Me and Miranda Mullaly

by Jake Gerhardt

  What’ll I say to Billy?

  SAM

  I have to shave quickly because Maureen and Sharon are banging on the door so Maureen can do Sharon’s hair (what does that even mean?) for the dance. I get a nasty cut under my bottom lip as I scream at them to hold their horses. The Band-Aid stops the bleeding but it looks pretty bad, sort of like I’ve been punched in the lip. I guess I can always say, “You should see the other guy,” if anyone asks.

  As I check on the lip, blood drips on my only nice shirt, and then I can’t find any deodorant. Everything we have smells like roses or cucumbers or melons. (Of course Dad doesn’t care because he just uses what Mom buys.)

  I leave the bathroom and go back into my room to change my shirt. Like I said, I don’t own anything else this nice, so I have no other choice but to wear a Target sweater with blue and green stripes that I wear to school almost every day. I give myself a good look in the mirror. The cut lip and Band-Aid actually make me look sort of tough. I hope Miranda doesn’t mind.

  “Ready for the big dance, loverboy?”

  I turn to see Maureen’s on-again-off-again boyfriend, John Lutz, standing in my doorway. It’s just my luck that Lutz (who my dad calls Putz) got his driver’s license this week. It must be the easiest test in the world, because John Lutz is so dumb he couldn’t spell “cat” if you gave him a C and an A and a T. Anyway, since my parents are having a special Valentine’s date night (yuck!), I have to accept a ride to the dance with my two sisters and this moron Lutz.

  We finally leave for the dance, and the whole time as he’s driving Lutz looks in the rearview mirror and asks me who I’m going to be “sucking face” with. What does Maureen see in this guy? Anyway, I’m so nervous about dancing with Miranda that I don’t reply to Lutz, even though I’m thinking of saying, “Your mom.” And also, to tell the truth, Lutz makes me a little nervous. He’s the epitome of a guy who would say, “Watch this!” and then crash his car into a wall or something.

  The longest car ride ever finally comes to an end and I get to the dance. The first person I see at the dance is Duke Samagura, who’s doing the check-in. Duke glares at me like he always does. He’s probably still upset about the thumbtack that he didn’t sit on. But I don’t have time to talk to him or even glare back because I’m a man on a mission. I can’t be bothered to tell Duke that he looks like an eighty-year-old nerd in his bow tie. I’m too busy looking for Miranda Mullaly.

  After I check in, I go right to the gym and start looking around for Miranda. I don’t see her anywhere, so I take up a post near the door that leads from the lobby so there’s no way I’ll miss her.

  I’m just standing there waiting for her, all alone and honestly pretty bored. And I’m not the only one. Only a few people are dancing, and even though it’s dark and there are decorations, you can tell it’s the gym and you can smell the sweat and snot and dirty socks.

  Some more people hit the dance floor, and I see Sharon out there. The girl loves to dance. And Ralph Waldo is right there with her, dancing like he’s never danced before. But I don’t see Miranda and sort of stay on the sidelines looking cool, though you can’t look anything but bad when you’re on the side of the dance floor and you’re not talking to anyone. I look around but it’s pretty dark. I can only see Erica Dickerson yakking away with some of her buddies and Mr. and Mrs. Porter quite possibly making out as they slow dance.

  Some of the boys are on the other side, but I’m really not in the mood to give out wet willies or make fart sounds. There’s been talk that they have some stink bombs that they’re planning to set off. I really don’t care.

  Foxxy is out on the dance floor. He and Holly are dancing real slow to a fast song and I have to say it looks pretty cool. But seeing the two of them makes me feel alone, and I wonder if everyone is staring at me.

  I don’t have any choice but to leave the gym and do my best to look like I have something important to do. There’s really nowhere to go but the bathroom, so that’s where I go.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s kind of weird, because I feel like crying. But I don’t cry, which is good because if my eyes were red, somebody would think a girl dumped me or something like that, and then people would start talking and there would be about a thousand stories about me going around.

  And I can’t help but feel like I look stupid in the same old sweater I wear all the time, when everyone else is dressed up. And I can’t help but think I smell like a girl, since I’m wearing lady deodorant. I actually start thinking of a plan to escape the dance. I mean, I really don’t want to be here.

  I get at least a good five minutes alone in the bathroom before someone else comes in.

  “What are you doing in here?” Lichtensteiner asks me. He searches around, no doubt looking for toilet paper.

  Believe it or not, Lichtensteiner suddenly makes me feel a lot better. “I’ll let you guess, Mr. Lichtensteiner,” I say, smiling for the first time all night.

  Mr. Lichtensteiner huffs and puffs like the Big Bad Wolf. He takes a big breath of air through his nostrils, which is pretty disgusting, if you know what it smells like in the bathroom across from the cafeteria. Then he smiles. Like I always say, this is a sick man.

  “And what happened to your lip?” Lichtensteiner asks.

  I really want to tell him the truth, especially since I notice Lichtensteiner has trimmed his nose hairs.

  “You should see the other guy,” I say.

  Just for a second I think I see a hint of a smirk on Lichtensteiner’s face, like he gets the joke. Like he likes the joke. Then he sits on a sink like we’re old buddies.

  “So who’s the lucky girl tonight, Dolan?”

  “Huh?”

  “Who’s the lucky girl who gets to dance with Sam Dolan?” Lichtensteiner asks.

  Suddenly I get the urge to tell him. Is that crazy?

  But for the first time, I can’t answer one of Lichtensteiner’s questions. I mean, I’m really losing it. I just stand there like an idiot.

  “Let me give you some advice, Dolan. You’re not going to get a dance and a peck on the cheek in here,” he says, gesturing toward the urinals.

  “You’re right,” I say as I turn to leave, almost thanking him for getting me into a better mood.

  I really don’t want to watch Foxxy and everyone else having a good time in the gym, so I head into the cafeteria. I get a warm soda (of course there’s no ice) and a slice of cold pizza.

  There I am, minding my own business, wishing the pizza was better and thinking of what to say to Miranda when I finally see her and ask her for a dance, when I hear somebody behind me.

  “Ugh, can you close your mouth when you chew.”

  And this is not a question but more of a demand. And it’s coming from Erica Dickerson. She’s everywhere you don’t want her to be, she really is.

  I can’t think of anything to say to her, so I keep gnawing on my pizza.

  “Why don’t you close your mouth and chew like a normal human being?”

  What can you say when someone says that to you?

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say,” I tell her, and I mean it, I really do. It sounds lame, of course, but it really isn’t a nice thing to say.

  “And you shouldn’t put on a Band-Aid until you’ve stopped bleeding, Dolan,” she says.

  I wipe some of the blood off my chin with a napkin.

  “I can take care of myself, thank you,” I say, thinking I probably sound like Mary Poppins. But when Erica’s around, everything I say sounds dumb.

  “You should try pulling up your zipper, too. But don’t worry, you won’t have to be on your best behavior, because Miranda isn’t here.”

  And then of course it hits me: I should’ve asked Miranda if she was going to the dance.

  Duke

  Neal and Cassandra have been pestering me all year to do so
mething special for my birthday. I finally relented and allowed them to take me out to dinner before the Valentine’s Day dance. We actually had a jolly good time. Neal and Cassandra were not overbearing and, to my great shock, did not give the waiter the third degree about the animals and vegetables we were about to eat.

  After we were served our coffees and tea and chocolate mousse, Neal and Cassandra handed me a gift. It was a flat rectangular box tied with a blue bow. I graciously thanked them but couldn’t help but think Cassandra had Googled: “What to give a precocious fourteen-year-old.”

  As soon as I opened the box, I felt like a big fat jerk. I was speechless as I looked down to see a gorgeous crimson-and-white-striped22 bow tie.

  My voice was filled with emotion as I thanked them. “It’s simply, it’s just absolutely . . . it’s perfect.”

  Neal and Cassandra held hands and smiled at me. They were, we were, truly happy.

  “Shall I wear it tonight?” I asked.

  “Of course,” they replied in unison.

  I wiped my hands on my napkin, untied the bow tie I was wearing, and carefully tied the birthday bow tie. All without looking in the mirror or watching a YouTube video. Even the waiter was impressed.

  As we sipped our coffees and ate dessert, Cassandra beamed at me. “You look so handsome,” she said. “Our little boy is growing up.”

  I shook my head and looked down at my coffee.

  “So,” Cassandra continued, sipping her coffee, “which lucky girl will be your dancing partner tonight?”

  The intoxicating beauty of the bow tie and the thought that soon I’d be dancing with Miranda had the effect of eroding my defenses.

  “Once I’m finished with my student council duties, then I’ll have a dance, time permitting, with Miranda Mullaly.”

  I couldn’t believe I had said it and felt myself blushing. Before they could pursue a line of questioning about Miranda, I quickly changed the subject to international affairs.

  We were all in high spirits when Neal and Cassandra dropped me off at the dance. Cassandra even gave me a kiss and Neal shook my hand after I jumped out of the car. For the first time in a long while, I felt elated. Even though I’d be working the check-in alone with Mr. Porter and his wife, Polly, just knowing I’d be dancing with Miranda before the night was through made it all worthwhile.

  I happily whistled a romantic tune as I entered the school, imagining Miranda’s certain surprise earlier that day when she opened the candy-gram I had sent her. I felt very confident about the note I had attached to the heart-shaped lollipop:

  She was a Phantom of delight

  When first she gleam’d upon my sight;

  A lovely Apparition, sent

  To be a moment’s ornament.23

  Looking forward to seeing you at the dance.

  Before she resigned from the student council, Miranda, the wunderkind,24 had organized everything down to the last detail. So the only thing I had to do was shake hands with Mr. Porter and his wife, check in the student body, and wait to see Miranda.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Polly said as I sat down beside her.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” I said, pretending to read the list of students who had bought tickets. I had no desire to engage in any inane conversation.

  “Oh, yes, Barry, or should I say Mr. Porter, ha-ha, is very impressed with your work on the student council. Of course, who wouldn’t be impressed with an eighth-grader who carries a briefcase?”

  Part of me wanted to tell Mrs. Polly Porter that I carry a briefcase because I take my education seriously. And I carry a briefcase in a feeble attempt to bring up the standards at Penn Valley. But I opted to daydream about my dance with Miranda instead of indulging Polly.

  “And I adore your bow tie!”

  At this point I would have simply excused myself, but I did not want to miss Miranda’s entrance. Fortunately for me, students began to arrive, so Polly had something to do besides ask me questions and comment on my life.

  I got right to work, happy to let the time pass as I checked in the students. And I noticed that some snow was beginning to fall outside. This was perfect, for I hoped to go to Miranda’s house first thing in the morning if it snowed to help her father shovel his walk. What more could a girl ask for in a boyfriend?

  Sam Dolan, the dolt, signed in with me. Sharon was with him, and she was good enough to ask if she could assist me. Obviously, all the manners (and talent) had skipped right past Sam and settled into Sharon. As Polly tried to find where the letter D could possibly be, I politely chatted with Sharon about the musical and she very kindly complimented my new bow tie.

  I gave Sam the once-over. But I didn’t have time for Sam and even waved off Knuckles and Moose, allowing him to go into the gym unmolested. I didn’t even ask him why he was wearing a big Band-Aid on his face.

  Moments later Chollie Muller entered the lobby, smiling like a madman.

  “Hey, Duke, thanks for the nice article in the school newspaper. I felt really bad about the game until I read that. It cheered me up.”

  Just the thought of Ralph Waldo rewriting my newspaper article raised my blood pressure. If it weren’t for the necessity of extracurricular activities to build up my transcript, I would’ve resigned from my position as sports editor.

  Chollie left and, as if on cue, Ralph Waldo appeared. He wanted to talk about The Pajama Game and the school newspaper and was extremely curious to know whether Sharon Dolan had arrived. I couldn’t take any more, so I smiled, closed my eyes, and watched as Knuckles and Moose returned to straighten out Ralph Waldo. He would not destroy another article of mine ever again.

  After that, things quieted down in the lobby. Mr. and Mrs. Porter finally left me alone and went into the gym. I listened to the music, tapped my foot, and waited.

  And I waited.

  And I waited.

  But there was no Miranda Mullaly.

  Soon students began to leave the dance. And I was still at the check-in desk, waiting for Miranda. I felt silly and embarrassed, sitting there all alone. I put my hand up to my bow tie and was overcome by the feeling that I looked foolish. I took off the bow tie and stuffed it in my pocket.

  Just then, Sharon Dolan appeared. She began to talk about the musical, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying. I stared at her, thinking of Miranda Mullaly.

  I blinked my eyes. “Huh?”

  I had more important things on my mind than The Pajama Game. Sharon wished me a happy Valentine’s Day, gave me a heart-shaped lollipop, and went on her way.

  I was alone again. Looking at the lollipop Sharon left me, I suddenly wondered if I had signed Miranda’s candy-gram. I could not, for the life of me, recall if I had signed it or not. And then I was certain I forgot to sign the candy-gram, so Miranda would not have understood the note and without a signature probably would have dropped it in the trash.

  And then, suddenly, the dance was over.

  And then, suddenly, Neal and Cassandra were driving me home.

  “Duke, did you hear me?” Cassandra asked.

  “Huh?” was the only reply I could muster.

  “Did you have a good time at the dance, dear?”

  “It was okay.”

  “What happened to your tie?”

  “Oh, it’s in my pocket. It became a little loose, so I had to take it off.”

  Neal nodded and we were silent.

  I had to pinch myself. How did I go from waiting for Miranda at the dance to sitting in the backseat of my parents’ car? Where had the time gone? And, most importantly, where was Miranda Mullaly?

  “Did you get to dance with your special friend?”

  I didn’t answer and closed my eyes. What began as a dream had become a nightmare.

  Miranda

  To: Tom

  From: Miranda

 
Date: February 12, 2016 10:55 PM

  Subject: Thank you for the greatest night of my life!

  ———————————————————————————

  Tom,

  I can’t sleep. My thoughts are still of tonight and our time together. How perfect were the snowflakes falling from the sky when the dance ended? The night was truly wonderful. It was magical. It was a miracle.

  I was honored to be on your arm and to meet your friends and to see your school. It’s hard to believe our schools neighbor each other. They are so different.

  Thank you very much for saving me from the Penn Valley dance where I’m sure they were throwing toilet paper and pizza at one another. I can’t believe how clean your school is. Penn Valley is dirty and our gym smells. I feel like a princess who has been saved from heathens. Though, I do feel bad about leaving Erica to fend for herself . . .

  Last but not least, I forgot to thank you for the surprise candy-gram. How did you purchase a candy-gram at my school? I had no idea you had a poetic side. It was so romantic!

  I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said about your graduation dance in June. I think it would be marvelous to rent a limo, but if you can’t afford it my father has already volunteered to drive us in his new car. Oh, I can’t wait!

  Will the snow ever melt?

  Will the flowers ever grow again?

  Will I ever be in your arms again?

  Big big happy sad (only because I miss you) hugs!

  Always yours,

  Miranda

  14

  The Snow Day

  SAM

  Miranda Mullaly’s father is a hairy man who runs very fast.

  And he has a bad temper. Not the kind of guy who likes to joke around, I think.