by Matt Fazio
“I don’t like to waste time, which is why permission slips for science lab were mailed to your homes two weeks ago for your parents to sign. They contained instructions stating that you were to have them signed and prepared for me today. I need everyone to get them out and, quietly and orderly, pass them to the front of each row.”
Drew felt a small rush of pride. His mom had signed the permission slip, and he had remembered to bring it to school. But when he opened his folder, nothing was there. Where is it? He checked his pockets. Nothing. He looked in the other folder he had with him. Empty. That’s right, he remembered. The permission slip was in his daily planner, which was still in his locker.
All the other students quietly passed their permission slips to the person in front of them. The room resembled a fluent assembly line, with Drew being the one kink. He hesitantly raised his hand.
“Yes?” said Mrs. Steinbeck when she noticed the limp arm in the air.
“Mrs. Steinbeck, mine’s in my locker …”
Drew could sense the silent gasps all around him. Mrs. Steinbeck’s eyebrows rose. She lowered her head slightly and peered above her stylish glasses at Drew. He gulped and smiled awkwardly. Mrs. Steinbeck started as if she were about to berate the forgetful boy, but something restrained her from doing so, and her expression calmed – barely.
“Go get it and return quickly,” she said. She pointed to a small table against the wall next to the door. “Take the hall pass.” After a short pause, she looked at the nametag on his desk and coldly added, “This is not a good start, Andrew Daley.”
Drew hustled down the hall as fast as he could without running, hoping that a quick trip to his locker wouldn’t put him on Mrs. Steinbeck’s bad side. As he entered his combination, he noticed a small boy with neatly-combed, copper hair standing on the other side of the hall a few lockers down. Drew couldn’t tell if he was waiting for something or if he was completely lost.
“Um …” The boy was trying to muster the strength to say something.
Drew turned from his locker. “Do you need help with something?”
“Yes,” he responded shyly.
Drew figured the boy to be in kindergarten or first grade. It felt strange to Drew that he himself had been so small and clueless just a few years ago.
“I have to go to art class,” the boy continued, “but I don’t know how to get there.”
“Oh, I can help you with that,” said Drew. Students that young had one main teacher and only went to other classrooms for special classes like art and gym. The boy must have gotten separated from his class somehow. There are probably a hundred ways a kid could get lost and separated from the rest of the class, Drew thought.
“Well, the art room is in the Garuba wing, down on the first floor at the end of the school. You can go down those steps to the first floor, and then make a right and go past the cafeteria to the end of the hall. You could cut through the cafeteria, but it’s locked sometimes. So you go past it through the double doors at the end of the hall, then make a right and the art room will be the third, no, the second room on your left.”
The young boy stood with glazed eyes, trying to commit this path to his memory. Drew saw the confusion in his face.
“I’ll just take you real quick,” he said. “It’s actually pretty confusing if you’ve never been there.”
On the way to the art room, Drew asked the boy about himself. His name was Brady, and it was his first day in the building. Drew intently listened as Brady explained his horror story of getting separated from his kindergarten classmates. Drew was acting like a seasoned big brother, even though he didn’t have any siblings.
He waited outside the door as Brady rejoined his class. Peering into the room, he saw some of last year’s art projects still hanging by string and clothespins. Drew wouldn’t be taking art this year because at Emerson Elementary, all fourth-graders had art and all fifth-graders had music. He lingered at the doorway for a moment before reversing his path and heading back up the stairs to Mrs. Steinbeck’s classroom.
He set the hall pass down on the table by the door and turned to quietly head back to his seat.
“Why were you gone so long, Mr. Daley? Was there a complication?” said Mrs. Steinbeck, standing in the front of the room but facing Drew.
A few giggles rose to the surface of the room, but Mrs. Steinbeck turned her head sharply toward the class and revealed an icy glare that suffocated the laughter. She turned back to Drew, and a horrible feeling shot through him. Oh no! What had he left the room for in the first place? Mrs. Steinbeck’s enraged stare at his empty hands answered his question. The permission slip. He had forgotten to get the permission slip from his locker.
“You think you can just leave my class and do whatever you want, is that it? You think it is okay to lie to me and pretend your permission slip is in your locker when you actually forgot it at home. Is that it, Mr. Daley?”
Drew shook his head. His eyes shifted nervously around the room. All the students sat with their heads forward but slightly down. They didn’t seem to know where they were allowed to look.
“Return to your seat,” said Mrs. Steinbeck.
“But I –”
“Return to your seat,” she snapped, stabbing toward Drew’s desk with her index finger.
Drew bowed his head and slipped into his chair, his heart pounding and his cheeks beet-red. He had done the last thing a kid at Emerson wanted to do – he had gotten on Mrs. Steinbeck’s bad side.
A cloud of embarrassment clung to him the rest of the day. But when it was time for last period, Mr. Sawyer’s familiar face finally eased the tension.
“Six more months, right, Drew?” Mr. Sawyer had said as Drew entered the classroom.
“Huh?”
“You guys are still counting down until the premiere of that zombie movie, right?”
“Oh yeah,” said Drew. “I think six months is right.”
He, Jeff, and Tommy had made their excitement known last school year when the Zombie Days premiere date was announced. Even though the movie wouldn’t hit theaters until winter, the boys couldn’t stop talking about it the entire last month of fourth grade.
“What’s it called again?” Mr. Sawyer asked. “Zombie Dudes?”
“Zombie Days,” Drew corrected him and laughed. “Trust me, it’s gonna be awesome.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to see it when it comes out then.”
Mr. Sawyer simply had a way of getting through to Drew, and, thanks to him, the first day of school hadn’t been so bad after all. Now, though, just three weeks into the school year, Drew was already behind in his favorite teacher’s class.
Disappointed in himself, he turned on the lamp next to his bed, pulled out his science book, and turned to page 139. Even now, after all the interruptions of the day, it brought him peace. His breathing eased into a soft rhythm. After a few minutes, he put his book away, turned off his light, and fell asleep without a worry in the world.
****
Despite the peaceful sleep, with morning came the reminder that Drew would disappoint Mr. Sawyer by being unprepared for the first big assignment of the year.
As he dragged himself out the door, his mom said, “Wait, here you go,” and handed him a one-dollar bill. “You and Jeff and Tommy are stopping at Melia’s after school today, right?”
Melia’s Market was a small convenience store owned by a living legend, Mr. Melia. The old man ran the store with his wife, and he was one of the most beloved people in Emerson. Drew and his friends loved going there. In the past, they had to be accompanied by an adult, but this year they were granted collective parental approval to stop at Melia’s once a week on their way home from school. The boys had vowed to go to Melia’s every Thursday for the entire school year. And although it was only the third week of the school year, Melia’s Thursdays were already becoming a sacred tradition for them. Melia’s housed lunch meat, small grocery products, and a number of miscellaneous items, but Drew and
his friends were only interested in the candy behind the counter.
Now, in the instant his mom handed him that dollar bill, Drew knew who he would pick for his social studies project.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Thanks, Mom.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and darted out the front door.
“Yes! It’s perfect! I’ll pick Mr. Melia!” he nearly shouted as he headed down the street.
A minute ago he was dragging his feet, dreading the day ahead of him. Now he was practically running, full of anticipation for social studies class. He knew Mr. Sawyer would be impressed with his choice. And when he went to Melia’s after school, he could tell Mr. Melia about it. His smile spread wider as he thought about how flattered the old man would be.
Drew eagerly awaited social studies class all throughout the day. He scribbled through his math worksheet, sprinted through the warm-up laps in gym, volunteered to pass out the science worksheets (which he did in record time), inhaled his lunch, impatiently tapped his foot through a language arts lecture, sang several notes ahead of everyone in music class, and recited translations in Spanish so fast that his classmates assumed he was speaking fluently, all in hopes that the clock would somehow match his pace. His haste likely had the opposite effect, and made the day feel longer, but, at long last, the bell rang for the final period of the day to begin.
“Here’s how we’ll do this. I think the fairest way is to put all your names in a hat, which I’ve already done.” Mr. Sawyer held out an old brown fisherman’s hat filled with small slips of paper. “When I call your name, you let me know who you’re choosing for your presentation.”
Drew sat with a proud smile on his face, barely able to wait for Mr. Sawyer to call his name. He had already asked several of his classmates earlier in the day who they were picking. The results were two singers, one baseball player, one hockey player, and two actors. He also overheard Mitchell telling Erin that he picked a racecar driver, someone Drew had never even heard of.
“Without further ado, the first pick goes to … Tommy.”
“Bryce Harper,” Tommy announced.
“All right,” said Mr. Sawyer as he marked it down on his paper. He reached into the hat and pulled out the next name. Then another, and another, and another. Drew wasn’t too worried at first, and no one had chosen Mr. Melia, but his foot tapped a bit faster each time someone else’s name was called.
Please just be me, he thought to himself.
“Zobby, you’re up next.”
Drew’s impatience lessened at the mention of his friend’s name. Zobby was a friendly, brown-haired girl who lived across the street from Drew’s dad. Drew and Zobby had been friends for years. He didn’t spend as much time with her as he did with Jeff and Tommy, but he felt just as comfortable around her as anyone. He knew she would choose someone worthwhile for her presentation.
“I’m picking Miss Elisa. I take music lessons with her.”
Drew smiled at the pick and turned his attention back to his teacher.
“All right. Caleb is next,” said Mr. Sawyer.
“I’m picking, uh, Mr. Melia, from Melia’s Market,” said Caleb.
Drew could not believe what he just heard. He turned around to see Caleb Monroe sitting right behind him with an absent expression on his face.
“Nice pick, Caleb. I like it. Mr. Melia is a really great guy and a great choice for your presentation,” said Mr. Sawyer.
Drew was infuriated. Mr. Sawyer should be proud of me, not Caleb. Two more names were called, but Drew didn’t even hear them. He was still turned around, trying to stare a hole through Caleb.
“What?” said Caleb with a hint of irritation.
“Next is Drew,” Mr. Sawyer declared suddenly. Drew turned back around and looked up at his teacher.
“I picked Mr. Melia,” he said in a defiant tone that surprised even himself.
“He was already chosen. Caleb picked him a minute ago. Who’s your backup?”
“Backup?” said Drew. He had a hard enough time choosing one person. “Um …”
“You know you were supposed to have a backup choice for this very reason,” said Mr. Sawyer.
“Uh …” Drew tried to think. He couldn’t pick his parents, and he couldn’t pick Mr. Melia. He knew plenty of nice people, but he also knew none of them were right for this assignment.
“Drew,” said Mr. Sawyer, “who is your backup?”
Drew opened his mouth, hoping a name would jump from his lips. Instead, all he could say was, “I couldn’t think of one.”
Mr. Sawyer shook his head in disappointment. “You’re going to have to pick someone. See me after class.”
Drew sunk down in his seat. Mere minutes ago he was excited for social studies class to begin. Now he couldn’t wait for it to end.
After the bell rang and the other students had left the classroom, Drew walked slowly to Mr. Sawyer’s desk.
“Drew, you are the only student in the class who wasn’t able to choose a role model.”
“I know, but I picked Mr. Melia. I really do look up to him. And you said we should pick someone who inspires us, and –”
Mr. Sawyer motioned with his hand for Drew to stop talking.
“That’s great, Drew, but Mr. Melia was chosen by someone else. I understand that you had planned on choosing Mr. Melia, but you have to adjust. Being able to make adjustments is just as important as making plans. You understand, right?”
“Yeah,” Drew murmured, facing the floor.
“All right, good,” said Mr. Sawyer. “Come Monday, I don’t want another situation like we had with the you-know-what.”
Drew lifted his head. Oh man, he thought. That was the day he had learned firsthand that poor preparation leads to embarrassment. Toward the end of the fourth-grade year, each student was to give a presentation on one of the 50 states. But as Drew walked into the classroom on his day to present, he realized he had forgotten his notecards and poster he made at home. And he really needed those notecards, because he didn’t practice his presentation one time. He felt humiliated just thinking of the debacle. “Texas is, um, a big state,” was how he began. “Its nickname is, uh, well, it has lots of sports teams …”
“Yeah,” Drew said to Mr. Sawyer, “we definitely don’t want that.”
“So let’s come in tomorrow with an idea,” said Mr. Sawyer. “Think of someone who inspires you to be a better person. There’s got to be someone besides Mr. Melia. Don’t think of it as a painful assignment, think of it as an opportunity to talk about someone you really look up to.”
“Yeah, I’ll figure it out.” And just like that, he was back where he began.
****
On his way down the hall, he spotted Caleb at his locker shoving dirty gym clothes into his book bag. Drew approached him with a sense of curiosity.
“Hey, Caleb.”
“’Sup?” Caleb responded. He tossed his head back and to the right to flip the dark hair from his eyes, though he didn’t look away from his locker.
“Nothing really. So you’re doing your report on Mr. Melia, huh? That’s pretty cool.”
“I guess,” said Caleb, still without looking up. He was searching for something in his locker.
“What made you pick him?” Drew asked. He was excited to hear Caleb’s answer. Tommy had been hanging out with Caleb recently, and Drew was starting to think that maybe it was for good reason.
“Well,” said Caleb, “I was just gonna take a hockey player, but when I told my mom about it she said to pick Mr. Melia. She said nobody else would pick him, and Mr. Sawyer would probably eat that up. So I was like, whatever.”
Drew’s anger returned even stronger than before. “You picked him because your mom told you to?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, it’s just a lame assignment anyways. I didn’t really care,” said Caleb. He found what he was looking for in his locker and stuck it in his book bag. “Later,” he added before strolling down the hall and out the door.
Drew lingered
near Caleb’s locker for a few moments. He couldn’t believe how indifferent everyone was about the assignment. Maybe everyone else is right, he thought.
As he circled back to his own locker, he found Zobby waiting for him.
“What’d Mr. Sawyer say?” she asked, jumping into a conversation.
“Not much. Just that I have to pick someone,” said Drew. He exchanged some books and filled up his book bag. “And he mentioned the States project again.”
“Oh, that’s rough. I’m sorry. So, do you know who you’re gonna pick?”
“That’s the thing. I wanted to pick Mr. Melia. He was the first person who made sense to me. Tommy and Jeff just picked sports stars, but I don’t really feel like they inspire me. And then Caleb only picked Mr. Melia ‘cause his mom told him to, not because he actually cares.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Yeah, everyone thinks this is so easy and I should just pick a celebrity or something. I dunno, maybe I should.”
“No,” said Zobby, “I don’t think it’s easy. I get what you mean about not wanting to pick some person you see in movies or on TV. That’s why I picked Miss Elisa. I actually know her, ya know?”
Drew nodded and added a half smile.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Zobby. “You’ll figure it out.”
The fact that someone understood him, even if it was just a little bit, really made him feel like he was on the right path.
****
The bright September sun hit Drew in the eyes as he stepped outside. He pulled his faithful Pittsburgh Pirates baseball hat from his book bag and put it over top of his sandy-blonde hair. The hat, given to him as a birthday gift from his parents years ago, had a white front panel, and the golden capital ‘P’ on the front was outlined in black. Weathered from years of wear, the hat had begun to show its age. The capital ‘P’ had a stain on the top left corner, the white front had collected so much dirt that it looked more beige than white, and the rest of the hat, which used to be jet black, had noticeably faded. Penny had tried to clean the hat several times, but it was no use – the stains were too deeply seated.
