ear and walked away.

  I did a quick mental scan for damage control. Box seats. I mean, how hard could it be to get box seats for the Yankees a few weeks before the World Series? I was so screwed! Clearly I wasn’t equipped to figure this one out all on my own, but I knew exactly who to talk to in order to get some answers: my father.

  My dad knew everything there was to know about the Yankees, past, present, and future. He owned Yankees pajamas, boxers, hats, sweaters, sweatshirts, socks, mugs, Christmas ornaments, window decorations, car seat covers, and the most recent addition: a talking bank in the shape of a Yankees hat that says, “I’m a winner!” every time you put a coin in its back. I would simply get on my father’s good side and then beg him for box seat tickets to the Yankees. No problem.

  Maybe going to see a Yankees game with Thaddeus would be like a date. Maybe we would wind up becoming a couple, like boyfriend and girlfriend. I felt light-headed. I’ve never been able to imagine a boy liking me because I’ve always just been the “fat girl.”

  But Thaddeus didn’t know me from before.

  So maybe, just maybe, I had a chance.

  I retraced my steps back to Nurse Brown’s office to visit Mervin, but he wasn’t there. Nurse Brown told me that she had already sent him off to lunch. As sweet as the apples she smelled like, Nurse Brown gently said, “Do me a favor, would you, Roberta? Keep an eye on Mervin. He’s…sensitive.”

  “He’s my best friend. We’ve known each other for, like, ever.” I knew she knew I was lying, but I didn’t care.

  “Well, good. He’s lucky to have you then. It’s easier out there when we have friends. Sometimes they’re even more understanding than family.” She chuckled a little, and I wondered if she had a mother that drove her crazy as well.

  I thanked Nurse Brown again and left her with the promise of stopping by to say “hi” even when I wasn’t sick.

  And then a very curious thing happened.

  On my way to lunch, I passed by Twiggy’s office. Her door was closed, but through her little window, I could see her and Ms. Dalton talking. Twiggy was standing, and Ms. Dalton was leaning up against the silver metal desk. Ms. Dalton started laughing at something Twiggy said and then she stood up, leaned into Twiggy, and quickly kissed her mouth. Oh. My. God…it was Ms. Dalton that couldn’t bear to live without Twiggy!

  It was clear I had just seen something I was not supposed to see. But an instant warmness, like drinking a mug of hot chocolate, filled my chest and something inside me felt happy for them. Like they both had these gigantic boxes just filled with little stuffed bears holding purple signs about love. I had never been in love before, but in my imagination, there was something about love that just felt fair.

  For everyone.

  Lunch

  11:10 a.m.

  Meadowbrook’s cafeteria was called the “Dining Hall.” It looked very fancy: tablecloths on the tables, marble on the floors, and two huge crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. There was a salad bar in front of a real fireplace, and above its mantle hung a gigantic oil painting of the honorable headmaster, Dr. Murphy.

  In this hideous picture, Murphy was standing in front of a bunch of trees, wearing a grey cable-knit sweater under a blazer and a pair of tweed pants. His left hand was loosely placed in his pants pocket, his right hand rested upon his hip, and his face was slightly turned up, gazing at a small blackbird in the distance.

  Soft classical music played through tiny speakers hanging on each corner of the ceiling. Even though it looked nice, there was still this weird smell of mass-produced food in the air. The whole thing reminded me of the cafeteria at the nursing home where my parents had placed Nonno when he had gotten really sick. I was only five, but I remember visiting him one Thanksgiving, and the cafeteria smelled like Fritos and tuna fish. I don’t care how many chandeliers hung from the ceiling; Meadowbrook’s “Dining Hall” was still just a cafeteria to me.

  Annie and Mervin were sitting side by side at a small, square table near the back. I guess Mervin spotted me first because he started calling out my name and waving me over. I was so relieved that I actually had a table to sit at. Being one of those kids that has no friends makes finding a place to sit at lunchtime an absolute nightmare.

  I quickly walked over to them.

  Annie smiled, clearly in a better mood from earlier. “I know it’s hard to believe, but we happen to have an empty seat today.” She pointed to the seat across from her, which I immediately sat in.

  Mervin started to laugh. “Everyday there’s an empty seat. I don’t know if you picked up on this yet, Roberta, but Annie and I don’t have much besides each other.”

  “Hey, speak for yourself. I intend on winning homecoming queen.” Annie waved like she was Miss America greeting her public.

  “Yeah, and I’m most popular,” Mervin said sarcastically.

  The table was littered with grey fiberglass trays loaded with all kinds of bizarre-looking food. I was happy to see that normal color had returned to Mervin’s face. When I’d last seen him, he was a distinct shade of grayish-yellow.

  “Mervin, are you feeling better?” I asked.

  “Yeah, how mortifying—”

  “What happened?” Annie inquired.

  Remembering my conversation with Nurse Brown, I said, “Number two pencil; he’s deathly allergic.”

  “Oh,” Annie said
dryly as she took a sip of apple juice. “Gym class?”

  Mervin hit her arm. “Shut up, Annie! It’s true, I’m allergic to lead—”

  Annie patted his shoulder. “Sure you are. And I’m really an alien from the planet Mookbar.”

  “God, you’re acting like a total jerk. Just wait ’til you have a breakdown one day,” Mervin said.

  Annie threw a pretzel in her mouth and turned to me. “Some older kids locked Mervin inside the kickball cabinet when we were in fourth grade, and he was stuck in there for an entire night. There were search parties and the police and we thought he had been abducted or something. It was horrible. Ever since then, he freaks out over gym. Last year, he got a medical pass and he barely had to go.”

  Mervin crossed his arms. “Okay, fine, maybe that’s true, but I’m still allergic to an entire list of things. I can’t help it if I was born with sensitive skin.”

  Annie put her hand up to her mouth, pretending to tell me a secret. “Hypochondriac…”

  “I’m sitting right next to you. I can hear you.” Mervin stabbed a ravioli with his fork. “Okay, so the whole school thing has been a bit challenging for me. I’m not trying to deny that. My God, when I found out Annie was coming to Meadowbrook last year instead of going to our public high school, I begged my parents to send me here. They didn’t want to, but I wore them down.”

  “Why didn’t your parents want you to go here?” I asked.

  Mervin’s glasses slid down his nose a little. He pushed them back up, but didn’t answer my question.

  Finally Annie said, “They didn’t want to waste their money on him, which is totally crazy because they’re loaded.”

  “Did they say that to you?” I asked him.

  “No, not exactly in those words.”

  Annie shot him a look.

  “Okay, well, yes, maybe in those words. I don’t know, my parents are weird. I think their primary function in life is to make me feel guilty.”

  “About what?” I asked.

  “About everything,” Mervin said as he gulped down an entire ravioli.

  A quick image of my dad driving his truck fourteen hours a day to send me to Meadowbrook raced through my mind. An intense sense of regret washed over me.