“Words,” she said. “We will read words, write words, and talk about words. You will find an appreciation for words in this class. Words can be the most powerful thing we know.”
“What kind of words?” Peter asked, having just arrived, and quite late, I might add. He handed Mrs. Reeder his pink slip.
She studied it and then said, “Better late than never, Mr. Jacobs.”
“I tried my best to make it on time,” Peter said.
“Well, let’s hope not all of your attempts end with fruitless results.”
What sort of trouble had Peter managed to get himself in already? I wondered.
“You may take a seat,” Mrs. Reeder said, pointing to an empty desk. She continued, “ ‘What kind of words?’ Mr. Jacobs has asked. That’s something each of you will need to figure out for yourself. I challenge you to do something important with your words this year. I will ask you to write in your journals regularly, responding to this very topic, explaining to me how you feel you’ve accomplished this, or perhaps missed the opportunity. And then, as we near the end of the school year, you will be asked to write a paper of reflection to conclude your study. If taken seriously, this assignment is one that you will find enlightening and rewarding.”
I already know this is going to be my favorite class—and how lucky it’s a double period. Mrs. Reeder’s passion for words reminds me of Mr. Terupt, which only makes me miss him all the more. I miss Luke, too. I haven’t seen him all day. I wonder, would he have stepped forward on my behalf like Peter and Jeffrey did for Lexie and Anna and the rest of us this morning?
There’s the bell.
Love,
Jessica
P.S. I hope my words at theater camp were powerful enough to earn me an invitation.
P.P.S. We need to visit Mr. Terupt. I’m going to get the gang on this pronto.
As seventh graders entering junior high, we were no different from the kindergartners back at Snow Hill School. Once again, we were at the bottom of the food chain in this new and dangerous ecosystem. There was so much to learn. Just walking down the hall was a study in survival.
I was in search of my first-period classroom, reading the numbers on each door I passed, when this group of kids going by in the other direction purposely knocked all the books out of my hands. “Ha-ha! What a dork.” They laughed and cheered and carried on like a pack of hyenas.
Traveling in numbers is a strategy exercised by many species in the animal kingdom. There’s safety in numbers. But none of my friends had the same schedule as I did. Even my locker was located in a different area. I was on my own. Already, I felt like a lost gazelle, separated from my herd, in danger of being eaten alive in this vast savannah called junior high school.
The second bell rang. I was late. I crawled around, gathering my folder and notebook and papers that had scattered everywhere. I’d always loved school, but the unfamiliar had me scared to death. Where were my friends? Where was Mr. Terupt? My recently honed wilderness-survival skills weren’t going to be of much help in this new environment.
LUKE’S SEVENTH-GRADE SURVIVAL GUIDE
TIP #2: Hold your books tightly. Do not hold your books in a stacked pile in front of your body. Do not hold them lying flat. Failure to adhere to this advice will result in your being laughed at, called names, and late for class.
We had lockers back at Snow Hill School, but they were no big deal. You dumped your bag and jacket in there at the beginning of the day and then didn’t go back to it until it was time to go home. All your books and supplies were kept inside your one and only classroom desk. There was a whole different system in seventh grade. Seventh graders went to their lockers after every period to switch books and folders.
We were issued our locker numbers and combinations in homeroom after the teacher took attendance. “Conveniently, you will find your lockers just outside this classroom,” Mrs. Reeder, my homeroom teacher, said. “I suggest you go and find yours and practice the combination. Should any of you be the forgetful type, I will always have your information on file. Please let me know if you need any help.”
I didn’t have much trouble finding my locker, but getting the combination to work was another story. My locker was old, like most everything at the junior high, and desperately needed a paint job, but I liked it. I decided it was a lot like me. It didn’t like opening up any more than I did. I let it be. I knew I’d have to get it to open eventually, but I decided I’d worry about that later.
In many ways, seventh grade was like starting all over again. I made myself as small as possible and did my best to hide. I wasn’t interested in being noticed. That was Lexie’s thing, though I knew she was hoping to accomplish that in a different way than she had that morning. In class, I raised my hand zero times and had zero teachers call on me.
It wasn’t until fourth- and fifth-period English Language Arts that I finally felt somewhat comfortable in a classroom. My homeroom teacher, Mrs. Reeder, was also my ELA teacher, but that wasn’t what helped put me at ease. It was that the rest of our group was in there with me, except for Luke. We hadn’t seen him all day, but we weren’t worried. If anybody had school under control, it was Luke.
Mrs. Reeder jumped right into class and got all excited talking about words. She sounded like a philosopher and challenged us to do something of importance with our words this year. She had me worried. It was going to be hard to do something of significance with my words when all I wanted to do was stay quiet. I was more concerned with getting Charlie’s vocal cords to work so he could finally do something special with his words—like ask my mom to marry him!
Following ELA, all the old gang minus Luke had lunch. At this point, I needed to get my locker open because I had too many books and folders to lug around after all my morning classes.
“Let me help you,” Jeffrey said, startling me. I didn’t realize he was behind me. He must’ve seen me struggling. “What’s your combination?”
“Two-zero-two,” I said.
“Two-zero-two, huh,” Jeffrey echoed, and smiled. “That was our room number with Terupt back in fifth grade.”
Once he said that, I knew I wouldn’t need Mrs. Reeder to ever remind me of my combination. Jeffrey opened my locker on his first try. I wondered, if he ever tried to get me to open up to him, would he have the same effect on me, and me on him? He didn’t exactly reveal himself to the world, either. We were a good match. Did he think so too?
“Thanks,” I said in a small voice. “I couldn’t get it open earlier.”
“Guess I’ve got the magic touch,” he said.
I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. I hoped I wasn’t the color of Grandma’s beets again.
Other than our stupid standoff with Zack—thanks to Peter—the rest of that first morning was uneventful, not something you could ever say about Terupt’s classroom. I moved from one class to the next, each time hoping I’d find someone I knew. That finally happened in ELA.
This lady had vocabulary on the brain like I had wrestling on the brain. She wanted me to write about important words, and the only ones I could come up with were the ones I had taped on the back of my bedroom door: I will win every match this season.
At wrestling camp, the coaches had talked to us about goal setting and writing down what we wanted to accomplish. I read these words every single day because I knew one thing about words—if you didn’t believe in them, then there wasn’t much chance of them coming true.
Before we were told to close our journals, there was another word that came to my mind. It was Asher’s word. Again the other day, he had pointed at the backyard and said “My-my.” I wanted to know what he was trying to say.
After ELA everyone hurried out to their lockers to dump off books and supplies in a rush to get to lunch. By sixth period, you were starving. I hung back and gave Anna a hand opening her locker. I wanted to give her my hand to hold, but it’d been a long time since that last happened. I didn’t know if she would want me doing that, and I wasn’
t brave enough to ask her. It took a lot of courage to share your feelings, especially with a girl.
Once Anna had her things put away, we headed to lunch and joined everyone else. Jessica was waiting for us when we got there. “We haven’t even been in school for a day, and already I miss Mr. Terupt,” she said.
“Don’t feel bad,” I told her. “We all miss him.”
“Then as soon as we find Lexie and Luke, we need to make plans to go and see him,” she said.
Even though we all liked her idea, finding a time to go and see Terupt wasn’t going to be as easy as we’d thought. The same way I always gave myself an excuse for not taking Anna’s hand, we would always have reasons to keep us from going.
School was school. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t anything exciting, either. The only thing that had happened worth mentioning was Anna and I joined the junior high yearbook committee. We figured this was a way for Anna to put her camera and newfound photography interest to work, and for me to add my art skills. But other than that, without Mr. Terupt, there wasn’t anything else to report. Most of the stuff worth talking about was happening outside the classroom rather than in it.
My English teacher, Mrs. Reeder, who also served as our yearbook coordinator, was nice enough. I wanted to tell her that I shared lots of important words with God, but school and religion mix like oil and water, so I kept that to myself, like I did all my personal matters.
Lately, I’d been having days when I felt really worn out and not very hungry, and then there were other days when I felt fine. I figured seventh grade was just stressful, so I tried not to show it. I told myself it would pass once I got in the swing of things. But when you’re exhausted, your body drags instead of walks.
“Danielle, are you feeling all right?” Mom asked me one afternoon. “You look tired.”
“Just a little under the weather,” I said, sounding like any good farmer.
“Go lie down and get some rest,” Mom said.
I was happy to take her advice, and after that I made sure to look brighter around her so she didn’t keep worrying about me. Whenever one of the girls said something, I blamed my tiredness on my period. I actually wondered if that was part of it. My clothes were getting looser, so maybe it was growing pains, too? In school, it was easy to deal with not being hungry. I simply threw my lunch out. No one ever noticed. But at home, Grandma was a different story.
“You didn’t eat much at dinner,” she said to me while doing the dishes one night. “What’s the matter? Don’t like my cooking anymore?”
“No, Grandma. I still love your cooking. Just too much on my mind with school, I guess.”
“Everything all right without Mr. Terupt?” she asked.
“I guess so. I miss him, but things are okay. We keep talking about going to see him, but we haven’t managed yet.”
“You should, before time gets away from you.”
“We will,” I said.
“Well, I know what you mean about not being able to eat when your mind won’t slow down. How do you think I’ve stayed thin all these years? Your grandfather has my mind going crazy. Goodness, he’s even got me talking to myself these days. It’s a wonder I’ve got any meat on my bones.”
Grandma and I shared a good laugh. She wasn’t exactly a frail old woman. Plump was more like it. I took after her with my body type. I’d been thinking about our similarities these days. The truth was, school did have my mind busy, thanks to my new science teacher, Mr. Brobur. He kicked our year off by talking to us about genetics.
“Offspring inherit traits from their parents. You are all offspring,” Mr. Brobur said. “Some of you might resemble your mother more than your father, while others might resemble the old man more. Some of you might be a nice mix. It all depends on how their information came together to make you. Those of you who look nothing like your folks should talk to the milkman.”
The class erupted in laughter after Mr. Brobur made that comment. Not me. I sat in my seat motionless. Shocked. Mr. Brobur was joking about sinful behavior. He was an old man, a teacher who could’ve retired years ago, but he wasn’t ready for that. He told us so. “I’ve got a few good years left in me yet,” he said. “I’m in no rush to just sit around growing older. I’ll know when the time comes.”
Mr. Brobur reminded me of Grandma, an old person not ready to slow down, and one who could be free with his words. Grandma might have been conservative in some regards, but she’d never hesitate to tell you what she thought. Maybe the courage to say what you mean comes with age—and in Mr. Brobur’s case, so did some absent-mindedness. He stood before us with his fly undone. Had anyone else noticed? For his sake, I hoped they hadn’t. I said a quick prayer for him.
“Then there are times when traits seem to skip generations.” Mr. Brobur continued with his lecture. “And other instances when random changes occur in our DNA, leading to brand-new traits that no one else in our family has ever exhibited. These random changes help explain how creatures have evolved into new ones over millions of years.”
Mr. Brobur sure knew how to make me pay attention. First he teased about sinful acts, and then he started talking about evolution. Evolution and the church weren’t always the best of friends. Evolution and Grandma didn’t exactly see eye to eye, either. If you asked her, the mystery of life was the work of God. Evolution wasn’t a topic we talked about, so I was secretly sort of excited to learn a little bit about it from Mr. Brobur. It was thanks to my new science teacher that I got to wondering, if no one else in my family was feeling sick or run-down like me, did that mean I had one of those random changes in my DNA? Or just some virus that I’d get over in time?
The one thing I did know was that whatever was going on with me—whether it was some sort of random evolution twist or the work of God—would stay between God and me for now. I needed to be tough. There was no way I was going to see any doctor. No one in my family went to the doctor unless it was serious. And this wasn’t serious.
The only person I intended to visit was Mr. Terupt. Grandma was right about time getting away from you. It seemed there was always a reason why the gang couldn’t go to see him. It was either too much homework, detention for Peter, or some other after-school commitment that one of us had. But I’d had enough of the excuses. With or without the gang, I was going.
Dear God,
I’ve got two things for you tonight. First, I’m hoping you will help me feel better soon. Please. And second, I’d appreciate it if you could help me get the gang to go and visit Mr. Terupt. Even though I’m prepared to go alone if I have to, I’d rather have everyone with me, and I think Mr. Terupt would like that, too. Thank you.
Amen.
It’s no secret that I like math and numbers, but I’d never given much thought to the number zero before. Zero is a wonderful value. It’s a natural number, a rational number, neither positive nor negative, a whole number, and a complex number, and it holds a significant place in science as well. Zero was also the number of friends I had in seventh grade. Zero can be a horrible feeling.
I was excited when school first began. Being in all the advanced classes offered was something I’d always wanted, but it wasn’t at all what I’d expected. The one kid I planned on having in class with me—Theo from last year—had apparently moved away over the summer. By the end of our first two weeks, my new classmates still weren’t including me. Even though it was the accelerated bunch, raising my hand and answering all the questions wasn’t cool and didn’t make me popular.
Lexie and Peter and Jeffrey and the rest of my old friends never hated me for knowing the answers. Even Jessica, who was the smartest person I knew when it came to books and writing, didn’t ever get annoyed. I missed her. I missed all of the old gang. They knew I loved school and projects, and they liked me the way I came. But not my new classmates. I got used to eating my lunch alone. I thought of Peter and how lonely he must’ve felt after the snowball accident that sent Mr. Terupt to the hospital back in fifth grad
e. Unfortunately, James, our friend with special needs from the Collaborative Classroom we used to visit, wasn’t there to help me like he did Peter.
If seventh grade had us hunkered down in the same classroom all day long, then I think I would’ve felt better, but this changing rooms and teachers every time the bell rang had me off balance. And the halls were the worst.
LUKE’S SEVENTH-GRADE SURVIVAL GUIDE
TIP #3: Do not carry your books loosely at your side. Failure to heed this warning will lead to the same results as failure to abide by Tip #2.
The same pack of hyenas had knocked the books out of my hands every day so far. It happened at all different times, so I never knew when to expect it, and they never failed to get me. Like clockwork, Zack would reach out and smack whatever I was holding, and his buddies would jeer and jostle me. Each time, they sent my books and papers flying all over the place. Then they’d stand there laughing at me while I scurried around like a little mouse trying to gather my stuff. Of course, they always had something nice to say.
“Dork.”
“Geek.”
“Nerd.”
“Loser.”
I had inherited all sorts of names in seventh grade, but “friend” was not one of them. I would hear them cackling as they walked away, giving each other high fives. “You got him good today, Zack.”
Science proved to be the one highlight in my day. It was my last-period class, so the thought of it helped get me through everything that came before it. I was naturally interested in the subject, but the fact that it was also taught by my favorite teacher—not including Mr. Terupt!—made it all the better.
Mr. Brobur was a much older man than Mr. Terupt. He was bald on top with the exception of a few white hairs that sprang out in all different directions, and he had wisps of hair just above his ears—and coming out of his ears, too. He was on the smaller side, wiry, but he was big on personality. I liked him from the start.
Saving Mr. Terupt Page 4