by Jeff Moberg
There was a big cheer as they finished the song, and the leader of the band, Darrel Darling, handed the microphone to Dot. She tried to speak, got choked up, waited a minute to regain her composure, and then spoke as she looked around at the hundred or so people who had helped re-open the diner. “Dan and I want to say a great big thank you to everyone here.” She had to stop again for a few seconds and wipe some tears from her cheeks. “We can never express how much all of this means to us. We also want to thank The Darlings for coming down to play for us.” There was another big cheer and she smiled at Mr. Darling as he nodded his appreciation. “But most of all,” Dot said as she looked directly at The Lukester, who was suddenly standing right beside me. “I want to thank Luke and Norma. Without these two young people, this never would have happened.”
Everyone cheered again and then Dot came over and gave us each a great big grandma hug. She seemed to hang on to each of us for an eternity. The Lukester smiled and said to Dot, “Ah, it was nothing. Just paying it forward.”
I looked sideways at him and thought to myself, Oh, it was a lot more than nothing. It was something special.
23
A Bucket of Love
Later that night, just as I was about to climb into my soft, warm, comfortable, and greatly missed bed, I got a text from The Lukester:
The Lukester: Hey, are you there?
Me: Yep.
The Lukester: Are you awake?
Me: Barely, what’s up?
The Lukester: Well, I just wanted to say thanks for all your help today--you were great.
Me: Thanks--so were you.
The Lukester: Thanks. Oh, I also wanted to tell you something else…
Me: OK, go ahead.
The Lukester: Well…
Me: What? Come on–the suspense is killing me. Plus, I’m about to fall asleep.
The Lukester: Well… OK… here goes…
Me: I’m waiting…
The Lukester: Well, Norma L… I just wanted to tell you… that I have a whole bucket for you.
Me: Oh yeah? A whole bucket of what???
The Lukester: Hey--you’re a smart girl–you figure it out!
Touché, I thought as I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I smiled a very big smile. It had been an amazing day. We had helped save a diner, people had cheered for me--and now someone (a special someone) even told me that he had a whole bucket for me.
24
BIG Changes!
Things were different on Monday morning at school.
Very different.
First of all, everyone seemed much more relaxed, easy-going and happy. I guess removing the daily threat of being humiliated, pummeled and possibly pulverized by Sperry and McGurk had a positive effect on our environment.
Secondly, The Lukester’s social status had suddenly changed. No longer was he known as the Dorkster or the Geekster–a veritable lowlife and bottom feeder. Now, all the cool guys–popular guys and jocks–seventh graders and eighth graders–all wanted to high-five The Lukester, walk down the hall with The Lukester, eat lunch with The Lukester, and hang out with The Lukester.
At first, I thought it was pretty cool. The Lukester was a great guy and he deserved to move up the Haywood Middle School ladder of popularity. Actually, skyrocketed would be a better way to describe his ascent. I could handle him being more popular than me (After all, who wasn’t?). But then something happened that I wasn’t sure I could handle.
And that something had a name.
Janet Janikowski.
Janet Janikowski wasn’t as popular as Norma P–but she was more popular than Norma L.
Janet Janikowski wasn’t as graceful as Norma A–but she was more graceful than Norma L.
Janet Janikowski wasn’t as beautiful as Norma B–but she was more beautiful than Norma L.
And worst of all, Janet Janikowski was suddenly very interested in The Lukester. My Lukester. The Lukester that I had assumed (apparently incorrectly) no one else would be interested in. The same Lukester who had just told me last night that he had a whole bucket of ‘you know what’ for me.
When I came into Mr. Spinoza’s classroom for first period, she, meaning Janet J, was in my seat, leaning close to The Lukester. She was whispering something in his ear. And he didn’t look too unhappy about what she was saying. She saw me approaching and said, “Bye bye, Lukey.” Then she walked by me and gave me the “Oh, I am so hotter than you” look.
I sat down next to The Lukester and stared straight ahead. There was a very awkward five seconds or so of silence until he finally said, “Hey Norma.” He didn’t sound unhappy.
Well, I sure was. I didn’t look at him. I just answered back, trying my best to mimic Janet J, “Hi Lukey.” I wanted to call him “Pukey Lukey”, but then I realized that he hadn’t actually done anything wrong (except for maybe looking a little too happy when Janet J was whispering something in his ear). I decided then and there that I wasn’t really mad at The Lukester. I was madder at Janet J. Then I also realized that I absolutely had to know what she had whispered in his ear.
“What was Janet J whispering to you?” I asked out the side of my mouth.
“I’ll tell you after class,” The Lukester answered back in the same way.
Mr. Spinoza was definitely my favorite teacher. He was fun and interesting and super nice, but he did have one pet peeve as a teacher. He didn’t like students talking when he was going over class notes on the overhead. If you talked while he was talking, then he assumed that you knew the material better than he did–and you were invited to go up to the front of the class and teach the lesson. Well, I had no desire to teach a lesson on the difference between relative and reflexive pronouns–and apparently neither did The Lukester–so we sat quietly until class was over.
I was surprised at the weird feeling I had in the pit of my stomach. It was burning me up inside. This was a new experience for me. I was actually jealous. I had never been jealous of anything before. Well, maybe jealous of someone’s house or car or something dumb like that, but never a person--especially a boy. I kept looking over at Janet J, desperately trying to find something wrong with her. Anything. I hoped that maybe she was missing a front tooth like the oldest Darling sister. Nope. Maybe she had bad breath or smelled bad. Probably not. Maybe her clothes were stupid and she looked dorky. Definitely not. She looked great. Dang!
At the end of the period, Mr. Spinoza announced that Norma P and Amanda were going to pass out invitations to everyone in class for their ‘Positively Great Party’ on Friday night. “Remember,” said Amanda as she handed each person a purple and silver envelope. “The party is at my dad’s country club and they have a strict dress code—so dress up—and also, you may invite one person to go as your date.”
Just then, Janet J glanced back at The Lukester and winked. And about a millionth of a second after that, I realized what she had been whispering to him before class started. She had asked him to be her date for the party. My Lukester.
I stormed out of class as the bell rang. The Lukester caught up with me quickly. “Hey,” he said, grabbing my arm (softly). “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh really?” I was trying not to be mad at him, but I couldn’t help it. “Did she or did she not ask you to the party?”
“Yes,” said The Lukester. “She did.”
“Then it’s exactly what I thought!”
He started to say something, but suddenly all three Hoolik Brothers appeared directly in front of him, pushing me off to the side.
“Yo, my man!” said Tommy, high-fiving him.
“What it is, bro!” said Timmy, knuckling him.
“The Lukesterino!” said Teddy, slapping him hard on the back. I couldn’t tell the three of them apart–at all. They were all tall--they all had long, dark, stringy hair--they all had thick, black, plastic glasses with tape in the middle--and they were all completely insan
e. Before they left, they all yelled, “Hockey rules!” and did a triple head butt together.
The Lukester responded by saying, “Yeah… right… hockey rules… see you guys later.” I turned and started to follow them down the hall, still mad, but not sure who I was mad at. The Lukester caught up again and grabbed my arm again (softly again).
“Hey,” he said, looking me in the eyes. “I didn’t say yes. There’s someone else I’d rather go with.”
25
Still the Same
Later that day, at lunch to be exact, The Lukester asked me if I would be his date for the party. Well, I was over being mad at him (although I was still steaming mad at Janet J for trespassing on my turf), so I said, “Yes. I would love to.”
Uh oh, I thought quickly, the L word again.
Besides, he passed up on sitting at the popular table with Taylor and Norma P and the jock table with the crazy Hoolik Brothers and Norma A. Instead, he sat next to me– Norma L--at the misfit table.
And that meant a lot to me.
26
The Ginger Curse
The week passed quickly and soon it was Friday. There was no ‘Geek of the Week’ award and no Sperry and McGurk. Mr. Looney had announced Monday morning that Mr. Sperry and Mr. McGurk would no longer be with us at Haywood. He seemed to take great pleasure in telling us that they had been officially expelled for the destruction of The Lukester’s trees. He also announced that the PTO had donated some money from their emergency fund to replace the trees. All was well at Haywood Middle School.
Unfortunately, all was not well with me.
That’s because it was now five o’clock.
Friday evening.
And it was only an hour until The Lukester and his mom were picking me up in the Scrambler.
And I was looking in the mirror.
Normally, I avoided looking in the mirror like the Plague. I had no desire to see what might be looking back at me. But tonight I had to know. I knew that Janet J would be at the party, looking her best, so I had to somehow look my best too. It wasn’t going to be easy.
Why?
Because I had the ginger curse.
Normal people have black or brown or blond hair. Or some shade in between. Well, I wasn’t lucky enough to be that normal. I had red hair–no, make that bright red hair. Actually, it was sort of a blinding reddish-orange. People with black or brown or blond hair didn’t stand out. They blended in. Unfortunately, people with blinding reddish-orange hair didn’t blend in. They stuck out--like a sore thumb. A very sore thumb. That was me--Norma L--the walking, sticking out, not blending in, sore thumb.
And then I thought, maybe that’s why The Lukester liked me (since he had red hair also). Or maybe he was just legally blind and I didn’t know it. I also had glasses, and I was afflicted with crooked bottom teeth. I secretly hoped that my mom wouldn’t ever notice my teeth, because the last thing I needed to complete my ‘look’ was braces. There were two other things I didn’t like about my appearance. One was my nose (which my plastic surgeon father was far too extraordinarily busy to fix). And the last, but certainly in no way, shape or form least, were my freckles--also part of the ginger curse.
Granted, some people have a few freckles that actually enhance their appearance. Sure, five freckles on your nose or cheeks are cute. That wasn’t the case with me. I had about a million (trust me, I counted them one day), and unfortunately, a million freckles was a little overboard on the enhancement factor.
I tried desperately to fix what I could at the mall last night with my mom. First, I needed a dress for the party. I heard all the other girls at school talking about all the beautiful dresses they owned—or the beautiful dresses they might buy:
“Should I buy the pink dress at Macy’s or the black dress at Nordstrom?” Norma P had asked Amanda.
“What do you think? Norma B had asked Norma A. “Do I look more beautiful in the lavender dress I have or the purple dress I have?”
They all agreed that it would be a tough decision to pick from one of the beautiful dresses they already owned or if they should go out and buy a different, new beautiful dress.
Well, I didn’t have that problem. First of all, I didn’t already have two beautiful dresses to pick from. I had zero. Actually, I did have one dress, but it wasn’t a beautiful dress or a party dress. It was more like a “going to church or Grandma’s house” dress. Mom finally agreed to buy me something new, but it certainly wasn’t going to be a beautiful dress from Macy’s or Nordstrom. Those were way too expensive.
“That’s crazy,” she said after I asked her to just look in case Macy’s or Nordstrom had a sale. “I refuse to pay over $100 for a dress that you’ll only wear once.”
So Mom and I went to the mall Thursday night to find me a “nice” party dress. First, we went to The Dress Barn. I cannot tell you how depressing it is to look at dresses at The Dress Barn, when you know dang well that Janet Janikowski is over at Macy’s or Nordstrom looking at beautiful dresses.
Mom would say, “What about this one?” as she held up something incredibly plain or outright hideous.
I would either say, “OMG, Mom. I cannot possibly be seen in public with that thing on.” Or I would just give her the look and eye roll that clearly meant, “I don’t think so.”
After checking out everything that The Dress Barn had to offer, we decided to take a break at the food court. Mom had a cousin who worked at Superdog, so we got foot long Coney chilidogs and free extra tater tots. Her cousin’s name was Kletch. He had been injured in Iraq when he was a Marine in combat. According to Mom, he had a brain injury, so he couldn’t think too well or remember things clearly. She said he was the kindest and bravest guy ever–and that he had actually saved his entire platoon and had been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. He was a real hero. He was a little scary looking, because he was really big and he had a long, jagged scar that ran along the right side of his bald head. He also had a mechanical hand. I liked him because he always gave me a shoulder hug and called me “Normy”.
After our break, Mom and I looked and looked and looked for dresses again. Everything I found or liked was, according to my mom, either way too expensive or way too inappropriate. I decided that she must have just been promoted to the Chief of the Appropriate Dress Police. Here’s how the dress possibility conversations went:
Scenario Number One:
“Hey Mom, how about this one? This is nice.”
“OMG Norma, no! That is way too expensive!”
Scenario Number Two:
“Hey Mom, how about this one? This is cute.”
“OMG Norma, no! That is way too inappropriate!”
At 8:45, fifteen minutes before all the stores closed, I finally talked Mom into going to Nordstrom—just to see if they had any nice dresses on sale. And at 8:50, I found the dress of my dreams. It was black, short, fitted—and it had delicate, silver, lacy sleeves. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I found my size and quickly tried it on. It fit beautifully and it was incredible. I had desperately hoped that if I found a dress that was beautiful enough—or at least cute--that no one would notice what the person looked like who was wearing it.
There was only one problem.
The dress of my dreams was at Nordstrom.
I looked at the price tag and groaned.
It was expensive.
Very expensive.
$150 expensive.
But wait--it was on sale!
20 percent off!
I quickly calculated (using my middle school math skills)--$150 expensive minus 20 percent equaled… $120 expensive.
I groaned again.
It might as well have been on sale for $120 million.
My mom almost had a heart attack when I showed her the price tag and pleaded, “Please, please, please? I’ll forfeit my allowance for a year--and pay you back in babysitting mo
ney.”
“You don’t have a babysitting job,” she reminded me.
“Oh,” I said, trying to think quickly. “I’ll get one, then.”
Well, now it was 8:55--and Nordstrom was about to close.
“Attention Nordstrom shoppers,” a lady suddenly said on the loudspeaker. “Please make your final selections and take the items to the nearest register for checkout. The store will be closing in five minutes.”
We argued until 9:00.
I put the dress back on the rack.
The store closed.
The gate went down.
And we left.
Without the dress of my dreams.
As we walked out to the car, we were both frustrated and exhausted, so I decided to give up and just wear my boring, old “going to church or Grandma’s house” dress. But I made one last attempt on our way home to salvage the evening. There was one other issue that I could try to fix for the party. It was my hair again. Not the red part. It was the other thing that bothered me about my hair. You see, not only was my hair blinding reddish-orange--it was also curly. People with straight hair don’t stand out. People with curly hair do. I wanted straight hair.
Here’s how that conversation went:
“Hey Mom, can we stop at Walgreens on the way home and get a flat iron to straighten my hair?”
“OMG Norma, no! You have the cutest, curly, red hair!”
“Mom,” I said, completely exasperated. “Curly, red hair is cute when you’re two–not when you’re thirteen.”
I didn’t get the flat iron either.
So here I was, in front of the mirror, with one hour to go before my first party date, and all I could think of, instead of feeling confident and beautiful, was all the things I didn’t like about myself. Red hair was number one on my “Top Ten Things I Don’t Like About Norma L” list. Here is the complete list:
1.Red hair
2.Freckles
3.Red hair
4.My nose
5.Red hair
6.Glasses
7.Red hair
8.Crooked bottom teeth
9.Red hair
10. Curly hair
A knock on the door brought me out of my self-induced misery. It was the newly appointed Chief of the Appropriate Dress Police–and the President of the All Beautiful Dresses are Too Expensive Club (my mom).
“Hey, honey,” she said in a suspiciously way too happy voice. “I have something for you. Actually, I have two things for you.” She was talking in a weird sing-song voice.
I cautiously opened the door. She handed me a Walgreens bag. It had the flat iron in it. Then she handed me a Nordstrom dress bag. It had my dream dress in it.
I was speechless.
“Well,” she said, talking normally again and breaking the happy silence. “Let’s straighten your hair--and then you’d better get dressed. Luke will be here soon.”
I still couldn’t speak, but I gave her the tightest hug ever.
