Lessons I Never Learned at Meadowbrook Academy (4 page)

I've got to be honest: I'm not entirely sure what “morning meeting” was all about. The Headmaster, Dr. Murphy—who was wearing an ugly green cable-knit sweater under a blazer—made some drawn-out speech about integrity, honor, perseverance, and that we should all support the football team this year.

Dr. Murphy was smaller in stature, but there was something hugely intimidating about him. His salt-and-pepper hair was perfectly in place, meticulously so, and there was something really controlled about the way he spoke. He felt like a pot of boiling water with its lid on super tight. I wondered if he enjoyed his job. Or his life.

When he finished his speech, Murphy introduced the man who would bring this year's football team to victory, Coach Andy.
Hooray!
Coach Andy had on a tight grey-and-maroon velour warm-up suit, and I would swear on my grandmother's grave that the man had stuffed a sock in his pants.

Coach Andy proudly took the microphone and, to a roar of applause, announced the varsity team's starting lineup. The team's captain was a senior named Zach; he was blond, buff, tanned to perfection, and approximately six feet tall. I couldn't help but feel, even at fifteen, that life was so clichéd. I was willing to bet my left kidney that Zach's girlfriend was also blonde, skinny, undeniably beautiful, and probably the captain of her own unique organization.

Some kids from the marching band came out and played the school's “fight song” while a large furry “Meadowbrook Beaver” danced down the aisle. Our mascot was a beaver. A furry beaver. Even I could see the irony in this one.

I listened to Thaddeus laugh, and I wondered where he came from. I bet his family lived in ritzy Short Hills and his dad was a politician or something. His mom probably wore lots of diamonds and was very generous to their housekeeper during the holidays. I could see their happy mansion where no one yelled and they all took turns passing the salt.

The beaver ended its interpretive dance while the band swelled to a climax. The kid playing the trombone was turning an unusual shade of red, and I thought it would have been exciting if he passed out, but he didn't. Some purple and orange balloons were released from a net above the stage, and I thought that the only thing better than being a furry beaver was being a furry beaver whose team colors were purple and orange.

Dr. Murphy ended morning meeting early so that all the “new” kids could have twenty minutes to acquaint themselves with the school. We were given our locker assignments by a jubilant, curly-haired science teacher named Teri.

“And remember,” Teri sparkled like the tinfoil my mom used to cover up leftover ziti, “no Meadowbrook question is ever a stupid question, but not having the courage to ask is stupid.” She flashed a million-dollar smile. I wondered if her pearly white teeth were actually real or the product of good dental insurance.

Kids started to get up and move out of the rows to the aisle. This was my last opportunity to say something undeniably witty and poetic to Thaddeus so that he wouldn't just remember me as the girl who fell on his crotch.

“Hey, Thaddeus,” I said.

He turned around. “Yeah?”

“Furry beaver…that's pretty funny.”

Silence.

Oh God, I am nothing but a complete and total loser—

“Yeah, you're right, it is,” he laughed.

I had made him laugh. This was good. From what I've gathered about the girls Anthony has dated, humor is a major asset when deciding whether or not you are adequate dating material.

“Hey, Roberta…”

“Yes?” I practically jumped, hopeful he wanted to talk to me some more.

“You have something red on your upper lip; maybe it's juice or something. Just thought you'd want to know.”

And he walked away.

After cursing Anthony in my head for not telling me the truth about my blotchy, red upper lip and spending fifteen minutes tucked away in the corner of the auditorium, using my compact to try and cover it up, I gave into the fact that it was either red marks or a moustache. I decided the red marks were definitely more socially acceptable, and I promised myself that I would work all next summer at The Cone Zone to afford electrolysis. I blended in one more gob of concealer, threw it in my backpack, and rushed out into the hallway.

Walking quickly down the corridor, I made a right at the corner toward the sophomore lockers. Kids were rushing around, trying to find their first period classes. A certain chaotic energy filled the air. The hallways had that ultraclean smell, like a Windex bottle had exploded. All the floors were covered in this thick, beautiful grey carpet. Seriously, it was nicer than my house. Much nicer.

I saw kids running inside classrooms and closing the doors. Afraid that I was going to be late and have yet another reason to bring unwanted attention to myself, I started to run. My locker was at the corner across from the computer lab. As I quickly turned the numbers on my locker, I fumbled for my combination and found a moist piece of paper instead. I was so nervous earlier that the sweat from my hand had made the ink run, and I couldn't figure out the last number.

Frustrated, I decided to just lug my book bag around all day when out of nowhere, a multicolored scarf fell over my face and onto the ground in front of me. Utterly confused, I turned to see a boy with thick, brown-rimmed glasses wearing a turquoise blue sweater with black leather elbow patches. Two black straps from a big, overstuffed, green backpack came down across his shoulders. I was a good few inches taller than him, and he kind of reminded me of an elf.

“You're new here.” He smiled, revealing a mouth full of metal.

I just looked at him like a deer stuck in a megawatt headlight.

“I'm Mervin Kestler. Thank you for the opportunity to introduce myself,” he said as he bowed.

“Umm…hi. I'm Roberta.” I threw my book bag over my shoulder.

Mervin bent down to pick his scarf up. “I noticed you struggling with your locker; please allow me.”

I stepped aside and Mervin put his ear down to my lock, jiggled it a few times, hit the bottom with his foot, and it opened just as the one-minute bell rang.

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “How did you do that?”

“I'm a magician by trade, and magicians never reveal their secrets.” He winked, which was magnified by his glasses, and then took off down the hallway.

Utterly baffled by what just happened, I grabbed a few sheets of paper, a pen, and my schedule. Then I threw my book bag into the locker, but realized if I closed the door, I wouldn't be able to open it again unless I figured out that last number or hunted down Mervin, the elf magician. At this point, I truly didn't care, so I slammed the door shut.

I walked into my algebra class just as the last bell rang. And sitting in the first row was Mervin. I quickly grabbed a seat in the back. The desk was this beautiful, smooth, dark, almost cherry-colored wood. I hesitated putting my arms across it because I didn't want to smudge its pristine surface. I decided it best to just keep my hands folded on my lap.

I looked around and counted only ten kids in the entire class. At my old high school, classes never had fewer than thirty kids in them. It was an ideal situation for goofing off. The teachers couldn't possibly keep an eye on every kid, so you could get away with pretty much anything.

The algebra teacher introduced himself and told us his name was Mr. Wizard. A few kids chuckled. He swore up and down that “Wizard” was his real name. He sort of reminded me of a walrus; Mr. Wizard the walrus. Every three or four words, a big wad of spit would spray out of his mouth, generously showering a kid in the first row. I saw Mervin discreetly duck down a few times.

A girl was sitting in the second row behind Mervin. She was unusually pretty with bright red hair, fair skin, and a ton of freckles. She reminded me of Annie from the musical,
Annie
. She had on this funky, peach-colored matching top and skirt. Her outfit was perfectly accessorized with awesome red bracelets and a long, silvery necklace. A turquoise blue sash dangled off her waist, and cute silver ballerina flats hugged her small feet. I discreetly looked down at my ugly outfit.

Mr. Wizard explained, with a lot of excess saliva, the Algebra II syllabus. Then he put a problem up on the board. I had always been super good at math; it just came naturally to me. I loved math because there was simply one correct answer. You were either right or wrong, with no in-betweens.

I knew the solution to the problem right away. Mr. Wizard asked for a volunteer, and ten blank faces stared back at him.

I wanted to scream out, “The answer is x=10!” But instead, I didn't say anything. I've learned that it's easier to stay quiet. That way, you're less of a target. Mr. Wizard explained that the problem was difficult, but not to worry; in a few weeks, our brains would know exactly what to do. I liked Mr. Wizard. I never really had a teacher who cared. And he seemed to do just that. Care.

Class ended eight minutes early because Mr. Wizard didn't want to “overwhelm” us on our first day. I debated whether or not I should wait for Mervin. He was gathering his stuff and talking to “Annie.” It would be nice to have at least one person to commiserate with. I lingered, pretending I had dropped something on the floor.

“Hey, Roberta!” I heard Mervin say.

I stood up and acted surprised to see him. “Oh, hey, Mervin. I didn't know you were in this class.” Right as I said this, I realized how idiotic I must have sounded. I mean, there were only ten kids in the entire class.

Somehow, my comment seemed to pass right over him as he adjusted his huge green backpack across his shoulders. “Math, it's such a horrible requirement. I hate it.”

“Me too.” I felt a tingle in my stomach because I knew I was lying.

He gestured toward the red-headed girl, “This is Annie.”

You're kidding me!

“She's my next-door neighbor. We've known each other for, like, ever.”

Annie smiled and gave a little wave. I glanced down at the perfect pink notebook she was carrying. All I had was a few sheets of loose-leaf paper.

There was an awkward silence as the three of us walked out into the fairly empty hallway. I could feel Annie staring at me, checking me out. It made me horribly uncomfortable. All my senses became hyperaware, and with each step, I could hear my ugly brown (fake) leather lace-ups scraping against the carpet.

“Are you wearing a man's shirt?” Annie finally said, breaking the silence. “The buttons are on the wrong side.”

A wave of dizziness passed over me. I was mortified. I mean, absolutely mortified. I wanted to stick my ballpoint pen in Annie's eye and call my mother to tell her that she had managed to ruin my life yet again, but instead I just said, “I don't know…”

“Because I'm like totally into fashion and I just think that's completely alternative and way cool of you to make such a statement with your clothing.” She smiled.

My overriding desire to stab her eye went away. I couldn't believe I had just been accepted, even praised, for wearing Kmart men's clothing. “Well, I do like trying new things.” I hoped she couldn't tell I was lying.

A very pale, thin boy with jet-black hair and terrible acne scurried past us.

Annie gasped and leaned in toward Mervin. “Oh my God, there's Aaron Schrimmer. I can
not
believe he's here. That's just so creepy…”

Mervin pushed his glasses up. “When I didn't see him this morning, I just thought he decided to go to a different school. Why would he come here after what happened?”

Annie shrugged. “Creepy-deepy.”

“What happened?” I asked, totally curious.

“You don't know?” Annie seemed shocked.

“No,” I said sheepishly, like I should know.

“You don't know about Warren Schrimmer?” Annie's voice got quiet. “It was all over the papers and the internet, it was even on the news—”

“Yeah,” Mervin said, nodding.

I looked at them, still completely oblivious.

Annie stopped walking and pushed herself up onto a window ledge. She looked around to make sure nobody else could hear and motioned for us to come in close. “Well, the Schrimmers live only a few blocks away from me and Mervin, and Aaron's older brother, Warren, used to go to school here. He was a senior last year and was only a week away from graduating—”

“No, it was actually the next day; he was graduating the next day, but go ahead,” Mervin said.

Annie rapidly blinked. “Fine, Mervin, it was the next day…anyway, Warren was valedictorian and an all-state soccer player and, like, a prodigy on classical guitar. He was just this brilliant kid. And he was way hot, didn't look anything like Aaron.”

“And super nice,” Mervin added. “He always said hi to me when I rode my bike down his street.”

“He even had some kind of full-ride academic scholarship to Harvard. Pre-med or something. His family's loaded, so it's not like they needed the money, but that's how bad Harvard wanted him as a student,” Annie said as she crossed her arms.

A short, fat, bald teacher with small eyeglasses waddled toward us. “Get off that ledge, Miss. We're not animals, hanging out, grazing on a field.”

Annie obediently slid off the ledge as Mervin and I backed up.

“All of you, get to your next class; the halls aren't for lounging.”

He waddled away, scratching his shiny head. The minute he turned the corner, Annie hopped back up on the ledge.

“Warren was at a party with some friends, and he told them he had to go because there was something he needed to do before graduation.”

Mervin nodded again in agreement. “He drove back over here to Meadowbrook, parked his car in the faculty lot, and broke into the reservoir behind the school. Then he got totally naked and went swimming.”

“Oh.” I shrugged. “That's weird and all, but why would that make the papers and the news?”

“He drowned,” Annie said. “Suicide.”

I looked from Annie to Mervin and back to Annie. “Really?”

Mervin leaned with his backpack up against the wall. “Yeah, it's true. They found a note in his jeans pocket, and his mom actually had it printed up in the paper because she thought maybe it could help another kid. God, I totally remember what it said—”

“Me too.” Annie kicked the wall a few times with her dangling feet.

The bell ending first period rang, and kids started flooding out of their classrooms. Immediate chatter filled the hallway, and two girls' piercing laughter echoed down the corridor.

The drab, pale, lifeless woman from earlier, Twiggy Finger, suddenly appeared from behind a gaggle of kids. She gestured toward Annie up on the ledge. “Inappropriate.”

Annie immediately slid off and Twiggy walked away.

“Stay clear of her,” Annie said, gesturing toward Twiggy. “Absolute nightmare. She gave me a week of detentions last year because I didn't throw my Diet Coke can in the recycler.”

The three of us meandered down the hall.

To be honest, I was lost in my own thoughts about someone dying so young. Two years ago, my favorite cousin on my mom's side, John, had passed away. I loved John because he would always save me the grape-flavored popsicle when our families would go down to the Jersey shore together. That's just the kind of guy he was. He made me laugh, and he never made fun of my weight. Not ever.

John was only seventeen when he died. I remember his dad had just given him a brand-new car for his birthday, which was in January. It was a red Ford Mustang. Convertible, I remember that too. John's mom had died when he was just a little boy, and ever since then, he and his dad were inseparable.

One morning, my uncle came out to let their cat inside. It had been snowing all night, and he was afraid the cat might freeze to death. But when he called for the cat, it didn't come. My uncle heard the sound of the car from inside their garage. So he followed the sound. And found John dead inside his brand-new red Ford Mustang.

That's all I really know about that story, and I was lucky enough to piece that much together by eavesdropping on my parents. They didn't want to upset me or my brother by telling us the “full truth.” God, I hate it when adults do that. Do they honestly think it makes it better for us? To be lied to? It just makes everything worse.

I never actually found out whether or not my cousin had killed himself. He never left a note or anything. I wished he had. I really do. Reportedly he had died of asphyxiation. People said it was an accident. That he was just warming up the car to beat the cold and that something faulty happened with the engine. But it was a brand-new car. And it was five in the morning.

Sometimes secrets can be hidden in families so deep that the lie can literally become the truth.

But in my heart, I feel I do know the real truth. I know it was suicide because on the day of John's wake, his casket was closed. And to me, there was something so shameful and secretive about that, which admitted more than words ever could.

Sometimes I have this reoccurring dream where I am at the beach and it is very crowded. There are kids making sand castles and people swimming in the ocean. I feel warm and then, out of nowhere, it gets very cold. I look up and see John sitting completely alone under the boardwalk. He is always covered with a towel. I run over to him and ask the same question each time.

“Why?”

And he never answers. He just holds on to his towel and never answers. It is then when I usually wake up. And I'm always left empty with this one grave concern: that wherever John is, I only hope he isn't alone.