by Abby Cooper
“What’s going on?” I asked. Dad was sitting at the big brown dining-room table with his hands folded. He looked like he was trying to sit really still, but a few of his fingers kept popping out and tapping against each other.
“Hey.” He looked up. “Sorry to pull you away from your unpacking. I know how much you love putting things away.”
We both giggled nervously. Why was this so awkward?
“So … what’s up?”
“Um…” Dad twiddled his thumbs. “Mom thought I should tell you … No, I mean, I wanted to tell you … Well, what you did on your trip, rescuing yourself like that, staying calm under scary circumstances … was really brave. And I’m very proud of you.”
I don’t know what it was about what Dad had just said, but my smile stretched all the way across my whole face. Dad hadn’t said something this awesome to me, well, ever.
“Yeah, I’m a born explorer,” I said with a little laugh.
“Ha!” Dad did a real giggle this time, not a nervous one. It was sooo cool, laughing with my dad. “You’re silly.”
Dad’s face turned white as he gasped and threw both hands over his mouth like he had said something absolutely terrible. I burst into an enormous fit of giggles as SILLY popped up on my elbow. It really, really tickled!
“That didn’t bother you?” Dad’s eyes got as big as pizzas.
“No.” I gave him a funny look. “Silly isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever been called, Dad. I’m in sixth grade.”
Before I knew what was happening, Dad got up from the table and smushed me into a gigantic hug. The kind of hug where you can’t breathe but you don’t mind at all.
When the hug ended and we pulled apart, I asked, “Is that why you never talk to me about anything important? You think you’ll call me silly and I’ll die?”
Dad laughed, but his face was serious. “Elyse, do you remember the very first word that ever made you itch?”
“Of course,” I said. “Poopyhead.”
He sighed. “No. No, it wasn’t. It was when you were two. We were playing together and you accidentally knocked over a vase that was really important to me because it belonged to my mom, your grandma, whom you never got to meet. I knew you didn’t do it on purpose, but I was upset, and in the heat of the moment I scolded you, saying you were a bull in a china shop.” Dad took a deep breath. “Since the bad name was a phrase instead of a word, it took up almost your whole two-year-old arm. You were miserable. Screaming bloody murder. Throwing yourself on the ground. Kicking. Sobbing. We took you to the emergency room and they had to give you a shot to calm you down. You started seeing Dr. Patel a lot more frequently after that. And I … I was scared of accidentally calling you a name that would hurt you or, you know, literally scar you for life, so I decided that I’d avoid talking to you about anything that could get too serious or personal.” He chuckled. “Mom’s been trying to get me into therapy for years. I don’t know. Maybe it’s time. I hate being someone you only talk to about traffic and the weather.”
I took a breath as all of this sank in.
“You called me a bull in a china shop?” I raised my eyebrows in a joking-mad kind of way.
“Yeah.” Dad sighed.
“Dad … I am a bull in a china shop. I can be super clumsy. Everyone is, sometimes.”
Dad looked scared, but I made an extra effort to stay calm. We both watched as BULL IN A CHINA SHOP and CLUMSY popped up near my shoulder.
“I’m okay, Dad. See?” I smiled. BULL IN A CHINA SHOP and CLUMSY itched like small mosquito bites did. A little annoying, but not that bad. Nothing I couldn’t handle.
Dad got a huge grin on his face and pulled me into another hug.
“I love you,” he said. “For who you’ve been, who you are, and who you’ll be. You’re wonderful in every way, Elyse.”
“Thanks,” I said. “You’re pretty cool yourself.”
As I climbed up the stairs after our hug, I turned back to look at Dad. He had a goofy look on his face, kinda like he had just read a mushy-gushy greeting card and was about to cry in a happy way.
I felt a little like happy-crying, too.
When I got upstairs, I had a text from Nice Andy.
How R U 2nite! U looked so lovely at school 2day! ☺ ☺ ☺
Yikes. Lovely? He was running out of compliments if he had to go to lovely. It sprang up on my wrist right in between AWESOME and COOL. It was nice, but I didn’t really need it. Like, I was totally good with AWESOME and COOL and OKAY and all the others.
And I didn’t even need Nice Andy to get those, because I felt that way about myself.
32
OPERATION DUMP NICE ANDY
The next day at school, I told Olivia that I was going to break up with Nice Andy.
“But he’s so nice!” she argued.
“But lots of things are nice,” I said, and showed her the list I had made to prove it.
Things That Are Nice Besides Nice Andy
1. Candy.
2. Books.
3. Chapstick that sort of looks like lipstick if you use your imagination.
4. Fuzzy green socks (and all socks, for that matter).
5. Cupcakes.
6. Laughing with your mom and dad.
7. Rescuing yourself from the Minnesota wilderness.
8. Grilled cheese.
9. Making Ms. Sigafiss make grilled cheese after she thought she was done making grilled cheese. Also, soup! Mmm, soup.
10. Lists.
“Wow, there are a lot!” she said. “Can I make one, too?”
I gave her a piece of paper from my notebook. A few minutes later, we taped Olivia’s to mine and made a giant list. Hers said:
1. Puppies.
2. Kittens.
3. Rainy days.
4. Sunny days.
5. Things that turn your mouth blue (Popsicles, Ring Pops, etc.).
6. Ice cream.
7. Friends.
8. Brothers and sisters.
9. Dancing awkwardly.
10. The Mall of America.
“What are you guys doing?” Jeg’s head poked out from behind a wall. I hadn’t even noticed her watching us. Her face was covered in slimy-looking clear stuff, like she had gone to get a drink and missed her mouth. Or maybe it was just a weird new colorless lipstick. Maybe it was a fashion statement. I wasn’t sure, so I kept my mouth shut.
“Making a list of nice things,” I said. “Want to do one?”
“Totes,” Jeg answered, and I gave her a piece of paper. Soon, our list grew even longer.
1. Parties.
2. Boys.
3. PG-13 movies.
4. Makeup.
5. Sleepovers.
6. Sharing secrets.
7. Playing truth or dare.
8. Hanging out with friends.
9. Clothes.
10. Kissing.
“Kissing?” Olivia and I squealed at the same time. Jeg went red instantly.
“Just this one guy in France earlier this year,” she said. “And Kevin. And … um … Liam.”
“Liam?” We squealed again.
After my squeal I started to feel a little sad. I had wanted Liam to be my first kiss, but he didn’t even want to be my first hand-hold. But when I thought about it, I realized it was probably good that I didn’t waste my first kiss on someone who would ditch me in a blizzard. My first kiss was going to be romantic, with someone I liked and who liked me, too.
“Well, he kissed me,” she admitted. “Just now, actually. I broke up with him and he seemed upset, so I let him give me a little teeny one to be nice.” She laughed. “Guys, I haven’t told anyone else yet. It was really disgusting. He, like, slobbered all over my face. He didn’t even use my mouth. I’ve only kissed two other boys, but I’m pretty sure when you kiss someone, you’re supposed to kiss their lips, not lick their face.”
She looked at me, waiting for a reaction, and—I couldn’t help it—I started to giggle.
Soon Oli
via started giggling, too, and then Jeg started, and then the giggles turned into real laughs and the real laughs turned into the kind of laughs where we were holding our stomachs and crying and gasping for air and trying not to pee in our pants. I wanted it to last forever.
“He slobbered all over you!” Olivia gasped through her laughter. Tears were streaming down her face.
“He’s a slimeball!” I screeched with delight. “Literally!”
“It isn’t funny!” Jeg whined, but she was laughing so hard she almost fell off the bench. “I’ve been slimed!” she cried, and we all laughed even harder.
A second later, Jeg stopped laughing all of a sudden, like she had just realized her face really was covered in slime and we weren’t kidding around.
But it wasn’t that. Ami stood in front of us, hands poised on her hips, looking the three of us up and down.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Oh, we were just making these lists of nice things,” I said. “And then Jeg told us a hilarious story. Do you want to make a list?”
She made a face like she was thinking about it, but she shook her head and linked her arm through Jeg’s. “Not now. But I do want to hear the story.”
“You’re gonna freak,” Jeg told her.
As the two of them walked off together, Ami looked back at me and smiled a teeny tiny bit. Then Jeg looked back and mouthed “Slime,” and that sent Olivia and me into another round of hysterics.
When we finally got it together, I remembered I had a job to do: Operation Dump Nice Andy, or ODNA for short. All I had to do was march right up to his nice face and be all I cannot. Read. One. More. Text. That. Ends. In. A. Smiley. Face. Or. Exclamation. Point. Good. Bye.
No problem.
Only, the second I saw him, I knew I was never going to be able to do that. He really was the nicest guy ever. How could I hurt the kind of dude who opened doors for people he didn’t even know and picked up garbage that wasn’t even his? Nobody did that. I bet that if he had seen my blue note, he would have picked it up just like Mr. Todd did.
Maybe Nice Andy would be a principal someday. Maybe my kids would go to his school. I couldn’t break up with my future children’s future principal! But Nice Andy was so nice that he probably wouldn’t even be mean to my future kids because of what I was doing to him. Ughhh. Maybe I wouldn’t break up with Nice Andy out loud. Maybe I would do it with a note.
Andy,
You are so nice but we can’t go out anymore. I am moving to Antarctica.
No. I crossed it out. I couldn’t give him that.
Andy,
You are so nice but we can’t go out anymore. My parents won’t let me.
No, that was a total lie. Mom had practically thrown a party in his honor when I told her we were going out. Dad said, “No dating until you’re forty,” but I bet he secretly liked how often Nice Andy gave me compliments. Finally, I wrote:
Andy,
I don’t want to go out anymore, but I want to be friends.
There. Perfect. Done. I ripped it out, stuffed it in my jeans pocket, and made my way down the hall. The hallway was quiet, but noisy thoughts were zipping through my mind.
Don’t do it! You will never have a boyfriend again. You can’t go to the mall and get a new one. A boyfriend is not a purple sweater you grab off a mannequin!
You’re going to hurt his feelings. He’s going to spend the rest of his life crying and then he’s going to become a murderer instead of a principal and it will all be your fault.
Elyse, you know you need to do this.
But with a note? That’s kind of wimpy.
So without thinking anymore, I snatched the note from my pocket and tossed it in the trash, just as Nice Andy noticed me coming.
“Elyse!” he exclaimed, sticking up his hand for a high five. “What is up!”
“Hey,” I said. “Listen, Andy…” Do it. Do it. Do it. You can. You’re okay. DO. IT!!!!!! “I don’t want to go out anymore. I just want to be friends, okay?” I took a humongous deep breath.
There. It was done.
“Oh!” He raised his nice eyebrows. “Okay!”
“Okay?” I questioned, raising my eyebrows right back. “That’s it?”
“Yeah!” he said. “What’d you expect?”
Uh, tears? Murder? A beautiful future as a middle-school principal ruined forever?
Instead of saying that, I mumbled, “I don’t know…”
“Okay!” He smiled. “Don’t worry about it!”
“Okay,” I said, but it all seemed way too easy. “You’re really not upset? I mean, you only liked me because you’re so nice and you felt bad for me about CAV. So this really doesn’t hurt your feelings or anything.”
Nice Andy stopped walking and looked at me with a very serious, non-smiling face. If I hadn’t been so worried about what he was going to say, I would have wanted to take a picture.
“What? I like you because you’re awesome and cool.”
“You mean my CAV is.”
“No,” he said slowly. “I mean, when we first started being friends in kindergarten, my parents told me to be extra nice to you! Maybe I took it a little too far! What can I say, I’m a nice, happy dude!” He shrugged. “But I wanted to get to know you better; that’s why I asked you out! I really think you are awesome and cool, y’know!”
I looked at his serious face and his big, wide eyes. He was saying what I always kinda suspected but couldn’t believe. But I believed it now. And I was pretty sure I always would.
33
MS. SIGAFISS
The next day, all of us beat Ms. Sigafiss to class. It wasn’t like her to be late. While everyone else talked and ran around the room, I took out my notebook. It almost wasn’t surprising to see the blue paper sitting there in between the pages like it was waiting for me. I was kinda getting used to the notes. Maybe I’d never know who wrote them and they’d just go on forever. It’d be annoying, never knowing, but maybe there are some things you just don’t get to know.
Elyse,
This is going to be my last note to you. It’s time for me to move on. I’ve had a tough time this year, too, but writing to you has helped make me feel a little better, so thank you very much for reading.
What? Of course, now that I had accepted that the notes would go on forever, they were ending. My eyes fell to the floor. This was weirdly kind of sad. After everything, that was it? They were just over? And I’d really never get to know who they were from?
I couldn’t pay attention to anything going on in the room, even when Frank the Maintenance Guy came in to watch us and started teaching a lesson on how to make a paper airplane that can fly across a whole room without falling.
Ten minutes later, Mr. Todd came into the room. We heard his giant footsteps from a mile away, so everyone quickly ran back to their seats from all over the room. Frank grabbed all the planes and shoved them into his big back pockets. When they didn’t all fit, he stuffed some down his shirt, which made all of us explode in laughs. He looked pointy in some seriously funny places.
“Frank has boobs!” Kevin shouted as Mr. Todd opened the door.
“I’m afraid I have bad news,” Mr. Todd said, ignoring the boob comment. “Ms. Sigafiss is unable to be your teacher for the remainder of the year.”
“YES!” The entire class erupted in loud cheers and screams. He could have told us that we didn’t have to go to school for the rest of the year and the reaction would’ve been the exact same.
Mr. Todd cleared his throat.
“So, like, she got fired?” Ami asked as the noise died down.
“No, not at all. She’s pursuing a different path, and I for one am thrilled for her. And, in other exciting news, for the rest of the week, you’ll have a wonderful substitute teacher extraordinaire who was available on extremely short notice. Please welcome…” He looked at the door dramatically, then sprinted outside of it and walked casually back in. “Me. Mr. Todd. At your service.”
&
nbsp; We all eyed him suspiciously. Sure, he was probably a better teacher than Ms. Sigafiss, but how well did we really know this guy? What did we really know about him other than how he looked like a grizzly bear and loved all things blue?
Although, I thought, that grizzly bear hair of his sorta helped me out in the snowstorm.
Maybe Ms. Sigafiss had taught me something, too, I realized. She had taught me to wonder who people really are, because sometimes the person someone shows your parents isn’t the same person they show you. And sometimes even the person they show you isn’t the person they are.
And with that very thought, it occurred to me that there might be one new note-writing suspect.
34
THE TRUTH
At the end of class, I took my time getting my stuff together while everyone else left the room. When the door opened, I figured it was someone from the next class coming in. But it wasn’t.
“I just wanted to pick up a few things I forgot,” Ms. Sigafiss said.
“Oh,” I said.
I noticed one of her long scarves hanging over a chair, so I wandered over to it, picked it up, and handed it to her. I had never stood so close to Ms. Sigafiss before. On the one hand, it was totally terrifying; on the other hand, I saw something in her eyes I had never noticed before: sadness. And a whole lot of it.
“Thank you,” she said. As she reached for it, the bag she was holding slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. Out tumbled a pack of gum, some keys, a wallet, and a red folder stuffed with blue paper sticking out every which way.
Our eyes met quickly, and in that second I had all I needed to confirm my suspicion. It was her. No way. No. Way! It was her!
“You?”
“Elyse, I’d like to show you something.” Ms. Sigafiss rolled up her sleeve, revealing a small area of skin on her wrist and a thick black smudge. I craned my neck a little bit to see it more clearly.
I gasped.
Holy. High. Heels.
This was no ordinary black smudge.
It was a word.
FAILURE.
Ms. Sigafiss had CAV. And wrote the notes. Holy high heels.
I couldn’t decide what to say, so I just looked at her, hoping she’d tell me everything I needed to know. But she stayed silent.