Revenge of the Teacher's Pets

by Jennifer Ziegler

  Closing my eyes, I summoned my strength and forced my feet to start walking. Luckily I reopened my eyes before I banged into a locker.

  Room 207 was at the end of the main hallway. It was pretty far to go by myself. Not treacherous or anything, but a long time to feel scared and lonely. On the way, a few people I knew said hi to me. I waved back at them, since my voice was still hiding.

  Mrs. Champion was standing by the door when I came in. “Good morning,” she said, smiling. “Sit wherever you like.” She seemed young — maybe just a few years older than Lily — with green eyes and shoulder-length hair the color of a lucky penny. Like Lily, she had a really friendly smile. It made the squeezy sensation in my chest feel better.

  As I came farther into the room, I stopped in surprise. The desks weren’t in rows, like in all the other classes I’ve had in middle school. Instead, they were in an oval shape, and her desk was part of the circle, too. I didn’t know what to do. I’d been hoping to find a spot where I could hide — not too far in back, but not in the front. Best of all would be in the middle, behind a really tall person.

  The eagles in my stomach were starting to flap again. Everyone was moving around and talking, so I couldn’t even figure out where to sit. It made me feel kind of invisible.

  Then I noticed someone looking at me. A girl was sitting at one of the desks. I’d never seen her before, but I liked that she was sitting quietly. I also liked her hair. It was dark brown, almost black, and cut so it was short in the back and long in the front — so long in the front that I couldn’t even see her eyes clearly. I wished I had hair I could hide behind.

  I plopped into the chair to the girl’s left, farther away from the teacher’s desk, and started unpacking my backpack. I felt like I should say hi, but I was still too nervous to talk. So I pretended I couldn’t find my pen, even though it was right there in the pocket.

  As I rummaged around, I noticed that Tucker Burnett was sitting at the desk on the other side of me. He’s one of those kids who always lets out loud sighs when the teacher assigns work. At track and field day last spring, Tucker wouldn’t take his baseball cap off during “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and Dawn lit into him with a tirade about patriotism and respect.

  Today he wasn’t wearing a cap, but he was chewing gum, which was against the rules. He frowned at me when he saw me looking at him and turned the other way.

  Eventually I had all my supplies out on the table and sat waiting for the teacher to start. When I glanced in the direction of Mrs. Champion’s desk, I could see that the girl was looking at me. At least I’m pretty sure she was. Her head was angled just right and there was a glimmer of her eyes behind her bangs. It made me feel shy and I wanted to turn away, but then I thought it would make me look rude like Tucker.

  Luckily, right at that moment, the bell rang and Mrs. Champion started clapping her hands together. “All right. Quiet down, everyone. I’m passing around a seating chart and I want each of you to write your name on the square that represents your desk. Unless I tell you otherwise, this is where you will sit every day.”

  I focused on rolling my pen back and forth while I waited for the form. Soon the girl handed it to me, and I saw the name she’d neatly printed on the square that represented her desk:

  Wanda Vasquez

  She grinned at me. I thought perhaps I should say something, but what? It seemed too late for hi, and the only other thing I could think of was “I like your hair” — which sounded silly, even in my head.

  After carefully checking that there wasn’t any fine print anywhere, I wrote my name neatly inside my square and passed the paper along to Tucker. When he saw my name, he heaved a big sigh. “Oh, good. I thought you were Dawn.”

  I ignored him and glanced around the room instead. I find that you can tell a lot about teachers by the things they hang on the wall and how messy their desks are. Mrs. Champion’s desk was really tidy, except for a stack of newspapers. Taped up all over the room were posters of things I recognized: a laminated Bill of Rights, a big map of Texas, a photo of Martin Luther King Jr. waving to a large crowd, and (my favorite) a copy of the famous Rosie the Riveter poster, with We Can Do It! printed above her as she flexes her bicep. I started to feel better about being there.

  Mrs. Champion had gotten the seating chart back and was now standing inside the circle of desks. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, we heard the pops and crackles of the intercom overhead. “Good morning, students, and welcome to another great year at Johnson City Middle School,” came the voice of our principal, Mrs. Jessup. “Would y’all please stand for the Pledge of Allegiance?”

  Suddenly everyone was on their feet and facing me. I gulped. That was when I realized the flag was on the wall directly over my head. I turned to look at it, but somehow I could still sense everyone’s eyes — like two dozen mosquitoes biting me at the same time. I wished I’d chosen a different desk, but now that I was on the chart, it was probably permanent. Because I was so nervous, and because my sisters weren’t there with me, I didn’t say the Pledge loud and proud like I usually do. This made me feel kind of guilty, but I’m pretty sure it still counted.

  Finally we were all sitting back down and Mrs. Champion introduced herself. She stood in the middle of the oval and walked in a slow circle as she talked, making eye contact with each of us.

  “I want you to know that my class is a little different from other classes,” she said. “I feel that you are all old enough to understand what’s going on in the world and have opinions about it. That’s why we won’t just be using textbooks and worksheets. We’ll also be reading newspapers and discussing current events and making connections. Because history isn’t just the past — it’s happening all the time, all around us.”

  I grinned and sat up straight so she could see me smile at her. I wanted her to know that I understood what she said and agreed with her. I wanted her to see that, even though lots of other seventh graders didn’t seem to care about history, I did. And I realized that this could end up being my very favorite class — even without my sisters around.

  “Also,” she went on, “unlike other classes, I allow talking. In fact, I demand it.”

  Now other students were sitting up and smiling. I heard Tucker mutter, “All right.”

  Mrs. Champion paused and smiled. “Allow me to explain,” she said. “Every class will have time devoted to discussing topics and sharing our ideas and experiences. Part of learning — in fact, part of democracy — is participation, so I am requiring all of you to contribute to the conversation. One third of your grade depends on it.”

  As she spoke, I could feel myself slowly slipping down in my chair until just my nose and eyes were peeking up over the table. It looked like this wouldn’t be my favorite class after all. Now I wasn’t just worried about getting through the first day, I had to worry about getting through the whole year.

  By fifth period, I’d stopped being able to sit still. My new English/language arts teacher, Mr. Cervantes, read us the first chapter in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, which I loved because it had lots of silly rhymes and even a talking rabbit in it. It made me daydream about having chats with Mynah. After all, she’s named after a bird who talks. When he was done, he said there wasn’t enough time to read the next chapter and we should just sit tight until the bell rang.

  “Sit tight” always makes me imagine that I’m wearing a seat belt.

  I tried to pretend that I was strapped into my chair, but my imagination failed me. The problem was that the sitting was going on too long. I’d already done it for five straight classes. Our twenty-five-minute lunch break barely gave me enough time to find my sisters, go through the food line, and eat my chicken enchilada before the next bell. No time to really move around and get out trapped wiggles.

  I felt all wound up — almost literally. Like one of those toys where you wind the knob all the way to make it run or flip or shoot sparks out of its mouth, and even if you knock it on its side, it
still has to move in some way.

  Luckily I have some experience with the jitters and have developed methods of coping. These are the best ones:

  Tapping Feet. This can really help let out the pent-up jitters, but people shouldn’t do this if they have on noisy shoes. I was wearing my sneakers today, so that helped.

  Wiggling Toes. This is what I do when I have on noisy shoes. Basically I just move my toes around. Sometimes I get carried away, though, and it turns into Tapping Feet.

  Drumming Fingers. This is pretty classic, and I occasionally see other students doing it. I like tapping my fingertips on the desktop, trying out different rhythms and making sure it’s not so loud that you bother people. A variation of this is to use pencils as drumsticks.

  Bouncing Behind. Last year this worked great because we had Mrs. Svrcek for sixth period, and she always played music in her room. So when I’d bounce and wiggle in my chair, it looked like I was dancing. Only Mr. Cervantes wasn’t playing music, and he already gave me a funny look when I went the long way around the room to get to the pencil sharpener. I didn’t want him to think I was a troublemaker.

  There’s also Pretending You’re Thirsty and Asking to Go to the Water Fountain, which is great because, like Pencil Sharpening, it lets you get up out of your chair and walk. Unfortunately, I’d already done that ten minutes ago. Also unfortunately, the water fountain was right across the hall from our classroom, so it didn’t let me move that much. It works much better when it’s way down at the end of the corridor.

  Thinking about that gave me an idea. “Mr. Cervantes?” I said, raising my hand.

  “Yes?”

  “Is there anything you need done? Would you like me to hand out papers or collect papers or wipe down the blackboards? Or maybe I could run a secret message from you to the office? You could put it in a sealed envelope if you’re afraid I’d look — which I wouldn’t.”

  He smiled at me. “That’s very nice of you, but there’s nothing I need right now. Also, there’s only a few minutes until the bell rings, so you probably wouldn’t have time. Just sit back and relax.”

  I wanted to explain that I was super fast and could do lots of things in a few minutes except sit back and relax. But I didn’t want him to think I was a problem. So I said, “Okay, but I hope you do think of me should you ever need someone for a special task or mission. I can provide references, if you need them.”

  For some reason, this made him laugh. While he was laughing, Tucker Burnett, who sat a couple of seats over, mumbled, “Teacher’s pet.” I gave him warning eyes, and he looked a little shamefaced. He’s scared of Dawn, so maybe he was afraid I’d sic her on him.

  It took doing Wiggling Toes, Tapping Feet, and Drumming Fingers all at the same time, but I managed to stay in my seat for the next few minutes. When the bell finally rang, I rocketed out of my chair, flew out the door, and raced down the hall.

  I’ve gotten very good at a speedy walk that allows me to move fast but doesn’t get me in trouble for running inside. The trick is to barely lift your knees and think of your feet as wheels.

  I made it to the gym so fast, the only other person there was Coach Manbeck, the Cheer Squad teacher. She led the middle school transition camp, so I knew who she was. I liked how she was always smiling. She’s really muscular, too, which makes her look like a superhero. At transition camp she told us she used to be a gymnast.

  “Hi and welcome!” she said to me. “Are you new to Cheer Squad?”

  “Yep! Well … actually I was signing up for a corn dog, but it worked out that I got the class.”

  She gave a confused smile. “Well, I’m sure glad you ended up here.”

  Just then I spotted Dawn. She took a step inside the gym and heaved a big sigh. When Coach Manbeck welcomed her, she said, “So I think you ought to know that I’m basically here against my will.”

  “Oh,” Coach Manbeck said, her grin faltering even more. “Okay.”

  “I already told her about the corn dogs,” I whispered to Dawn.

  After that, a wave of students came in, one of them Darby. I was glad to be back with my sisters — especially since at lunch we only had time to eat, and no time to talk. But I was also sad knowing that we were missing Color Guard. Looking out the rectangular window, I could see them outside on the grass, lining up with their flags.

  “All right, everyone,” Coach Manbeck called out. “We’ll be starting in a few minutes. In the meantime, feel free to stretch or run around.”

  “Run around?” At this I perked up. “Can we do cartwheels, too?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Coach Manbeck replied with a laugh. “In fact, I encourage it. You are all free to run and jump and stretch until I start the class.”

  I was so happy to hear this, I immediately sped away and started turning cartwheels down the length of the gym. I found out later that Dawn wanted to use those few moments to talk strategy, only I took off before she could convene us.

  It felt great to get all the pent-up jitters out of me. Not only did my muscles feel looser and warmer, but my brain felt more awake. I make good grades, but sometimes I think I’d be a genius if they’d let us do jumping jacks in class — or at least jog in the halls.

  By the time I’d finished my second round of cartwheels, Coach Manbeck called us all to the bleachers. I sat between Dawn and Darby on the first row.

  “Good afternoon, Cheer Squad!” Coach Manbeck shouted, and everyone clapped and whistled at that. I wondered if we were supposed to say everything like a cheer.

  “Our first home game is in a month, so we have lots of practicing to do.” Coach Manbeck handed out a sheet of paper with the football schedule on it.

  I raised my hand and waved it around until Coach called on me. Then I asked her why some games were listed in heavy, bold type and others were in lighter type.

  “That’s a great question!” she cheered. “The bolded games are home games that will be played on our own school field. The others will be at other campuses — some of them pretty far away.”

  Then I asked her other questions, like how would the Cheer Squad get to the faraway schools, what does Cheer Squad do if it rains or snows, and why is it Cheer Squad, not Cheer Platoon or Posse? She said the squad cheers only at home games, that the games are usually called off if the weather is bad, but sometimes we might have to cheer in light rain. Also, she didn’t know why it was called a squad. It was just tradition. Each time I asked something she’d say, “Good question!” and smile. Her smile did dwindle a little every time I spoke until it went away.

  Dawn elbowed me. “Why are you interrogating the poor woman?” she whispered. “We’re not going to be in the class for very long, so none of this matters.”

  “I’m just a very curious person,” I whispered back.

  Coach Manbeck went on to explain other things. Apparently Cheer Squad is divided into two different groups. There are the eight cheerleaders, who stand on the sidelines and lead the crowd in chants and cheers. They’re the ones who get to run and jump and stack on top of one another. The other group is called the Poms. They sit in a special section in the stands and cheer — plus, they get to wave around little pom-poms. Tryout for leaders would be held in three weeks. Anyone who didn’t make it would get to be a Pom. Right now, until leaders were selected, all the new students were considered Poms.

  Next, she had two girls model the official Cheer Squad uniforms. Poms wore navy-and-silver T-shirts with jeans and waved around glittery pom-poms, which made a big shush sound when you shook them. The leader uniform was a short-sleeved sweater on top and what looked like a skirt on the bottom — only it was really shorts with a skirt over it. I thought those were the coolest inventions ever. I don’t wear skirts or dresses a lot, but now whenever I need to, I want to wear those kinds of skirts. That way I could do cartwheels and handstands anytime and not have to worry about being “indecent,” as Mom calls it.

  Suddenly Dawn raised her hand. “Can boys be in Cheer Squad?” she
asked. When I gave her a surprised look, she whispered, “What? I’m curious about stuff, too.”

  “Great question!” Coach Manbeck said. “We love it when male students sign up for Cheer Squad. Unfortunately, none of them did this year.”

  “Maybe you could try luring them with pizza?” I suggested, but I’m not sure Coach heard me, since she didn’t say anything to that.

  “Any other questions?” Coach asked.

  I raised my hand. “How come Cheer Squad only cheers for football and basketball?”

  “Yeah,” Dawn said. “Why not other sports?”

  This time Coach didn’t say good question. She just smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “That’s how it’s always been. It’s tradition.”

  “That doesn’t seem very fair,” Dawn said.

  Again, Coach Manbeck didn’t seem to hear her. She went on to talk about their fundraising in the spring, but I missed a lot of what she said because Dawn was grumbling.

  “The sooner we get out of this class, the better. I for one don’t care to leap around clapping and hollering for something as silly as a football game. At least Color Guard is patriotic.”

  “Shhh!” Darby said. “Don’t get us in trouble.”

  “Yeah, shhh,” I said. “Besides, this is tradition — just like Color Guard.”

  Dawn crossed her arms over her chest. “Please. If you think …” Suddenly she stopped talking. Her eyes went wide and her mouth made an O shape. “Hello,” she said, her voice going soft and sweet.

  At first I was confused, but then I followed her gaze to where Coach Manbeck stood demonstrating the equipment. In her arms was a huge white megaphone.

  Hoo-boy,” Mom said when she saw me carry the megaphone into the house. She was sitting on the floor of the living room with her back against the striped chair. On the coffee table in front of her sat her open laptop. “I really don’t like the looks of that thing.”

  “It’s for homework,” I said.