The Misfits

by James Howe

  I try to find Kelsey out there and my dad, but I can’t see either of them. I do spot DuShawn at one point, whistling with his two fingers in his mouth, and next to him is Tondayala Cherise DuPré, not showing much of anything on her face but putting her two hands together with some powerful kind of belief.

  There is a lot I want to tell you at this point. How everybody all of a sudden jumps up out of their seats going, “Bob-by, Bob-by, Bob-by!” How the next day we win the election by a landslide. How nobody ever gets called a stinkin’ name again. And how anybody who loves anybody gets loved back.

  But if I told you those things I’d be lying. “Happy ever after” only works out in stories, not in life—leastwise, not happy the way you think it should be. For my money, this story does have a happy-ever-after ending, but it isn’t the kind that’s got anybody chanting, “Bob-by, Bob-by, Bob-by!”

  What happens is this:

  After a minute or so, Mr. Kiley steps out onto the stage and gets everybody quieted down. He congratulates all the candidates on our excellent speeches and wishes us all luck. Then he tells everybody to proceed in a civilized fashion to our next period class.

  Life goes on.

  Onstage, we are all talking at the same time, congratulating each other, and while I am still trying to figure out what I should be saying to everybody else, they are all telling me that I gave the best speech ever. And they act like they mean it. Even Brittney. Colin says pretty much the same thing everybody else does, but then he comes back and tells me, “Thank you,” like I have given him some kind of gift, which later on I will figure out I have.

  As Colin turns away to talk to Addie, I see Kelsey coming up the steps to the stage. I think maybe she is looking to talk to Joe, but she has got her eyes trained right on me and she keeps them on me until she is standing a foot in front of my face and words start tumbling out of her so fast I think she might tip over.

  “I will tell you later what a great speech that was,” she goes, “but before I lose my nerve and go back to being my shy old self I have to ask you something will you go to the dance with me?”

  I cannot believe my ears, but I am feeling brave, too, so I go, “Sure. And, Kelsey, I like you a lot.”

  To which, she goes, “I like you a lot, too.”

  Is this a happy-ever-after ending or what?

  It is probably a good thing that Ms. Wyman breaks everything up then with, “Come along, everyone, you don’t want to be late for your next class,” because I don’t know what either Kelsey or I would have said to each other next. I am already worried about what we will find to say to each other at the dance, but I do not care. I am beginning to trust that I can find the words when it matters.

  I and my friends start to head to class when it hits me that I haven’t seen my dad. I am thinking he believed me when I let him think I didn’t want him to come. Even after his big talk about my grandfather and all, maybe he decided to take me at my word. I start feeling a whole mix of things—sad, angry, disappointed—when all of a sudden I spot him at the back of the auditorium, leaning against the railing behind the last row of seats.

  “I’ll catch up with you guys,” I say, cutting Addie off midstream. She is totally wired.

  “Okay,” she says, then tells me for about the dozenth time, “You were brilliant, Bobby.”

  “Ditto,” says the Skeeze.

  “Thanks,” I go.

  That’s when I notice Joe isn’t with us, but I don’t give it a whole lot of thought because I’ve got my mind on my dad and besides which Kelsey is now giving me a little wave with her fingers and there’s a Fourth of July sparkler going off inside of me.

  I return the wave and head over to where my dad is.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey,” he says back, kind of quiet and respectful, like he’s in church. “I didn’t come up because I’m having a little trouble keeping it together,” he tells me, “and I promised I wouldn’t embarrass you.”

  I do not know what to say to this, but it doesn’t matter. My dad is not looking for any more words from me right now.

  “You did good,” he tells me. “Real good. I’m proud of you. And your mother would be, too.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  We stand there for a minute and then he says, “Skip.” And I say, “Hammer.” And we hug each other, right there at the back of the Paintbrush Falls Middle School auditorium where anybody could look right in and see us, and I do not even care if they do.

  It isn’t easy getting through the rest of the day. I mean, who really cares about dividing decimals or contrasting the parts of plants, animals, and one-celled organisms when you’ve had the kind of morning I have? Not only have I given a speech the whole school is talking about, but I have declared my love for the girl of my dreams. Okay, I may be getting carried away here. I have declared my like for the girl in my art class.

  And, by the way, it was Kelsey who wrote my initials in a heart.

  All afternoon, everyone is complaining that we have to wait until tomorrow for the elections and there is even a petition going around for next year, saying that speeches and elections should take place the same day because nobody can stand the suspense. Meanwhile, kids keep coming up to me all day wishing me luck. Some even say they’re sorry for calling me names; some promise they’ll never call anybody a name again. I am thinking that there is no way we are not going to win this thing. Addie and Joe and Skeezie are thinking the same.

  That night, we all meet up after dinner at Addie’s house to celebrate our victory with ice cream.

  The next day, we lose the election.

  28

  BRITTNEYWINS.

  But remember what I said in the last chapter about happy endings?

  It isn’t always about winning the election . . . or the race . . . or the game. Sometimes it is about winning something much bigger.

  Here is the rest of the story:

  We come in second—a close second.

  During last period, Mr. Kiley asks Addie and Joe and Skeezie and me—right out loud over the P.A.—if we could come to his office after school. When we get there, he congratulates us on a good campaign and our near victory. Then he tells us that my idea for No-Name Day is more important than who gets elected to student council and will we work with him to help make it happen. We say sure, of course, you bet, and he says thanks.

  And then, just as we’re about to leave, he puts a hand on my shoulder, looks me square in the eye, and, I swear on a stack of pancakes, says to me, “Bobby, up until yesterday morning I accepted kids calling each other names. I didn’t like it, I put a stop to it whenever I heard it, but for the most part I just shrugged it off as kids being kids. Well, I was wrong. It doesn’t have to happen. That was a brave thing you did yesterday, and I want you to know that bravery doesn’t go unrewarded. I’m making a personal commitment to seeing that things are different here at P.F.M.S. And that’s because of you.”

  I do not know what to say. I have to bite my tongue from telling him that I like his tie—which I do—because I want to say something nice and am too embarrassed to say the simple thing, which would be thank you. He seems to understand this, without my saying a thing. I guess he has been around a few twelve-year-olds in his time.

  So the No-Name Party does not win the election, but No-Name Day, which the following year will become No-Name Week, becomes part of the way things are done at Paintbrush Falls Middle School.

  Oh, and about those notes in joe’s locker. They weren’t from Kelsey, after all. They were from Colin.

  After my speech, Colin got up the nerve to tell Addie and Joe that he needed to talk to them—separately. He told Addie that there was some sort of misunderstanding, that he had thought the notes in his locker were from someone else and that was who he was expecting to meet at the flagpole. He had just figured it was a coincidence she had come by when she did. He told her he liked her, but “not like that,” and said he hoped they could be friends. Addie said she understood
, and then she was miserable for about five minutes until DuShawn came up to her and said, “Congratulations.”

  Addie: Thanks. But we haven’t won yet. The elections are tomorrow.

  DuShawn: I don’t mean that. I mean congratulations on your campaign. It’s awesome. And Bobby’s speech was totally cool. Did you write it?

  Addie: No. Well, I helped a little, but mostly it was Bobby’s. DuShawn?

  DuShawn: Yeah?

  Addie: Why did you agree to run for president?

  DuShawn: Girl, you are a funny kind of color-blind. You see the color of my skin but you don’t see anything else about me. You wanted me to run for president because I’m black. And don’t go telling me that’s not true, I’m not that stupid. So why’d I agree? I will tell you since you are too blind to see it. I did it because you’re smart and you don’t take sass from nobody. And I like that.

  Addie: Tonni’s smart and doesn’t take sass.

  DuShawn: Tonni’s all flash with nothin’ behind it. You got more goin’ on for you than attitude. Least, that’s what I thought.

  Addie: You’re right, DuShawn. I’m sorry.

  DuShawn: Apology accepted. Now, tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna give you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to prove to me that you are not color-blind like I say.

  Addie: Okay, whatever you—

  DuShawn: So you want to go to the dance with me tomorrow night?

  Addie: What? You want to take me to the dance?

  DuShawn: You deaf, too? I said “go with,” not “take.” Nobody takes nobody to the dance. But maybe you think I’m not good enough for you.

  Addie: No! I don’t think that at all! And I would love to go to the dance with you. Really.

  DuShawn: Okay, then.

  Addie: Okay.

  So DuShawn and Addie are going to the dance together and, as it will turn out, they will end up going out together the rest of seventh grade.

  As for Colin and Joe, well, Joe does not report his dialogue word-for-word the way Addie does, so I cannot tell you what happened there exactly, but the gist of it is this:

  Colin met up with Joe after school on Thursday. It took awhile, but he finally got up the nerve to tell Joe the same things he’d told Addie, in addition to admitting that he was the one who had put the notes in Joe’s locker because he thought the notes in his locker were from Joe. When Joe showed up at the flagpole with Addie and me that time, Colin hadn’t dared come over and say anything. And when Addie had gone over to him, he didn’t know what else to do but walk her home.

  And then he told Joe that he liked him, and could they go out together.

  “Just like that?” I ask when Joe tells me this on Friday. His face is beaming so bright it could bring moths.

  “Just like that,” Joe goes. “He came right out and said it. He told me he’s liked me since last year, but it took him until this year to figure out what it meant, and now he wants us to be, you know, like boyfriends or something.”

  “That is so cool,” I say, and I mean it.

  Addie can hardly believe it when she hears the news. “My boyfriend is your boyfriend?!” she goes, but when we remind her Colin was never her boyfriend and now she has a real one of her own, she relaxes and says, “Maybe we can double-date sometime.”

  So there will be a whole lot of us going to the dance together, misfits and fits, couples and not. My dad will be there as a chaperon. I’m kind of hoping there will be some single mom there for him to meet. But if there isn’t, that’s okay, too. The important thing is that he will be there. The way I look at it, love does not necessarily make for a happy ending any more than winning does. What makes for a happy ending is what Addie said all along: freedom. The freedom to be who you are without anybody calling you names.

  29

  Addie:

  Today’s topic is “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up.”

  Skeezie:

  That is so lame. What are we, in first grade?

  Addie:

  Well, I just thought it would be fun to talk about the future.

  Joe:

  I’m going to be famous.

  Skeezie:

  Doing what, if you don’t mind my asking.

  Joe:

  Who knows? Something glamorous. It has to be glamorous. Maybe I’ll be an actor or a singer or, oo, I might be a famous designer.

  Bobby:

  What’s your name going to be?

  Joe:

  Okay, I’ve been thinking about that. I have two. Ready to vote?

  Skeezie:

  Do we have to put our heads down on our desks?

  Joe:

  Wait, was that someone laughing in the next booth?

  Skeezie:

  You’ve used that one already.

  Joe:

  Okay, so here goes: Jade or Soleil?

  Skeezie:

  Where did you come up with those, perfume ads?

  Addie:

  What does Colin think?

  Joe:

  Colin thinks I should be happy with Joe.

  Bobby:

  He’s right.

  Joe:

  I am sorry, but Joe Bunch is the most boring name in the entire universe. Why didn’t my parents just give me a numeral?

  Skeezie:

  Good one.

  Addie:

  DuShawn says he thinks you’re funny, Joe.

  Joe:

  Funny as in ... ?

  Addie:

  Funny as in funny.

  Bobby:

  Is it bad we’re keeping the Forum just for us?

  Joe:

  Colin said he doesn’t mind. Besides, we all sit together at lunch. Did you ever think we’d be sitting at a table with other people?

  Skeezie:

  It’s okay, but if Tonni opens her big yap one more time about the way I eat. . .

  Addie:

  That happens to be the one thing Tonni and I agree on. Really, Skeezie, you could stand improvement.

  Skeezie:

  Okay, Wendy.

  Joe:

  She’s right.

  Bobby:

  She’s right.

  Skeezie:

  Okay, Wendies. I’ll tell you this: My future does not have a Wendy in it, that’s for sure. I’m going my own way. When I get old enough, I’m getting myself a Harley and I am heading out to see the country, man.

  Addie:

  How are you going to make money?

  Skeezie:

  I’ll find a way. I’m resourceful. What about you, you going to end up being the first woman president?

  Addie:

  Maybe. I do think about politics as a career, but I don’t entirely trust the system. Maybe I’ll be a lobbyist.

  Bobby:

  You guys are lucky. You know what you want to do. I always thought I would stay right here in Paintbrush Falls and just have a job the way my dad does. Sales or something. Now I’m not so sure. Ever since I gave that speech, I’m thinking about writing. But what would I write?

  Addie:

  You’ve got lots of time to figure that out.

  Joe:

  You could write about us.

  Skeezie:

  Oh, yeah, we’re interesting, all right.

  Joe:

  Speak for yourself. I think we’re fascinating.

  Addie:

  And unique.

  Joe:

  And fabulous.

  Addie:

  And amazing.

  Skeezie:

  And different.

  Joe:

  And proud of it!

  Bobby:

  Maybe I will write about us, who knows? “The misfits.”

  Skeezie:

  Uh-uh, man, that’s just another name.

  Bobby:

  You’re right. We should stop thinking of ourselves that way.

  Addie:

  We’ll just be us.

  Joe:

  “The Gang of Five.” That’s okay, right?

  Skeezie:<
br />
  Totally.

  Bobby:

  Friends forever.

  Addie:

  See, it is fun talking about the future.

  Skeezie:

  Here’s something I don’t see in our future: food! Geez, the service in this place . . . oh, wait, never mind, here she comes.

  Hello my name is Steffi:

  How are you doing there, Elvis?

  Skeezie:

  I’m good, Hello my name is Steffi, how you doing?

  Hello my name is Steffi:

  Aw, you don’t have to call me by my full name. You can just call me Hello.

  Skeezie:

  Okay, Hello. You can call me Skeezie.

  Hello my name is Steffi:

  For real? That’s your name? I’ll call you Elvis.

  Skeezie:

  Just as long as you call me.

  Hello my name is Steffi:

  You’re one tall drink of trouble, you know that? But you sure are cute. What say you call me?

  Skeezie:

  Really? When?

  Hello my name is Steffi:

  Five or six years from now.

  Skeezie:

  Maybe I will.

  Hello my name is Steffi: