by Bob Krech
We raise our heads off the desks. Jasmine and Molly get up, protesting, but Mrs. Watkinson moves them out the door. Then she comes right back in. “Right. I have to make two phone calls. There’s only about fifteen minutes left in the day. You may go out for recess. The bus monitor is out there. But behave yourselves—and I mean it.”
Everybody gets up and heads for the coat closet. Silently. Mrs. Watkinson comes over to me. She lowers her voice and crouches next to my desk. “Andrea, I’m so, so sorry. I was upset and did not handle that well at all.”
“It’s okay.” I’m happy to be alive. I can forgive anyone almost anything, but I stuttered like a nut in front of everyone. And I did my wacky neck stretching, but maybe they thought it was just about being scared. I hope.
I walk out the door and onto the playground. The rest of the class is already circled around Stewart. I edge toward the huddle. Margaret asks, “What did ye say to her?!”
Stewart grins. “I told her the first thing that hit me when I saw the note was that ‘supposed’ was spelled wrong. And ‘odor,’ too. I said, ‘Andrea hasn’t misspelled a word all year, miss.’ Then she said she knew what to do. And she did it.”
My mind is on “stunned.” Stewart knows I’m a good speller?
Margaret sees me and pounds my shoulder. “Jasmine and Molly tried to set ye up, but they were such a pair o’ dunces they spelled ‘supposed’ wrong. Crikey! It was a spelling word last week!”
Becky dropkicks the soccer ball off into the field. She and Lynne run off chasing it. The other kids drift away except for Margaret and Stewart. Lynne calls back, “Andy, c’mon!”
I hesitate. Margaret waves and walks off. I have to say something to Stewart. Slow. Breathe. Tongue between teeth. “Thank you.”
Stewart smiles and shrugs. “Ye feelin’ better?”
The question surprises me. I forgot all about being sick. “Oh yeah.”
“Grand.” He stretches his arms out. “Well, I’m off to the football.”
I look at my New Balance cross trainers and tell them, “Thanks. And thanks for my Christmas prezzy.”
He laughs and gets red. “Oh yeah. Busted the bank account with that one.” He starts walking backward. “Guess I’ll see ye then.”
I float over on air to Lynne and Becky. No one said anything about the neck stretch or the stutter. I am feeling very, very good. I look back at Stewart and he waves at me! Then he turns and charges right back into his game, chasing the ball down.
Suddenly there is a nudge in my side. I turn quickly. Lynne hands me the ball and says, “There’s not enough kids to get a game up. Becky, you play goal. Andy and I will try to score. Ye can have those other three for defenders.”
“Okay,” Becky yells and backpedals to the goal. The other girls jog over with her.
I move to the right about ten yards so Lynne and I can pass back and forth to each other as we move up toward the goal. Lynne calls, “Andy,” and motions me back.
I trot back over. “Yeah?”
We turn our backs on the other team. She puts an arm around my shoulder and we bend over together. I guess she’s going to set up a play. Lynne puts her face right in front of mine and whispers, “This silly obsession ye have with Stewart? It’s startin’ to look really wimpish.”
21
COGNITIVE DISSONANCE
Psychological conflict resulting from incongruous beliefs and attitudes held simultaneously.
LYNNE is looking at me for an answer, but all I can do is nod. I feel like I was just punched in the gut. I am suddenly sweating and hot.
My mouth is open, but I can’t speak. I am totally mortified. Lynne keeps going though. “Listen, Andy,” she says. “One o’ the reasons we’ve got TGFC is to get girls like us together. Girls who are inta football. Not dolls. Not pop groups. Not boys. I thought tha’s what ye sid ye were aboot.”
I want to say, “Can’t you kind of do both?” but instead I say, “Yeah—I mean—yeah.”
Becky yells from the goal and starts walking toward us, “C’mon, then. Are we goin’ ta play or not?”
Seeing Becky coming makes me push some kind of panic button, and out comes a big, fat lie for Lynne. “Th-there’s nothing going on with me and Stewart.” I swallow. “That’s stupid.”
Lynne sighs. “Sorry. Ye had me worried there for a minute that you were gaga over Stewart.” She laughs.
I force a laugh.
To my total relief she says, “Right. Let’s play, then. You can take center.”
Then I center the ball and we play.
I am totally scared to even glance at Stewart the rest of the day. We walk into the classroom and that’s it. It’s like there is some kind of force field that won’t let me look at Stewart. When I get home I feel like a total idiot and a big, fat liar/ loser.
This morning I go into the coat closet and Stewart is right there. He gives me his crinkly-eyed smile and says, “Hwr’ye doin’?”
Oooh. That accent and the freckles everywhere! I know Lynne and Becky aren’t here yet, but even so I have trouble getting it out. “Hi,” I finally say.
He leans against the wall. “That was crazy yesterday with Jasmine and Molly. I couldn’t believe it.”
“Yeah,” I mumble. I keep looking around like Lynne and Becky are suddenly going to drop from the ceiling or something. Maybe I should just tell Stewart what’s going on. But how I can I begin to tell him that when I’m having trouble just getting to hi?
Stewart waits for something more, but I just don’t have it. Finally he shrugs. “Well, here we go,” he says.
I nod and smile. “Yeah.”
The rest of the morning I bury my head in my work, but then as we are going out to recess, it happens. We both end up trying to go out the door at the same time. We literally bump into each other.
Stewart bows all dramatic and says, “Oh. Excuse-em-wa. Pardon, Madame. After you.”
He is so funny. He catches me totally off guard so I just talk. “No, go ahead.”
“No, no. After you.”
“Stewart, just go.”
“No. But I inseeeest, Madame must go feeerst.”
I have to giggle. He keeps bowing and laughing and “after-you-ing” in stupid accents till Molly pushes both of us from behind and yells, “Will you get out of the way?”
And we move apart, laughing. I give a wave. And he waves back. I begin to jog out to the field and that’s when I see Lynne and Becky staring with their hands on their hips.
When I get close enough, Becky says, “I told ye. Stewart is her man!”
Keep control. Breathe. I pinch my skirt. I roll my eyes. “Y-y-yeah, right.”
Becky keeps on. “You and Stewart have fun back there playin’ in the doorway?”
“W-w-what?”
Lynne doesn’t say anything. She just watches my eyes. I try to stay cool, but there is a silence I feel like I have to fill. “I j-j-just g-g-got stuck in the doorway.” I wait, but there is no response. I have to try again. “B-b-big deal.”
Finally Lynne gives a small nod. She bangs my knuckles TGFC-style to show she believes me. It’s a huge relief. Becky snorts, but we head out to the center of the field and we start play.
Me, Lynne, and Becky still play soccer together every day at recess. We won our first spring TGFC match against Caledonian Juniors 2-1. I assisted on the first goal and scored the winner with a minute left. It’s been weeks since we had that last little chat.
I’m over at Margaret’s house a couple of times a week. We listen to music, eat at Gorty’s, and talk.
I have friends. I’m leading scorer in soccer. I’m doing good in school. No one has really found out that I stutter. I should be really happy. Not! Why? Because I am paralyzed to do anything with Stewart except sneak glances in class and at recess.
My last full sentence to him was, “Thanks for the Christmas prezzy.” He still says hi in the coat closet and he even made moose antlers at me a few times and I had to laugh, but all I can manage on
my end is a quick hi every day and a couple of “yeahs” and smiles to anything else he says.
And that’s only because I’m usually there before Lynne and Becky. Once they get to school I feel like I can’t do a thing with Stewart. Whenever we’re near each other it’s like one of them suddenly appears. I want to talk to him again, more than anything. But if I do, I’ll lose my best friends. Lynne made it real clear to me.
We even had this big Valentine’s Day thing in February. I figured I could give Stewart a card and tell him everything so I casually asked Lynne if she was giving out valentines and she looked all shocked and said, “Surely yer jokin’.”
Becky was right there of course. She leaned on Lynne. “What? Joinin’ with this buncha’ babies givin’ out wee cardies ta each other?”
Lynne answered for me. “Not a chance.”
So of course I didn’t bring in any and then I got a bunch of cards including one that was signed “Your Secret Admirer” in sloppy boy handwriting, and it might have been from him, but I couldn’t ask, and now I’ll never know—and—Argghh! It all stinks!
I should be able to be friends with Stewart if I want, even if he is a boy. Even if I have a little speech problem. But I’m not! I’m having serious cognitive dissonance. That’s where you’re doing one thing, but your brain is telling you to do another and you feel antsy about it. It’s in Word Power. I’ve got so much cognitive dissonance that I’m going to explode.
Now we’ve been getting ready to do a spring concert for the parents. It has taken over. All we do is rehearse and make scenery. Mrs. Watkinson is running around trying to get props ready for today’s rehearsal. She is sweating and her hair is in her eyes. “Stewart?”
“Yes, Mrs. Watkinson?” He looks up from painting the backdrop. I pretty much watch everything that Stewart does even though I can’t go near him. I can’t help it.
“Could I have your assistance, please?”
He walks over. She hands him this pile of giant wooden flowers. “Would you and—” She scans the room, then calls out, “Who could lend Stewart a hand here?”
I look around. No Lynne or Becky. They are out of the classroom somewhere. This is it! I can’t take any more cognitive dissonance! I thrust my hand up in the air. Part of my brain yells, “No! Hand down!” but I will my hand to stay up.
Mrs. Watkinson points at me. “Good. Andrea. Would you two put these up on the stage for me? Thank you.”
I go up and grab an armful. Stewart opens the door for me. I walk stiffly, my eyes fastened on the floor ahead. All you can hear is our shoes on the tile floor. We are walking together alone! We open the big double doors, walk across the gym, climb the little side steps, and put the stuff up on the stage. We hop down and he turns to me. “So how are things?”
The words catch in my throat. “Oh. Okay.”
He looks up at the big gym windows. “You’ve been a bit quiet.”
I squeak out, “Oh. Yeah. Kinda.”
There’s not a sound in the place. He studies his own shoes. “Been busy, have ye?”
I look down, too. He is wearing gray Nikes with a red swoosh. “Yeah, I mean . . .” What should I say? I look around.
Through the little window in the double doors I see two kids coming toward the gym. Oh my God! It can’t be! Lynne and Becky! Stewart doesn’t see them because he’s facing me. They absolutely cannot see me and Stewart here alone. But there’s no way out except through those hall doors.
Then I spot a door on the side of the stage. It’s the only place. I am so out-of-my-mind desperate that I actually grab Stewart’s wrist and drag him behind me.
“Whatr’ye doin’?” But he laughs and runs along with me. I open the door and we both go in. It’s a closet full of school stuff like traffic cones and buckets and piles of old books. I gently pull the door closed behind me. It smells like a basement. Stewart is standing there with his arms crossed and a little grin on his face. “So, why are we in here?”
I don’t think I should say, “Because I’m hiding from my friends.” So I say, “Um, to talk?” Like, so of course I would pull you into a closet.
“Oh,” he says. Then he looks at me, waiting for me to start all the talking I have planned for the closet.
I must say something. “Um. How’s s-s-soccer?”
“The football? Like my club?” He looks genuinely confused now.
“Yeah.”
“It’s good,” he offers. “We’re in first still.”
I nod. “That’s good.” I inspect the floor.
Suddenly the double doors from the hall bang open. Stewart steps forward and peers through these little wooden slats in the door. I do the same. Lynne and Becky are dragging huge cardboard prop trees across the floor. Stewart grins. We watch them dump it all on the stage and then leave. The double doors slam behind them. I look back to see what Stewart is doing. He is looking at me. “Now, ye were sayin’?”
“Well . . .” We are right next to each other. Face to face! I am looking in his eyes! So blue! He leans down toward me. I lean up toward him. My ears fill with a roaring sound. It’s like a magnet. I can’t believe this is going to happen. Yay! Yay! Yay!
The door pulls open! “Och!” A voice yells.
Our old janitor, Mr. Forbes, is standing there with his hand on the doorknob, yelling. His eyebrows go up on his bald head and his little black-frame glasses almost fall off his nose. “Och!” he yells again.
Stewart steps out first. “Sorry, Mr. Forbes. We were lookin’ for the scenery.”
Mr. Forbes recovers and makes like he’s going to swing his mop at us. He’s sputtering, “I ken see what ye were lookin’ for well enough! Now go on. Off with ye. Git! Ye, ye, ye—love puppies!”
We scramble down the hall and back to class, Stewart laughing the whole way. I laugh, too. I did something alone with Stewart! Almost really something!
That night the concert goes very smoothly. Not even Jasmine or Molly mess up or do anything weird with food. We actually sound good, which is amazing since we don’t really do anything in music class except listen to very old classical music and fill in worksheets about composers. After the first week of it, Margaret leaned over and said, “This class is completely useless.” We didn’t even sing much until we had to do this show.
The last song we do is about peace and all in the world and our music teacher, Mrs. Brown, showed us how to do it in sign language. It has nothing to do with spring, but she liked it, so we do it. At the end of the song we have to sign “I love you.” That’s easy. All you have to do is point at yourself, cup your hands over your heart, and then point at someone.
We do the signing thing at the end of the concert and finish by pointing at our parents. This is designed to get the parents all soft and weepy. When we finish the song they’re standing, cheering, and dabbing at their eyes.
After that, all the parents come up to the stage. Stewart goes over to this tall, dark-haired guy. It must be his father. I’m talking with my parents and Faith but keeping an eye on Stewart. His father hugs him and then they head over to me. He reaches out his hand to shake. He says, “So, yer Andrea.” He pumps my hand. He doesn’t let go. “Ah’ve heard a great deal ’bout ye. Fantastic job up there tonight.” Finally, he releases me.
I keep smiling and nodding and saying, “Thanks.” He told his father about me?!
Stewart’s sister is there, too. “Hi, Mr. DiLorenzo,” she says. She looks like Stewart, only older. She smiles Stewart’s same smile at me. “I love that dress. Ye look beautiful in it.”
“Thanks,” I say. I’m embarrassed, but she seems nice.
“Don’t ye think she looks beautiful, Stewart?” Eileen says loudly.
Stewart turns scarlet and says, “Shet up, Eileen.” He elbows his sister. She laughs, pushes him, and trots away.
My mom and dad introduce themselves and while they’re talking and shaking hands with his dad, I look at Stewart. I am in total shock and not thinking, so I talk. “You told your father about
me?”
It’s crazy that I do my best talking when I’m really happy, really mad, or totally stunned, but that’s the way it is.
He shrugs. In a quiet voice he says, “Sure. I tell him ’bout everybody.”
Oh. He tells his father about everybody. I’m just one more person in the class, that he would normally tell his father about.
Then he casually kicks the side of my foot with the side of his. “But ’specially ’bout you. Who else do I know tha’s actually from the real New Jersey?”
He kicked me! Physical contact! Without thinking again I give him a little kick back. He kicks me again, laughing. I kick him back. Stewart’s sister reappears. “Now, simmer down, you two. Do I have to call the rug rats patrol?
Stewart gives her a bad look. “Eileen. Will ye git lost?”
Eileen shakes her head and sighs, “Ah, what pitiful, juvenile courtship rituals the young have.”
On that note, our parents gather us up and herd us toward the door. Everybody puts coats on. Stewart is on the opposite side of the family crowd from me. As we separate on the steps, he peeks around his father’s back and whispers, “Andrea.”
“Hmmm?”
“See ye tomorra’. Ye love puppy.”
22
SUBLIME
Outstanding, supreme, grand.
I wait in the coat closet. Everyone is putting stuff away and taking out morning-work folders. Mrs. Watkinson is in the office making copies. I have to talk to Stewart again after last night. I mean, he kicked my foot. Twice.
He walks in. He’s smiling already. “Hi, Andrea.”
I smile. I am ready. Deep breath. Exhale. “Hi. Stewart.”
We hang up our stuff and walk into the classroom together. Side by side. We are using each other’s names. And then—his hand brushes mine! On purpose! I’m sure of it. Yay! Yay! Yay!