by Yee, Lisa
Digger stares at me. I wait for him to make a mean remark. Instead, he says, “I thought I saw your black eye yesterday, but your hair is so long it was hard to tell. Who did that to you?”
I just hand him the history homework and walk away.
By second period, the fog has burned away and it’s back to sunny Southern California. I spot Emily in the hallway. She turns red when she sees me, then rushes in the other direction.
It’s Wednesday night. I eat with my father in the projection booth as we watch North by Northwest. Dad’s taught me to look for the MacGuffins in Alfred Hitchcock’s films. That is, the one thing that motivates the main characters, even though that something might not be important in the end. In this case, the bad guys think that Cary Grant is someone he is not.
Just when Cary Grant’s trying to escape by climbing on Abraham Lincoln’s nose on Mount Rushmore, I have to take off for the PTA meeting. Before I go, I double-check to make sure I’ve got my Scotty action figure. He’s the Enterprise’s resident tech guy. If I had Kirk in my pocket the other day, chances are that the Gorn wouldn’t have gotten me. It’s important that you select the right crew member to accompany you on each mission.
I get to the library early. It’s cool being at school at night when the place is empty. There’s no one here who can hurt me. I set up the DVD player and the microphone. I also push the tables to the side and set up the chairs to face the screen. Technically, AV Club isn’t supposed to do manual labor, but Mr. Jiang makes us do it anyway. Mr. Reisman, the janitor, moves the tables and chairs back after the meetings when he cleans up. Still, the AV person has to stay until the end to return the equipment.
The PTA members start to trickle in. It’s mostly moms. My parents never come to these things. They’re not joiners. I wander over to the refreshment table and help myself to punch and cookies. I wrap some extra cookies in a napkin and slip them into my pocket for later. They’re chocolate chip. Suddenly, something smells bad. Is it the refreshments? I turn and discover Principal Haycorn standing next to me. It must be his stinky cologne. He snags a cupcake and eats it in three bites, then dabs his mouth with a napkin. I wonder if he’ll remember me from when I didn’t have a hall pass.
He holds out his hand. I hold my breath. “I’m Principal Haycorn, and you are … ?”
“Marley Sandelski, sir. From AV Club, er, Technical Sciences.”
“Pleased to meet you, Farley,” he says.
The PTA president stands up and adjusts the fake flower on her jacket. She looks like that perky blonde lady in that teeth-whitening commercial. “If everyone can take a seat, we’ll begin,” she says, flashing a pearly white smile.
Parents start to fill the seats, leaving the front row empty. I stand guard at the refreshment table. These meetings are always so boring. The PTA president begins, “Tonight’s topic is ‘Understanding Your Middle Schooler: The Complicated and Confusing Lives of Our Precious Tweens and Teens.’ As we all know, these are trying times for our youth and we must do everything we can to help pave their road to success.” I try not to vomit. “But before we show an excellent short documentary,” she drones on, “Principal Haycorn has something he’d like to say.”
There is polite applause as Principal Haycorn makes his way to the front. He waves and nods to the parents he knows, which is all of them, so it takes a while. His bright blue bow tie matches the handkerchief poking out of his pocket. Finally, he begins. “It has come to our attention that recently one of our students was beaten up quite badly — the victim of bullies.” A murmur runs across the room. I stop chewing. “An anonymous caller left a message on my voice mail. This person didn’t say who it was that was attacked, but I have no reason to doubt the incident occurred. As you may or may not know, bullying is prevalent in middle school. There’s social intimidation, where kids are shunned by particular cliques or made fun of, and there’s physical bullying, where physical violence actually occurs.”
Great. I get both. How lucky am I?
“I will be sending home a Principal’s Bulletin with our students. It will include a checklist to see if your student is vulnerable to bullies. However, tonight I’d like to spend the first fifteen minutes of this meeting conducting an open forum to discuss what we can do as concerned educators and parents to prevent this.”
A nervous-looking woman with cropped reddish hair asks, “Do we know who got beat up?”
Principal Haycorn shakes his head. “No, the caller didn’t say, and even if I did know, I wouldn’t be at liberty to reveal that.”
“Does this happen often here?” A bald man with a fancy mustache glares at Principal Haycorn and bellows, “We don’t pay good tax dollars to send our children into a den of violence.”
“I will admit that, like at any school, bullying does exist,” Principal Haycorn says apologetically. “But you have my word that physical violence is something that we will not tolerate. Now, I’m looking for suggestions from all of you. Our next PTA meeting will be totally devoted to this subject, but I didn’t want to wait to address this.”
“Well,” begins a skinny lady near the front, “clearly, the child who was beat up must be on the edges of the social stratosphere. He, or she, probably doesn’t have any friends and an even worse home life. A professional victim, perhaps.” She looks around and explains, “I studied psychology in grad school.”
My face burns as I stare at her chipmunk teeth. How dare she say that about me? About my family? That lady doesn’t even know me. I look down and uncurl my fist. I’ve smashed a cookie and all that’s left are crumbs.
Principal Haycorn nods. “I’d like to hear some suggestions about what we can do so this doesn’t happen again. Anyone?”
The bald mustache man stands again. “I think we ought to have focus groups with some of the kids and hear from them directly. Find out what and who frightens them and why.” Several parents nod.
Oh, right. Like anyone is going to sit around and admit they are scared in front of a bunch of other kids and parents.
“How about we create a slogan,” a mom suggests. Her voice is high-pitched and she’s dressed like a kid in torn jeans and a Mongo Bongo T-shirt. “Like, ‘Beat the Bullies’ —”
“Dumb idea. That sounds too violent,” another parent says, cutting her off. “How about something more positive like, ‘Be a buddy, not a bully’?”
“Oh! I like that,” a female voice in the back adds as an appreciative murmur runs through the room.
“I know,” the psychology lady chimes in. “We can have the slogan made into those rubber bracelets the kids like so much! That way, we can empower our children and remind them of the importance of interactive friendships.”
That has to be the lamest idea I have ever heard. Like a bracelet will stop a bully. What would I do? Explain to the Gorn, “You can’t hit me, I’m wearing a bracelet. Be a buddy, not a bully!”
What we really need to do is arm ourselves with Star Trek phasers.
The PTA president stands up and announces, “This a great project for the PTA!”
Instantly, everyone is talking at once. Principal Haycorn is beaming. “Okay, we’ll have a follow-up meeting about the bracelets and form a committee, but in the meantime, on to our film. Where is our AV student? Farley, where are you?” He looks around the room. I step out from behind a bookcase. “Ah, there you are, Farley. Would you mind turning on the movie for us?”
As I walk up to the DVD player, all around me parents are still talking about bullies. I can hear them trying to guess who was beat up.
The few times I’ve seen Emily at school, she’s made it a point to avoid me. For now, the beastly Gorn are laying low. The only one who goes out of their way to see me is Digger. Twice a week. Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Halloween is coming up. It’s a big deal at the Rialto. We have a midnight show and Mom plays spooky music on the Wurlitzer. This year’s film is Ghostbusters. At school there’s a costume contest. The winner gets a pizza party for their home
room.
“What are you going as?” Max asks. She’s wearing another new Batman T-shirt.
I’m sure it was Max who made that phone call to Haycorn, but she’s acting like nothing happened. If she can play that game, so can I. It occurred to me that it could also have been Mr. Min, Officer Ramsey, Mr. Jiang, Ramen, or my father. But I’m fairly certain it was Max since she’s been so vocal about it.
“I’m not going to wear a costume,” I tell her. “It’s stupid.”
“Well, if you were going to dress up, who would you go as?” Max persists. When she gets on a subject, she just can’t let go.
“Spock,” I finally say. I wonder if I should at least wear my Spock ears to school. That would be kind of cool. Then I remember the time in third grade when I forgot to take them off when I got to class. The only person who didn’t make fun of me was Stanford Wong, but that’s because he was wearing Spock ears too.
“What about you, Ramen?” Max asks. She’s eating sushi again today and he’s hovering over her.
“Luke Skywalker, of course. Duh! His name’s Luke. My real name is Luke. The first initial of his last name is S — Skywalker. The first initial of my last name is S — Serrano. It’s like we’re the exact same person. What about you?”
“I’m going as Batman,” Max declares.
“You can’t,” Ramen tells her.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a girl.”
Max points her chopsticks so that they are level with his nose. “So?”
“So?” Ramen echoes. He takes a step back so as not to get chopsticks up his nostrils. “So, Batman is a man. Bat-man, not Bat-seventh-grade-girl.”
“Like that even matters.” Max’s voice starts rising. “You’re going as Luke Skywalker, and you’re a dweeb and he wasn’t. His name is Luke Skywalker, not Luke-I-am-a-seventh-grade-dweeb!”
As they argue, I watch the other students having lunch in the courtyard. The most popular kids eat in the cafeteria. There are certain tables that are unofficially reserved for their kind, like that’s even fair. I’m sure Emily sits at one of those tables. The only time I go into the cafeteria is when I’m checking on the LED board, and even then it’s always during AV Club, when Mr. Reisman is mopping the floor.
Then there are the kids who eat outside. Some do it because the weather is usually really nice. Others do it to get away from the cafeteria kids. For me and Ramen, it was just a given that we’d eat outside, and that our bench would be broken, and that the Tragic Tree only gives off shade if you stand in the mud.
“… bats hang upside down and suck blood. What kind of hero is that?”
“Luke Skywalker had a crush on his sister,” Max shoots back. “How sick is that?”
“Number one,” Ramen yells, his face all red, “he didn’t know she was his sister, and number two, he did NOT have a crush on her. That’s a myth started by anti–Star Wars idiots!”
As they argue, I take a bite of my turkey sandwich, and that’s when I spot her. It’s Emily walking across the quad. Alone. She’s wearing a navy blue dress that looks like a sailor suit. Should I say something to her? I try to muster my courage.
Emily looks startled when I tap her on the shoulder. Instantly, her face clouds with worry.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. I can’t stop fidgeting.
“For what?” She looks confused.
“For the fashion show,” I say. Shouldn’t she know what I’m talking about? Oh wait. How could I be so stupid? Stupid, stupid, stupid. She’s probably already forgotten about me. I’ll bet she doesn’t even remember my name. Why would a girl like Emily Ebers even bother talking to me? Stupid.
“Marley,” Emily says. “I’m the one who needs to apologize.” Her eyes fill with tears. “I’ve felt so bad about how I treated you. Oh, Marley, I practically ruined your life!”
“jIyajbe …” I stammer in Klingon. “I don’t understand.”
“You were so nice, and I forced you to wear a garbagebag gown. I never stopped to think how you might feel about it. Instead, I was so excited about designing it and winning the contest. You were sweet not to tell me how mean I was. And then, when everyone laughed at you, I realized how selfish I had been. It was all my fault.”
Emily wipes her nose on her sleeve. I wish I had a tissue to give her. Instead, I hand her my sandwich. She takes a bite and then gives it back to me.
“Oh, Marley, I was so ashamed of my behavior,” Emily confesses as she chews. “I couldn’t even look at you. You must hate me.”
Oh, but I don’t. If only she knew.
“Can you ever forgive me, Marley?”
Emily Ebers is asking me for forgiveness?
I nod. “Sure, no hard feelings,” I assure her.
“But the gown you had to wear —”
I wave my hand, “Oh that, it was nothing. Nobody bothered me about it. It was no big deal.”
“Really?” Emily asks. Her tears have made some of her eyelashes stick together.
“Really.”
“Then we can be friends again?”
I nod. My heart is about to burst. “Affirmative! Of course we can be friends.”
She gives me a huge hug. “Oh, Marley, you’re the greatest! You know, after the fashion show I was soooooo depressed. I’d listen to Lavender and she’d cheer me up, but a lot of her songs are sad too. And then I’d feel so bad.”
“Who’s Lavender?” I ask.
“Who’s Lavender?” Emily says, laughing. “She’s only got the most amazing radio show. People call her and tell her their problems and she always has the most perfect song for them!”
I nod like I know what she’s talking about. I’m not that into music, unlike some kids at school who wear T-shirts with bands I’ve never even heard of. But this Lavender lady? I wonder if I should listen to her.
“Marley, can I ask you something?” Emily says.
I nod. “Anything,” I tell her. Anything, my heart is saying.
“Is that bread on your sandwich toasted? It was sooooo good.”
“Here,” I say, handing it to her. “Take it, I … I have another one, um, back over there.” I point to Ramen and Max, who aren’t even trying to hide the fact that they are staring at us.
“Really?” Emily asks. I nod. “Why, thank you, Marley.”
“Anytime,” I tell her.
As Emily walks away with my sandwich, I feel good for the first time in weeks.
It’s Halloween, and Harry Potters and princesses and clowns have taken over the school. At the last minute I decided to wear my Spock ears. It feels good to wear them in public. I’ve got both my Spock and Bones action figures with me today, just for the fun of it.
Ramen is dressed as Luke Skywalker. Again. He’s wearing his old judo uniform. Even though he quit three years ago, it still fits him. Ramen was good at judo. He’s really flexible and can bite his toenails. The back of his uniform reads LUKE S. for Luke Serrano, though he claims it’s for Luke Skywalker. To finish off his costume, Ramen wound cloth bandages around his shoes and up his legs for boots. A workman’s belt is around his waist and an empty wrapping-paper roll is tucked into it in a lame imitation of a lightsaber.
Max is wearing her award-winning Batman costume. Since she and Ramen are about the same size, it fits her well. Digger is marching around dressed as a king and even has one of those red robes with white fur on it. It looks real. I’ll bet if he knew I had a throne in the Transporter Room, he’d confiscate it and claim it as his own.
“I am a bobby soxer,” Ms. KcKenna explains. “This is how the kids dressed in the 1950s. See my oxford shoes and white bobby socks? And,” she grins, “they played this kind of music!” With that, she turns on her CD player. “Rock Around the Clock” starts and she begins to dance. “Come on, everyone! Join me!”
A vampire and a pirate get up and bop around the room to mock her, but I can tell that Ms. McKenna can’t see that. As a reward for their dancing, she gives them warm fuzzies. After homeroom
, I rescue the pom-pom creatures from the trash can. I’ve got over two dozen of them.
During P.E. we all look the same again in our gym clothes. Well, not exactly the same. I look tall and weak. I wonder if anyone’s ever used a belt to keep their gym shorts up? How is it that the other guys look so strong? Do they work out? And the girls — most of them look like they could crush me. Just their laugher alone can make me wither.
As I am waiting my turn to bat and get yelled at, Coach Martin comes up to me. “I haven’t seen you running lately,” he says. “An athlete needs to train every day.”
“I’m not an athlete,” I tell him.
“You could be,” he says. Instead of his usual baseball cap, Coach Martin is wearing reindeer antlers. I hope it’s because of Halloween.
“Hey, Sandelski,” the pitcher yells. She’s getting impatient and is stomping the mound so hard that dust is rising. “You’re up!”
I go up to the plate and one … two … three.
I strike out.
See, I’m not an athlete.
At lunch, Ramen, Max, and I watch the parade of costumed middle schoolers tramping in a circle around the courtyard. Principal Haycorn is the sole judge. He’s wearing jeans, a leather vest, a cowboy hat, and, inexplicably, ski boots. I see Mr. Jiang crossing the courtyard. He’s wearing a suit. He wore that last year at Halloween and it cracked us all up. As expected, Digger, in his king’s crown and robe, wins.
“He only won because Principal Haycorn is angling for a new admin building,” Ramen growls.
“What do you mean?” asks Max as she adjusts her Batman costume. She should have won — anyone can see that. Well, anyone who would have taken the time to look.
“Money,” Ramen tells her. “Digger’s dad owns half the town.”
I explain, “His family gives money for things like the basketball team and stuff. In exchange, their ignoramus son gets to win the costume contest.”
