Mia the Meek (5 page)

“I’d like to stay with you and offer support,” Lisa said, “but I promised Ms. Jackson I’d stop in before we see her this afternoon. Do you mind?”

“Go ahead. Why should we both smell like eau de trout for the rest of the day?”

“Thanks!” Lisa said, skipping out of the cafeteria while I moved aside so more students could dump their half-eaten food into the container.

After they walked away, I made one final plunge, digging to the middle of the heap. Thinking I saw my retainer, I leaned over the bin and probed deeper, when suddenly a wad of cherry Jell-O splashed into my hair.

“What?” Stephanie said. “I can’t wait around all day while you go dumpster diving.”

Tim, standing next to her, laughed. “What are you doing? Searching for Moby Dick?”

“Call me Ishmael,” I growled as they walked away.

I was about to give up—or pass out from the stench—when finally I found my retainer perched on a hill of corn, still wrapped in the napkin. No garbage had touched it, so with a little disinfectant and a few hours of brushing, I might even be able to bring myself to wear it again.

Wiping kernels of corn off my arms, I muttered to myself and headed to the restroom.

I think I liked my life better when I was still Mia the Meek.

“Silence! I don’t tolerate any noise in my classroom,” Mr. Grizzling yelled as he handed out a sheet of paper to everyone. “The first item on my agenda for today’s class is this list of rules. I expect them to be memorized, and there will be a test on each and every rule this Friday.” He glared at us through his beady eyes. “Are there any questions?”

A kid I recognized from one of the mandatory religious retreats in middle school shouted without raising his hand, “Yeah, I’ve got a question. In rule number fifteen, what do you mean by asking us to keep our hands off ‘other people’s equipment’? That sounds kind of personal to me.”

I began praying for the kid’s life.

“Your name is Anthony Gellman. Is that correct?” Mr. Grizzling asked in a volume so low we had to strain to hear it.

“That’s me,” Anthony replied, ignoring the thick veil of tension covering the room.

“Well, Mr. Gellman, you have just earned yourself a week’s worth of detention with me every day after school.” Mr. Grizzling glowered. “Are there any further questions?”

We shook our heads mutely as Mr. Grizzling passed out a second round of papers.

“Good. Now get out a sharpened, number two pencil for a pretest on algebra. I expect all work to be shown. Anyone not showing work will have to redo the test after school.”

I unenthusiastically picked up my pencil and began the test. As I struggled to figure out the purpose of combining perfectly harmless alphabet letters with tedious math problems, a horrific headache began brewing in my skull. Language and math should not be combined—it isn’t natural. Glancing up to clear my head, I saw Tim completing his test with the vigor of Einstein. It figured he was a math guy—just one more reason for me to hate him.

During our study hall period, Ms. Jackson welcomed us to her room which, until last year, had been the janitor’s closet.

“Good afternoon! How are we all surviving our first day of high school?”

Mike collapsed into a beanbag chair. “We just had Mr. Grizzling for math class. Can you believe it? He has twenty rules for his classroom!”

“All I care about is finding out who’s going to fill the fourth spot on the Academic Quiz Bowl team,” Lisa said.

As if on cue, Tim poked his head in the room. “Did you send for me?”

“Yes, I did,” Ms. Jackson replied. “I’m Ms. Jackson, and this is Lisa Davis, Mike Finnegan, and Mia Fullerton.”

“We’ve met.” Tim smiled at me.

“I called for you because we would like you to join our team for the Academic Quiz Bowl. The Quiz Bowl is like a trivia contest, with questions from all the different academic areas, and some current events thrown in. During the tournament, we compete against other ninth grade teams from across the state, and it’s our hope to bring the trophy back home to St. Hilary’s.”

“There is no hoping—we
will
bring the trophy home,” Lisa interrupted determinedly.

Ms. Jackson continued, “The tournament is the first weekend in November, so we have only eight weeks to prepare. We’ll meet daily during study hall, so you’ll have to complete all your homework at home. Would you like to be part of our team?”

Tim grinned broadly. “If you want to win, then I’m your man.”

“I love a guy with confidence!” Lisa exclaimed.

Mike pounded knuckles with Tim. “I’m glad I won’t be outnumbered. We needed another guy on this team.”

Ms. Jackson prodded me gently. “Mia, what do you have to say to our new team member?”

Overwhelmed by the odor of fish clinging to my clothes and the aroma of old disinfectant hanging in the air, I felt I was going to heave.

I tried to escape Ms. Jackson’s room, but it was too late—I grabbed the trash bin and threw up.

As the rest of the team stood in horrified silence, Tim said, “A simple ‘welcome to the team’ would have been enough, Mia.”

I
pleaded with the school nurse, Mrs. Olson. “See? I don’t have a temperature and I feel perfectly fine. Can I go back to class now, please?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” she asked doubtfully. “I don’t want a flu epidemic hitting the school during the first week of classes.”

“I have to go to the student council meeting after school today. I told Mr. Benson I’d be there.”

“All right, as long as you promise me that if you feel sick again, you’ll head straight to the restroom. Our custodian, Mr. Corrigan, has better things to do than clean up your vomit all day.”

“I swear, the first sign of an upchuck, and I’m out of here.” I crossed my heart. “By the way, is there any way you can call my dad and have him bring me a change of clothes and my toothbrush?”

“All right, settle down, guys,” Mr. Benson said, calling the meeting to order. “First of all, I’d like to welcome all of you to your first year of student council at St. Hilary’s. I’m the teacher representative for the ninth grade student council. This afternoon’s meeting will focus on nominating class officers for next week’s election. Has anyone thought about running for an officer position?”

Tuning him out, I looked around the room. A couple of guys were playing paper football in the back while a group of girls next to me were doodling their boyfriends’ names on pieces of paper. It all reminded me of last year’s student council meetings. Somehow, I’d thought life would be different in high school. I’d thought I’d be surrounded by people who wanted to make a difference in the world—or at least in the school. Instead, I was stuck with a bunch of people who probably signed up for student council only because it would look good on their high school transcripts.

Suddenly, it occurred to me: Is this what life was going to be like—always expecting something better and more exciting, and then continuously being disappointed? What if nothing ever changed, and I lived out my life as a nobody? What if I was cursed with being shy the rest of my life? What if I never kissed anyone and died a lonely death? What if I threw up in school again?

A massive panic attack swept over me. I gasped, trying to catch my breath as sweat trickled down my face. Struggling to breathe, I realized I would flounder the rest my life, uncertain of what to do or say in every situation presented to me. Instantly, there was no doubt in my mind that I’d remain a lumbering, reclusive loser who’d have to dig through trash bins for food.

Feeling utterly alone and completely immersed in the image of my future self wearing six layers of clothing and pushing a broken shopping cart down a dingy alley to my refrigerator box home, I suddenly heard my name being called from a great distance.

“Yes?” I croaked, swallowing what little spit there was left in my mouth.

“Great!” Mr. Benson beamed. “I’ll need your campaign posters up by this Friday, and elections will be held on Monday of the following week. Good luck, and may the best person win!”

Students filed out of the room as I tried to figure out what had happened.

“What’s Mr. Benson talking about?” I asked Lisa.

“What do you mean, ‘What’s Mr. Benson talking about?’ You were right there. After Jessie nominated Cassie for president of student council, I nominated you. Then, Jake Harris seconded my nomination, which really surprised me. Anyway, that was the plan I was telling you about earlier. I knew you wanted to make a big change in your life this year, so I thought I’d help by nominating you for ninth grade class president. I can’t believe you actually went along with it. I mean, you didn’t even hesitate when Mr. Benson asked you if you agreed to run. There may be hope for you yet.”

“Are you crazy? There’s no way I’m going to run against Cassie Foster for class president! That would mean people staring at me in the hallway, and I’d have to give a speech in front of over two hundred people!” I held my hands out for her to examine. “Look at my palms—they’re breaking out in hives even thinking about it! I don’t care what I said—I was in the middle of a delusion. I’m telling Mr. Benson to take back my nomination.”

“No, you are not! Mia, this is going to be incredible. You are running against Cassie for class president, and I know you can beat her because I’ll be your campaign manager.” Lisa dragged me out of the classroom. “Now, let’s get going—we have so much to do!”

“All I wanted was a simple, quiet year to work on my self-esteem. I don’t think becoming the laughing stock of St. Hilary’s is going to do much for my self-worth.”

“But Jake Harris seconded your nomination! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“I don’t care if Jake—” I stopped. “Are you telling me the truth about Jake?”

“Mia, you were right there. Didn’t you notice Jake staring at you the whole meeting? That’s why I thought you were getting all red and sweaty. Even Jake wants you for class president and not Cassie.”

“Jake was really looking at me?” Chewing on my lip, I reluctantly said, “All right, I guess I’ll run, but you have to promise me you won’t get obsessed with this campaign. I’ll hang a few posters and then give a gracious speech when I lose. Do you swear not to make too big a deal out of this, Lisa?”