Maxi's Secrets

by Lynn Plourde

  It didn’t work to wish away school either. But why did it have to start in August? I wasn’t ready. Whose idea was it to steal kids’ summer vacation? In Portland, school had always started in September, after Labor Day. Dad had no reasonable answer—just that schools in this part of Maine were different. I was sick of different. My whole life was about being different.

  “Do you want to ride to school with me tomorrow or take the bus?” asked Dad. “I’m going in extra early since it’s the first student day.”

  “How early?”

  “Leaving here at six fifteen.”

  “Ouch! Maybe I’ll take the bus.”

  “Okay,” said Dad.

  “But I won’t know anybody. Even worse, the Jerk might be on the bus … if he doesn’t ride his four-wheeler to school. If he does, maybe he’ll give me a ride on the back.”

  “Timminy …” Dad didn’t say any more. He didn’t need to.

  “I’ll sleep on it and let you know in the morning.”

  “But—” Dad started.

  “I know, I know. If I’m riding with you, I have to be in the car at six fifteen sharp.”

  “You got it,” said Dad. “Or vroom-vroom—my four-wheeler leaves without you.”

  He smiled at his attempt at a joke. I didn’t.

  That night I tossed and turned until the sheets and blankets were twisted into a knot with me tied in the middle.

  I forced myself to lie still and take a few deep breaths. I knew I wouldn’t die if I didn’t get any sleep. I’d never gotten much sleep the nights before the first day of school. In kindergarten, first, and second grade, it was because I was anxious. Good anxious.

  In third and fourth grade, I was anxious too. Bad anxious. By then I’d figured out other kids grew a lot over the summer. So even if I stayed the same height, it actually seemed like I’d shrunk. The short digs from the other kids started on the first day of school and never stopped until the last.

  “Whoa, Timminy, hope I didn’t step on you. Didn’t see you down there.”

  “Eeny-meeny-MINNY-mo. No shorties on our team, no, no, no!”

  “Phew—I’m tired. Mind if I rest my elbow on your head?”

  Everyone was a clown.

  If only it weren’t a new school. At my last school, I’d found a group of “safe” kids to hang with. We were all different in our own ways—allergic to every food on the planet, streak of white hair, missing-three-fingers birth defect, stutter, glasses thicker than hockey pucks, and me the shorty. We weren’t best buds, but we got along and had a silent agreement to never make an issue of one another’s issues. Maybe Skenago Middle School would have its own misfits club I could join.

  If only it weren’t a middle school. I was supposed to be a fifth grader, the oldest grade at my old elementary school. Fifth graders were the kings and queens there. I’d have been happy to be a short emperor like Napoleon. But instead, fifth grade was the baby grade at Skenago Middle School.

  But most of all … if only it weren’t Dad’s school. As the assistant principal, he’d see how much I was teased. He’d been a father a lot longer than he’d been an assistant principal, and there’s no way his dad instincts wouldn’t kick in. The thought of being rescued by my dad in front of the other kids made me cringe and shrink. And the last thing I needed was to shrink any more.

  I started tossing and turning again. The sheet felt like a ghost choking me. How was it possible to have a nightmare when I wasn’t even asleep?

  Just then, Maxi pushed my door open with her snout. She was checking on me, like she did every night, right after she checked on Mom and Dad and before she settled down in the hallway between our two bedrooms where she could guard both rooms all night long.

  “Help me, girl,” I whispered when she sniffed up over the edge of the mattress.

  She couldn’t hear me even if I’d shouted, so I whispered again, “I mean it—help me. Please.” Maxi put her front paws on the mattress and looked at me. The full moon glowed through the skylight directly above my bed.

  Maxi stared at me, deep, past my eyes, to the inside.

  “I need you,” I whispered, or maybe I only thought it.

  Maxi never took her eyes from mine as she backed up, then leaped forward onto my bed for the first time by herself. She nudged the twisted covers and somehow released them, freeing me from being a bed mummy. Then she pressed her head into my chest, giving me a Maxi hug.

  “Thank you, girl. I needed that.”

  Her head tilted and she lapped my face. Then she curled up next to me and laid her head on my chest, pushing down ever so gently, every few seconds, gently, slowly, slowly, gently—changing my breaths from short pants to calming sighs.

  “Maybe, just maybe I can do this, girl. If you say so.”

  • • •

  SECRET #8

  It’s possible to hear someone even if your ears don’t work.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE NEXT MORNING, I gave Maxi a big hug and said, “Enjoy your last bit of freedom, girl, before Mom leaves for work and shuts you in your crate for the rest of the day. I promise I’ll get back as fast as I can after school so we can play.”

  Dad and I were quiet the whole ride into school.

  “Glad you rode with me, Timminy. It’s a big day for both of us. Want a tour?” Dad asked as we pulled into the parking lot.

  “Nah, thanks, Dad. I have my schedule, so I’ll check things out and then find you in your office. It won’t take long. There’s not even a second floor. That’s great. Us short kids like short schools.”

  “‘We.’ It’s ‘we,’” said Dad.

  I clenched my jaw. “Got it, Mr. Once-an-English-Teacher-Always-an-English-Teacher. You’re right. Wee-wee—that’s ME!”

  “I meant the pronoun, Timminy. Not your size. Calm down and give this school a chance.”

  “Only if it gives me a chance.” I stomped off. Dad was smart enough not to stop me.

  I found each of my rooms. There were only three—a homeroom, and then one class for all the language arts and history stuff, and another for math and science. Then I scouted out the art room, library, gym, and cafeteria.

  There were stools at one table in the art room. Good, that would make me look taller. The cafeteria had a table in a corner close to the door, near both the serving line and return-tray drop-off—a perfect place to sit where I wouldn’t have to do any long grand entrances or exits and have all eyes staring at the new short kid.

  I heard doors closing and talking down a hallway so I hurried down another hallway to the front of the school, saw an ASSISTANT PRINCIPAL plaque over a doorway, and slipped into Dad’s office. He wasn’t there. I was glad. It was still early and school didn’t start until 7:50. I could hide here until it was time to go to homeroom.

  I noticed Dad had family photos in his office. Ugh! How was I supposed to remain anonymous? I shifted the photos around, hiding them behind books and putting a solo one of Maxi front and center. Maxi would be a good distraction—“Aww, what a cute puppy.”

  There was a knock at the door. I froze, hoping whoever it was would go away. They didn’t. The door opened. “Hello, hello … Mr. Harris, are you there?” The door opened wider.

  “Sorry, I was looking for Mr. Harris. Do you know where he is?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you supposed to be in his office? All alone?”

  “Yup.”

  “Wait a minute, are you Timminy Harris?”

  Now I was stuck. I wanted to say nope again to make this woman go away, but she did pronounce my name correctly. No one ever pronounced my name correctly.

  I shrugged.

  She held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Timminy. You’re the reason I stopped by. I wanted to ask your dad where you were so I could meet you before the day started. I’m Ms. Sanborn, your homeroom teacher. See you in a little while.”

  That was it. She left as fast as she came. No fanfare. No odd looks or comments. Maybe this school wouldn’t be all b
ad.

  BANG!

  The door burst back open.

  Someone was yelling.

  “IF YOU’RE SENDING ME TO THE ASSISTANT PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE, I’M NOT WAITING OUT HERE. LET’S GET THIS OVER WITH.”

  “But I told you Mr. Harris isn’t in his office right now. You’ll have to wait outside, Rory.” The woman I figured was the secretary was trying to sound stern, but I could tell she was a teddy-bear type.

  I saw who it was—the Jerk.

  Then he saw me.

  “Hey, it’s you, shrimp. Whatcha doing in the AP’s office? I’m always the first one sent to the AP’s. You trying to ruin my reputation or what? Get outta here.”

  “No problem, Roar-y,” I said as I stepped around him. It was pronounced the same so the Jerk didn’t know I was calling him Roary instead of Rory, but I liked my little joke. I smirked and stepped out of the office right into Dad’s chest.

  “What’s going on in here?” he asked, looking from the Jerk to me and back again.

  “Nothing, Dad. I’m just leaving. Roary here is your first customer of the year.”

  Dad raised his eyebrows. “Not so fast, Timminy. Wait for me out here.”

  The door closed behind him. I sat down and strained to listen to what kind of trouble the Jerk had gotten himself into before the first day of school had even started. At the same time, I tried to hide behind a magazine I’d picked up, hoping no one would see me waiting outside the assistant principal’s office. I couldn’t hear a thing. They must make administrators’ doors extra thick to protect students’ privacy. But what about my dad’s safety? The Jerk could have my dad in a headlock and no one would be able to hear his screams for help. I leaned closer, but I may as well have been as deaf as Maxi sitting there.

  Click—the door opened. I scurried to sit back in my chair and look nonchalant, peeking over the magazine.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Harris, I understand. There’s no need to call my dad. There won’t be any more trouble on the bus,” Rory said as he left Dad’s office.

  What was this? Did my dad have assistant-principal superpowers already? He’d tamed the Jerk.

  As he passed me, Rory whispered, “So you’re the new AP’s son? Living right next door to me. I’ll see you around the neighborhood, shrimp. Oh, wait, what’d your dad call you—Minny? Perfect name for you and easy to remember. Enjoy the pictures in your magazine, Minny.”

  He left with a smile and nod as he walked past my dad. I looked down and saw the magazine I’d picked up. Humpty Dumpty! Why’d they have Humpty Dumpty in a middle school? Then I realized they must be for little brothers and sisters who had to come to school with their parents whenever their big brothers and sisters got into trouble.

  The bell rang. I stood up to leave, and Dad stopped me.

  “Timminy.”

  “Yes, Dad?”

  “Remember, it’s probably best to call me Mr. Harris at school. Now get going. You don’t want to be late for homeroom the first day.”

  I stepped into the hallway, looked with longing at the front door, and wondered whether I’d get into trouble if I skipped school …

  For the whole year.

  • • •

  SECRET #9

  Staying home and sleeping in a crate isn’t the worst way to spend a day.

  CHAPTER 10

  I’D ONLY TAKEN a few steps into the hallway of my new school when a tall, athletic girl stopped me. Was every kid in this school a giant? She leaned down and asked, “May I help you?”

  I kept walking.

  She followed me. “I’m on the student council. Probably I’ll be elected president this year—you can trust me.”

  I still kept walking.

  Her legs were so long she took one step to three of mine. This time she stepped in front and cut me off.

  “Please let me help you,” she insisted.

  I sighed. “I’m fine. It’s my first day here.”

  “Yes, but I think you’re at the wrong school. The bus stops here at the middle school first and then goes to the elementary school. You just got off the bus too soon. Come with me. I’ll take you to the office and get this straightened out.”

  Then she patted me on the head, like I was a dog or something. If only I could bite her hand to make her stop.

  Instead I swallowed so hard I made a gargling, not a growling sound, and said, “I go to school here. I’m new. In fifth grade.”

  Student-council girl gasped. “Really?”

  I nodded.

  She gasped again. “I’m so sorry. I was trying to help. I really thought you were at the wrong school—by mistake. My mistake. Sorry, sorry, sor …”

  Then she raced away with those long legs. Probably worried she’d lost my vote.

  She was right—she had.

  As I walked toward homeroom, a group of boys jammed the hallway. There was no way to walk around them, only through them. So I put my head down and tried to find the quickest way through without being noticed.

  I flunked!

  “Look, guys, a new one.”

  “Yeah, a real pipsqueak.”

  “Hey, shrimpy, where you from?”

  I lowered my head even more, said, “Excuse me,” and tried again to make my way through without touching any of them.

  But one of them touched me. Put a finger to my chest and said, “Hey, shorty, we’re talking to YOU. Where you from?”

  I still kept my eyes down. Sort of like not looking a vicious dog in the eyes—to try to avoid an attack. (Not that I knew anything about vicious dogs. Maxi was the opposite of vicious. She loved everyone—probably even these losers.)

  “Portland,” I answered.

  “Oh, from the big city. That explains your mucky-muck attitude. Out here in the sticks, we answer when people—”

  Someone interrupted. “Hey, guys. Isn’t the new assistant principal from Portland?”

  Finger boy stabbed me in the chest again. “What’s your last name? Harris?”

  I gulped, saw a gap between two of the boys, and quickly darted through.

  “Hey, get back here, squirt.”

  “Who do you think you are?”

  “We’re not done talking to you.”

  I heard big footsteps behind me. I could see the headline in the newspaper: TINY MIDDLE SCHOOLER SQUISHED DEAD LIKE A BUG ON FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL. I ran down the hall. Good thing I’d scouted out my classrooms before school. I raced past a few more doors and burst into homeroom, trying to catch my breath and act cool all at the same time.

  Ms. Sanborn nodded at me. “Everything okay, Timminy?”

  I nodded back, put on a fake smile, and decided against telling her about my recent male bonding experience.

  Ms. Sanborn smiled a real smile and said, “You’re just in time. We’re all heading back out to the hall.”

  “Hall?” I gulped.

  “Yes.” She handed me a paper. “Here’s your locker assignment and combination.”

  I didn’t look at it. The only combination I could imagine was a deadly one: 1 Shrimp + 1 Mob of Angry Boys = 1 Less Shrimp in the World.

  I stalled and headed to the back of the line, hoping the angry boys would be gone by the time I got out there.

  I peeked both ways, didn’t see any of them—although I had no idea what they looked like. During our “chat,” all I saw was their big feet.

  “Right here, Timminy.” Ms. Sanborn pointed at locker 168. “Why don’t you practice your combination a few times? Did you have lockers at your school in Portland? Here at Skenago Middle School, lockers are the bane of many a fifth grader’s existence.”

  Bane of existence? What the heck did that mean? This Ms. Sanborn sounded like my dad, throwing around fancy-schmancy words.

  I focused on the lock … 22 right, 18 left, 9 right … nothing happened.

  Again—22 right, 18 left, 9 right … still nothing.

  “Want some help?” The beaming boy at the locker to my right was practically busting out of his shirt, all rea
dy to give tours of his open locker.

  “No, thanks.”

  22 right, 18 left, 9 right … NOTHING!

  “Oh, let me try it.” He grabbed the paper from my hand and started spinning the lock … 22 right, 18 left, 9 right … OPEN!

  “See. I’ve got the magic touch,” he said.

  “Then maybe you can make yourself disappear,” I mumbled.

  I wished magic-touch boy and angry boys and student-council girl would all disappear. They were all the bane of my existence—whatever that meant.

  • • •

  SECRET #10

  When all you want is to be left alone, that’s exactly when the world swarms you like a mob of thirsty mosquitoes.

  CHAPTER 11

  MOST KIDS COMPLAIN about their classes and say things like:

  “Adverbs are the enemy.”

  “Who cares what dead people did two hundred years ago?”

  “All I need to know about black holes is that my brain is one!”

  I don’t get it though. Classes are the safe part of school.

  I hate the in-between parts—before school, break time, passing between classes, lunch. All potential land mines that can blow up any second. And when you’re closer to the ground, land mines are more dangerous, much more dangerous.

  My next potential land mine—lunch!

  I’d brought in lunch so I wouldn’t have to stand in the lunch line the first day—on display for the whole cafeteria to see. Plus who knew what they served in Skenago. Probably squirrel stew or moose mousse or something else made from what they shot in the woods. My lunch in hand, all I needed was an out-of-the-way place to sit and eat. I headed toward the corner table I’d scoped out before school, but …

  It was already filled with laughing, chitchatting kids. Popular kids.

  I put my head down and headed toward the back of the cafeteria, using my peripheral vision to look for an empty table. But I admit a tiny part of me dared to hope for more—that someone from one of my morning classes would flag me down and say, “Hey, aren’t you the new kid in our math class? Don’t be so obtuse. Come sit with us.” Math geeks—yup, I’d be happy eating with math geeks.