Cassidy's Guide to Everyday Etiquette (and Obfuscation)

by Sue Stauffacher

  “How can I obfooskate if I don’t know what it is?” I asked.

  “It means to confuse the issue,” she said. “Or skirt around it.”

  Really? I had no idea there was a word for the very thing I’m genius at!

  I put my feet together and straightened my shoulders. “I agree completely, Miss Melton-Mowry. Speaking of skirts, I’m guessing Magda here would be happy to donate one of hers to Miss Information. She has a whole closet full that she never wears. Isn’t that right, Magda?”

  I had to poke her before she nodded.

  Miss Melton-Mowry’s arms stayed crossed. “I’m waiting, Miss Corcoran.”

  “The thing of it is, we felt Miss Information needed a…makeover. We had a real beauty queen to do it.”

  “And the ‘we’ is you and Delton?”

  The other students were coming in, even though there was still five minutes before class started. Is everyone who takes etiquette lessons a suck-up?

  Delton Bean almost fainted when he saw Officer Weston. “You’re not…arresting Cassidy, are you?”

  I put my hands on Delton’s shoulders. “No, Delton. He’s arresting you on the charge of gross bodily harm and fleeing the scene of a crime. I hope you brought along a change of clothes.”

  Delton looked like he did the day he got an 89 percent on his math test. Or like the day he dropped his graphing calculator in the mud.

  “I’m not here to arrest anyone,” Officer Weston said. “I’m here for class.”

  “But you’re a grown-up.”

  “My fiancée says I’m an uncivilized clod and if I don’t get some manners by July and her big family reunion, she’s not going through with the wedding.”

  “So?” I asked him. “What’s the problem?”

  Which is how Officer Weston and I became friends, because he didn’t see the problem with it, either. Well, with being an uncivilized clod. Then and there we made a pact to see this manners thing through to the bitter end.

  Of course, what remained was the issue of taking responsibility for vandalizing Miss Information. I favored an “all’s well that ends well” approach, but as I have discovered in my eleven years on this planet, grown-ups are big on responsibility.

  After she’d interrogated me and Delton enough times to be satisfied—and had a long conference with Mom and Mrs. Bean—Miss Melton-Mowry asked for time to think about how best we could serve out our sentence. I felt etiquette class was punishment enough, but I knew the drill. She wanted us to stew.

  As we were leaving, Miss Melton-Mowry pulled me aside. “Though I am not as familiar with WEE holds as you are, you will find me a formidable opponent, Miss Corcoran. How would you say that in wrestling terminology? I think it’s…you’re on the ropes.”

  “WWE, Miss Melton-Mowry.” I didn’t give her the satisfaction of telling her I wasn’t just on the ropes. I was down for the count.

  —

  Dad got home late that night; I couldn’t fall asleep, thinking of him, tired from making grocery shoppers happy all day, having to hear about my latest mess-up.

  Right on time, he showed up at my door. “I understand you’ve been very busy, Miss Cassidy.”

  “Dad!” I untangled myself from the covers and reached out to him.

  Bear hug. We both growled.

  “So…kidnapping, destruction of private property.” Sitting down on the edge of my bed, Dad added, “I thought you aspired to a life on the road, not a life of crime.”

  “It wasn’t kidnapping, Dad, it was more like…hide-and-seek. And it was all Delton’s fault, really. His mom wanted him to learn some do-daring, and I—”

  “Delton Bean? The one who turns his back to the audience during the Christmas concert?”

  “Mrs. Parsons called it the worst case of performance anxiety she’s ever seen.”

  “I’m beginning to think you have the worst case of good-behavior anxiety I’ve ever seen. Did Delton really force you to behead Miss Information? As counsel for the defendant, I need to know everything.”

  When my dad puts his hand on my head and looks into my eyes, it’s like being forced to drink truth serum from a voodoo doctor. “No. It was my idea to put her hair in the soup bowl. I just figured she had a wig. I didn’t know it was attached to her head, like…real hair.”

  “Yes, hair has a way of being attached to the head. You do understand how wrong that was.”

  “Yep. And two wrongs don’t make a right.” I hoped to hurry the lecture part of this conversation to an end. “I should have told Miss Melton-Mopey—Mowry—what I’d done.”

  Taking my hand, Dad started massaging my palm, going under each knuckle and pressing. It was one of his strategies for helping me relax so I could fall asleep. “What continues to surprise me about you, Miss Cassidy, is that given two courses of action, you almost always choose the most difficult one. Why is that?”

  I shrugged. “I’m an overachiever?” I could tell by the look on his face that this answer didn’t satisfy him. “Search me, Dad.”

  Before he got his second wind about how, despite my above-average intelligence, I could be a real knucklehead, I tried to change the subject to what was really bugging me. “Dad, why does Jack all of a sudden have goals like saving money? And why does he want to hang around Sabrina Benson instead of hanging out with me?”

  “By Sabrina Benson, you mean new-neighbor Bensons, ‘sweet tea have a sugar cookie’ Sabrina and Mrs. Benson?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re not moving us from the intricacies of the law to the eternal mysteries of the heart, are you?” Dad put my left hand under the covers and started pressing the palm of my right.

  “No! I just want to know why he’d rather be with her than with me.”

  “Well, since I haven’t observed Jack and Sabrina together, I couldn’t say. Sabrina seems like a very nice girl. A little old for Jack, maybe, but then your mom and I are three years apart.”

  “Uck. Dad, I’m not talking about that.”

  “What, then, pray tell, are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I asked you.”

  Lifting the sheet, Dad put my hand back down by my side before kissing the top of my head. “You’re going to have to let me ponder that one, Miss Cassidy. Your question is…complicated. Now, regarding the matter of your sentencing, which we will skip to since you’ve already confessed to the crime, your mom and I will be joining you and Miss Melton-Mowry after Wednesday’s class to discuss the matter.”

  “That’s okay, Dad. You don’t have to come. I know how busy you are saving the grocery store from disaster.”

  “True, but I wish to be present at my client’s sentencing, so instead of taking a walk in the park and feeding the ducks on my lunch hour, I think I will eat my sandwich at my desk and drive across town so that I can spend that time with you at the Bright Corners strip mall.”

  I scrunched my eyes closed to avoid Dad launching into the “your actions affect other people” speech. “I’m practically asleep, Dad. Can we save the rest for another time?”

  —

  Before Wednesday’s class, Delton tried to go through the door to the School of Poise and Porpoise before me. “Hey, watch your manners.” I pulled him back by the shoulder. “Ladies first. Geez.”

  “Sorry, Cassidy. I’m just trying to be punctual.”

  “I am impressed with your almost-lateness. Try harder next week.” Everyone was pretty much seated by the time we got in. Donna was polishing her silverware with some special cloth she’d brought from home. Ryan was tugging wrinkles out of the tablecloth. It was like a meeting of the after-school teacher’s-pet club.

  “Mr. Bean. Miss Corcoran. You may take your seats on either side of Officer Weston.”

  “Yes, Miss Melton-Mowry.” Delton took his eyes off the floor only as long as it required him to see the way to his chair.

  Donna raised her hand. “Is this our new Miss Information?”

  All eyes went to the seat previ
ously occupied by the world’s biggest doll, where a lady in a raincoat sat holding so tight to the oversized handbag in her lap, you’d have thought this was the meeting of the after-school purse-snatchers club.

  “Miss Information”—Miss Melton-Mowry paused, letting her eyes rest on me—“is undergoing some…renovation. But allow me to introduce you to Miss Glennon. Miss Glennon is the granddaughter of Private Reserve Academy founder Eudora Glennon, who has been, over the years, a personal mentor of mine. Miss Glennon is with us today on a very special assignment.”

  Another meaningful look at me.

  Miss Glennon swallowed and squeezed the top of her purse like it was a stress ball; her eyes darted around the room, avoiding eye contact. If we were in Cassidy Corcoran’s Executive School for Spies and Counterintelligence Agents, I would have taught her about iridium. Sure as my keister was glued to that plastic seat, the lady was hiding something.

  “Miss Glennon was just about to demonstrate the proper placement of one’s purse.” Miss Melton-Mowry proceeded to pinch the purse as if it was a used Kleenex. “On the floor, just next to the chair leg.”

  “No, please. I need that.” As Miss Melton-Mowry lifted and Miss Glennon tugged back, the purse squealed. Before you could say “time for recess,” out popped a furry head, its eyes darting around just like Miss Glennon’s had, looking for an escape route. The critter chose to dive under the flap of Miss Glennon’s raincoat.

  Donna forgot to raise her hand. “Oooh,” she squealed. “That’s a rat! My disgusting brother has one just like it.”

  “We have a strict no-dander policy here at the school, Miss Glennon. I must ask you to remove that animal immediately.”

  Grabbing her lapels to prevent another escape, Miss Glennon tried to explain: “I couldn’t leave her in the car—by the end of class, it would be too hot! It’s her annual physical today; appointments are very hard to make with Dr. Schoen. Only two veterinarians specialize in long-tailed rodents in Grand River and I would never take Feathers to Dr.—”

  At this point, Miss Glennon was interrupted by a head popping out of the neck of her coat, just under her chin. What Feathers saw must have frightened her enough to go back the way she came. The next glimpse we got was of the rat’s nose through a torn seam in the arm of Miss Glennon’s coat. At this point, Miss Peabody, one of a half-dozen wimpy girls in our class, announced that she was going to faint.

  “Put your head between your legs,” Officer Weston instructed, not taking his eyes off the incredible bulging raincoat.

  Feathers managed to poke her head out between two buttons on Miss Glennon’s lap, the raincoat belt draped over her head like one of those scarves old ladies wear to protect their hairdos.

  All the fancy-pants manners went out the window as Miss Glennon struggled to keep Feathers in her coat and we watched the bulge move to the tune of girls screaming their heads off. Clutching herself here and there, our visitor gave the impression that she was possessed by aliens.

  Officer Weston elbowed me. “Wow, manners class is better than I thought.”

  The first five minutes, maybe. But after the rat was corralled and delivered to Miss Glennon’s car—which had been moved to the shade—it was business as usual. The only difference was that Miss Glennon sat in her wrinkly raincoat in the seat normally occupied by Miss Information, nodding in enthusiastic agreement to all the rules we needed to learn that day about what to pass and where to pass it and put it down and wait for everyone to be served. Do polite people ever eat anything hot, I wondered.

  When eleven o’clock finally rolled around, I had my knees pointed in the direction of the exit until I remembered the conference after class. Miss Melton-Mowry stood at the door so the students could practice egressing or whatever fancy word she had for making a clean getaway.

  Officer Weston didn’t seem to be in any hurry. “Who knew there were so many ways to put food in your mouth,” he said, eyeing all the silverware on the table. “Hey, I can see my reflection.” He picked up his dinner plate and admired himself.

  “Look at me.” I stretched my lips over my teeth and made my eyes wide. “I’m a monkey.”

  Officer Weston sucked in his cheeks. “I’m a fish.”

  We passed the time in this perfectly normal way until the bells jingled and my parents walked in.

  “Mom. Dad!” I rushed to hug Dad like I’d just been rescued from kidnappers.

  “An officer of the law?” I could feel Dad shaking Officer Weston’s hand. “Here for the sentencing?”

  While my head was still buried in Dad’s middle, I heard Delton’s mom come in. “I’m Sylvia Bean, Delton’s mother. We met at the graduation ceremony.”

  “And I’m Cassidy’s father.” Dad turned me around and smoothed down my hair. “If it weren’t for the family resemblance, I might try to deny it.”

  “Sylvia,” Mom joined in. “We should apologize on behalf of our daughter.”

  “Oh, no, please don’t. Delton’s never been in trouble before.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Well…” Mrs. Bean took a handkerchief out of her purse and dusted off the plastic seat before she sat down. “I’ve always believed that a child needs spirit to make his way in life. You know, a little backbone.”

  “I’m sure Cassie wouldn’t mind giving Delton some of hers,” Mom said, not bothering to wipe off her seat. “She’s got plenty of it.”

  “Please, everyone, be seated.” I noticed Miss Melton-Mowry had a different tone of voice for the parents. “Your time is valuable and I don’t want to waste it.”

  I knew better than to say anything about the value of my time. Adults and kids have never seen eye to eye on that subject.

  “Miss Glennon here works for Private Reserve Academy, which, as you know, is an elite boarding school in Ravenna. I’m delighted to be one of the finalists for the position of headmistress of etiquette, and her grandmother, the founder, has asked her to observe my class.”

  All eyes went to Miss Glennon, who had the same look on her face that the rat had earlier. I’d seen that look before on Delton’s face, right before he had to give his oral report on World War II Cessna aircraft.

  “As a sort of final interview, we are invited to bring a few select students to the Egypt Valley Country Club, where many Academy families are members.”

  “Surely, you’re not thinking of bringing Cassidy with you.” Dad put his hand on the top of my head and turned it so that I was looking directly at Miss Melton-Mowry. “You must have other students who—”

  “Grandmother was insistent that I choose the poorest-performing pupils,” Miss Glennon said, folding her napkin and pinching the crease. “The hard-core cases. Those were her exact words.”

  “Hard-core, eh? Well, you might have found your girl, then.”

  “While Miss Corcoran has an excess of insouciance, Mr. Bean seems to suffer from…some social anxiety,” said Miss Melton-Mowry. “They are excellent candidates to demonstrate the effectiveness of my teaching methods. I asked Officer Weston to stay because he has an event to prepare for and he needs the practice.”

  “I changed over to the graveyard shift to make it work,” Officer Weston explained. “I haven’t slept in nineteen hours.”

  “I feel your pain, Officer.” Dad looked like he was about to say more, maybe about how grocery stores have to be open twenty-four hours a day, but he must have changed his mind. Turning to Miss Melton-Mowry, he asked, “So this will compensate for Cassidy putting your mannequin in the bin?”

  “Delton was partly responsible for that,” Mrs. Bean chimed in.

  “He wanted to remove her arms so there were no identifying marks, but I said no.”

  I only said it to make Mrs. Bean feel good about Delton’s backbone, but Dad squeezed my thigh, which in Corcoran-family sign language means “shut it.”

  Delton raised his hand to protest, but Miss Melton-Mowry ignored him.

  “It will require a great deal of pra
ctice and extra lessons. I believe this is a fair trade-off.”

  “I was thinking some hard labor…maybe hours of leafleting cars in the parking lot during midday followed by picking up trash on the side of the highway.”

  “Brian.” This time Dad got the squeeze. Mom knew I’d rather do anything than spend more time in etiquette class; she wanted me to suffer.

  “Okay, sweetie.” Dad put his hand over Mom’s. “I’m beginning to warm to this idea, Miss Melton-Mowry. Cassidy as a little Eliza Doolittle.”

  “Excellent. Then it’s all settled. I prepared a handout with the details. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Miss Melton-Mowry stood up and Dad half stood before sitting back down.

  Directing her gaze at Officer Weston, our teacher said, “When a lady excuses herself from the table, Officer Weston, it is customary to stand briefly in acknowledgment.”

  “Okay, sure. But why?”

  “You won’t get far asking the reasons for things,” Dad said. “Originally, we were supposed to help them in and out of their chairs, but you could get decked for that nowadays. Think of it as the appendix of the etiquette world.”

  After Miss Melton-Mowry left the room, Dad leaned in my direction and said, “All things considered, you got off lightly, Miss Corcoran.”

  “Are you kidding me? She’s worse than the Just Say No assembly.” I glanced out the door, where something called the sun was shining to beat the band. “Well, now that’s all settled, I think I’ll just be moseying on home.”

  “I think we should start immediately.” Miss Melton-Mowry had reappeared and was passing around a handout to the adults.

  “But…what about lunch?” I sucked in my cheeks to make it look like I was starving.

  “I’m sure Delton wouldn’t mind sharing his lentil spread with sunflower shoots,” Mrs. Bean offered, reaching into her bag and pulling out a package wrapped in wax paper. “We were going to the park after,” she explained.

  “That is very generous of you, Mrs. Bean, but I have some fruit salad in the refrigerator. In anticipation of this extra practice, I’ve already set the table in the back.”