Saving Mr. Terupt

by Robert W. Buyea

  “We’ll begin our year with a unit on genetics even though it’s not in the textbook,” Mr. Brobur announced. “Why? Because these old books are falling apart and are seriously outdated, and the school can’t seem to buy us any new ones, so the heck with them. I’d much rather talk about something that is wildly exciting and certain to be in your future. There are three billion steps that make up our DNA. What’s DNA?”

  I raised my hand before reminding myself not to. I couldn’t help it. Old habits die hard.

  “Luke?”

  I heard grumbling around me. “The instructions that tell our cells what to do and how to make us,” I said.

  “That’s a very good answer.” More grumbling. “Would you believe that you and any other person on this planet are said to be ninety-nine point nine percent identical when it comes to those three billion steps?”

  I thought of Lexie. She and I were supposed to be 99.9 percent identical in our DNA? I didn’t think so. We had to be the exception.

  “I know Mrs. Reeder loves to talk about words, and she’ll have you thinking about them all year long,” Mr. Brobur said, “but that isn’t something only reserved for the English classroom. Science is full of wonderful vocabulary. Genotype, for instance, is the word we use when referring to the actual steps in your DNA. Phenotype, however, is the word we use when talking about the traits you physically express: white skin, brown skin, blue eyes, green eyes, big muscles…no muscles.” Mr. Brobur pointed at me, trying to be funny.

  My classmates got a kick out of his joke. Mr. Brobur didn’t realize I needed no help when it came to being made fun of.

  “Now,” he continued, “who can tell me what your phenotype is the result of?”

  “Your genotype,” someone up front answered.

  “Yes,” Mr. Brobur said, “and?”

  We were quiet. No one knew. I had a good idea, but I didn’t voice it.

  “Ah, no one wants to offer an answer. That’s okay. This is actually a question that you will be exploring all year long. That’s what seventh grade is largely about. What is your phenotype?”

  The bell rang.

  LUKE’S SEVENTH-GRADE SURVIVAL GUIDE

  TIP #4: Don’t answer all the questions—even if you know you’re right. Failure to heed this warning will leave you lonely, unpopular, and without the company of friends.

  Was there anything that could make me feel better? I knew the answer to that question, too—Mr. Terupt. I was so happy when I found out we were going to see him.

  Things at school were way better after my nightmare first day. A week in, I bumped into Reena and Lisa, the high school girls I had met last year, and they complimented me on my outfit. And then those same older boys from day one came cruising by, but instead of making fun of me, I heard the guy named Zack elbow his buddy and say, “Who’s that girl over there? She’s hot.”

  He didn’t even remember me! Like, I was looking that good. I was back in the game. Of course, that jerk didn’t stand a chance with me, but I decided to let him think differently. It’d be fun to string him along only to crush his heart later—he deserved it.

  So like, things were good. I had my wardrobe working for me—which was key—and classes were fine, too, but my favorite part of the day was lunch. That was our chance for the old gang to hang out. We’d laugh and joke, and at some point we always got back to talking about Teach. Jessica was the first to mention going to visit him, but it was actually Danielle who finally put her foot down and made it happen. She can be tough when she wants.

  “We keep talking about it, but haven’t done it yet,” she said one day. “Well, enough is enough. I’m going tomorrow, and you guys can come with me or not.”

  “Whoa! You’re not going without me,” Peter said.

  “Count me in,” Jeffrey said.

  “And me,” Anna said.

  “I’ll make sure Luke knows,” Jessica said.

  That settled it. We were going, and we were excited. We were also in for a surprise.

  —

  The next day we met in the lobby after school.

  “It’s exactly one point two miles from here to Snow Hill School,” Luke said. “We should make it in fifteen to twenty minutes.” He started the timer on his wristwatch.

  “Piece of cake,” Peter said.

  “Hate to break it to you, but that’s not happening in these babies,” I said, lifting my foot and wiggling a stylish shoe. The guys looked at my feet and just shook their heads. They had no concept of fashion.

  We made it eventually, but like, when we got there we couldn’t find Teach. It was Mr. Lumas, the faithful Snow Hill custodian, who found us poking around the halls, looking for him.

  “He’s not here today,” Mr. Lumas said.

  “Where is he?” Peter asked.

  “Don’t know. Mrs. Terupt was out today, too. I’d tell you to check in with Mrs. Williams, but she’s off to some meeting with the district big shots,” Mr. Lumas said. “You picked the wrong day to stop by, kids. No one’s around.”

  “Great,” Peter said. “Just great.”

  “Sorry,” Danielle muttered.

  “It’s not your fault,” Jessica said.

  “Why would they both be out?” Anna asked.

  “Who knows?” Peter said, annoyed. “Now what?”

  No one had an answer, so I just said the first thing that popped into my head. “We can walk to the restaurant.”

  “Are you crazy?” Peter said. “Do you know how far that is?”

  “Yeah, I do,” I said. “It’ll be fun. C’mon.”

  “What about your shoes?” he asked, mocking me.

  “I’m not the one crying,” I said. “Now, c’mon. Vincent will take care of us when we get there.”

  “Who’s Vincent?” Peter asked. He had more questions than a two-year-old.

  “He’s the owner and cook at the restaurant, the guy who made the awesome food for Teach’s wedding.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “What do you mean, take care of us?” Jeffrey asked.

  “Give us some free food and drinks.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?!” Peter cried, suddenly all excited. (Boys love food.) “Let’s go!”

  Even though the walk was more than two miles, it didn’t stop us. When the gang was together, we were capable of anything.

  Once we made it to the restaurant, I had everyone hang back in the waiting area while I went and found Mom. I was surprised to see her taking a break. She was everyone’s favorite waitress, which meant she was always on the go, so to find her sitting down was unusual. She said it was because she had a headache, but even so, she didn’t stay there for long because Vincent got after her.

  “No sitting down on the job,” he teased.

  “You’re right,” Mom said, getting back to her feet. “Just a little tired today for some reason. And I don’t mean tired of you, ’cause that’s an everyday thing.” Headache or not, Mom still outwitted Vincent. It was like me and Peter.

  “So, to what do I owe this lovely surprise?” Mom asked.

  “We tried to go visit Mr. and Mrs. Teach,” I said, “but they weren’t in school today.”

  “Neither of them?”

  “Nope.”

  “Humph.”

  “So like, we ended up here instead,” I said.

  “Well, it’s great to have you,” Mom said. “Take your friends over to the big table, and I’ll get Vincent to put some snacks together for you.”

  “Okay.”

  As I had promised, Vincent took care of us. He put three pitchers of lemonade and two large platters of nachos and fries on our table.

  “Awesome!” the boys cheered.

  “Thanks,” the girls said.

  Vincent winked at me.

  We dug in. Peter sucked down so much lemonade he had to run to the bathroom before finishing his food. While he was away from the table, I decided it was time to get even with him for making fun of my shoes—and my pimple. I took the salt shak
er and loosened the top. Then I carefully placed it back on the table. Everyone looked at me, but no one said a word. After Peter returned, we carried on like normal, even though we were all dying for him to get a taste of his own medicine. When he took a heap of fries, I slid the salt shaker toward him.

  “They’re better with salt,” I said.

  Peter never gave it a second thought. He grabbed the salt, tipped it over his plate, and gave it one hard shake. That was all it took. The top went flying and he was instantly left with a pile of white crystals smothering his fries.

  We lost it. Jeffrey tried to hold it in, but he couldn’t. He spit his mouthful of water all over Peter. The rest of us had tears coming down our faces after that. Even Peter was laughing in the end, but I should’ve known he would be looking to get me back.

  It was great having the whole gang together.

  “I don’t know what it is, Danielle, but men aren’t very smart,” Anna said.

  We were in my bedroom after coming home from Lexie’s restaurant. I was sitting on my bed with my sketchbook while Anna paced in front of me. She was as quiet as a mouse in school, and as wild as a caged lion at home. I loved that about her.

  “Now you’re sounding like Grandma,” I said. That made her crack a smile, but just a quick one.

  “What’s taking Charlie so long?” she asked.

  “Farmers are careful planners, Anna, not impulsive people.”

  “For crying out loud, how long does he need? If you ask me, it’s about time.”

  “Patience, Anna. Patience makes the world go round.”

  “Now you’re sounding like Grandma.”

  “Anna, c’mon, honey,” her mom called from downstairs. It was time for her to go home. Anna stayed over sometimes, but her mother never did. She and Charlie wouldn’t do that until they were married. Grandma might’ve loved Anna and her mother, but she wasn’t going to allow that.

  “Be right down,” Anna called.

  We knelt by my bedside and said our prayers, same as we did every night when we were together. We’d been doing it ever since we declared ourselves half sisters. I said the prayer this time, but sometimes Anna did the talking.

  Dear God,

  We thank you for a great afternoon. It was a lot of fun having everyone together, but now we have a couple things to ask of you. First off, please help the ignorant men of the world—like Charlie—figure out what they’re supposed to do and say. And, if possible, we’d like that sooner rather than later.

  “That was good,” Anna whispered to me. I knew she’d like that.

  And lastly, we’d also like it if you could check in on Mr. and Mrs. Terupt. Both of them being absent today has us nervous. Please don’t let them ever experience anything bad again, like when Mr. Terupt was in his coma almost two years ago. Thank you.

  Amen.

  Anna gave me a hug and then headed home. I’d felt good today, so I thanked God for that, then went to bed.

  I spent the night at Danielle’s, so I got up early and went and found Charlie in the barn, just like I knew I would. He was already busy with the milking. He started every day the same way.

  “Do you like spending your mornings with these cows?” I asked him. He was putting the milking machine on a pair of udders.

  “I do,” he said. (At least now I knew he could say those two words together.) “I like the quiet, and I know these girls are happy to see me.” He was referring to the cows. “We enjoy each other’s company without saying anything at all.”

  “Don’t you like talking to people?” I asked him.

  “Sure,” he said, “but sometimes the quiet is nice, too.”

  “Jeffrey’s like that at school,” I said. “We do a lot of hanging out together, but he never says too much. Sometimes I wish he would, so I knew exactly what he was thinking or feeling.”

  “Maybe he’s just waiting for the right moment,” Charlie said, moving on to the next cow, which happened to be Bessie. She looked at me, and I smiled at her. Charlie sat on his stool.

  “Or maybe he’s too chicken to say anything,” I said. I reached out and touched Bessie’s tickle spot. She swung her tail around, and it slapped Charlie right across his cheek. Bessie was my special cow, but when it came to her tail, she was no different from the rest—that thing was disgusting. She left Charlie looking like he’d just been clobbered upside the head with a cow patty.

  “Gosh darn it!” he hollered. I couldn’t contain my laughter. “She got me good.” He sputtered and spit, rising from his stool. He wiped his face on his shirtsleeve and marched over to the hose.

  “Maybe she was trying to tell you something,” Danielle said. She’d been standing quietly off to the side the whole time I was chatting with Charlie. I’d seen her, but I didn’t let on.

  Charlie waved at her but didn’t say anything. He was more concerned with sticking his face under the hose.

  “C’mon, Anna,” Danielle said. “We don’t want to be late. We’re having that big assembly today.”

  “Bye, Charlie,” I said. “It was nice talking with you. Bye, Bessie.” I winked at her, and I swear she smiled back. I wished I could communicate with boys as easily.

  “I wasn’t talking about Bessie when I said that to Charlie,” Danielle whispered.

  “I know,” I said. “Hopefully Charlie’s smart enough to figure that out.”

  We exchanged the same smiles those twins in The Parent Trap did when they were up to no good.

  All seventh graders were required to meet in the gym following homeroom for a special assembly. I found Anna and Jessica and Lexie and sat with them.

  “Like, what’s this all about?” Lexie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jessica said.

  They looked at Anna and me. “We don’t know, either,” I said.

  Once the teachers had all of us seated in the bleachers, Principal Lee took over. He stood at a podium out in the middle of the gym, raising his hand. I remembered my second-grade teacher using the same tactic to bring us to attention, but it didn’t seem to work as well with seventh graders. A few of us stopped talking, but most did not. To Principal Lee’s credit, he recognized his shortcomings and put his arm down. I watched him reach under the podium. I couldn’t imagine what he was going to try next. I’m glad I was paying attention because I was able to cover my ears in time. Principal Lee lifted an air horn high above his head and blasted it. The noise was deafening as it bounced off the walls. The kids around me started screaming and squealing while covering their ears. He had caused an even bigger ruckus, so he went ahead and gave that thing a second blast. Thankfully, that made everyone wise up, and our group fell quiet.

  “I’d much rather have you go silent when I do this,” he said, raising his arm in demonstration, “but if that won’t work, then I will resort to other measures. This is our first gathering, so I trust you will get it right in the future.”

  “Yeah, get it right next time,” some obnoxious boy on the other side of the bleachers yelled, and got plenty of laughs in response. I looked over and saw it was Peter. Seventh grade didn’t intimidate him in the least. He was already Mr. Popular.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jacobs. Now sit down,” Principal Lee said, all hints of joking gone from his voice.

  More laughter. Principal Lee probably didn’t even know I existed, but he had Peter pegged.

  “This is always one of my favorite events in the fall,” Principal Lee said. “I encourage all of you to listen carefully and to take this opportunity seriously. Your social studies teacher, Mr. Smith, will now explain student government to you, and how you can get involved.”

  There were moans and groans all around me, but the mention of government had me thinking of my family’s ongoing—though quiet—land war with the Native Americans. If I listened to Grandma and Grandpa, it was clear our government was one that couldn’t always be trusted. I wondered if that was the kind of system our seventh-grade student government would be—one built on false promises. I was thankful
that I had a group of friends I knew I could trust.

  “Student government is your opportunity to get involved. To have a voice,” Mr. Smith said.

  For the remainder of the assembly, our seventh-grade teachers took turns explaining the various positions in student government. Before they got done, I started feeling blah and spaced out, so I didn’t hear everything Mr. Smith had to say, but the gist of it was that we would need to elect a president, vice president, treasurer, and secretary. Those deciding to run would have to organize campaigns. There would be a need for speechwriters, artwork and posters, slogans and promises.

  “We will reassemble in December to hear speeches, after which you will be able to cast your votes,” Mr. Smith said. “Since seventh grade is your first year being all together, we like to hold our election later than the older grades so you have the opportunity to get to know your classmates beforehand. The last thing I’ll say is that this should not be a popularity contest.”

  I was glad he was finished with things to say because I was beginning to feel even worse.

  “I’m running for president,” Lexie whispered to us.

  Anna, Jessica, and I looked at each other, none of us surprised. Lexie still loved attention, and she was already popular among seventh graders. Mr. Smith could tell us it wasn’t a popularity contest all he wanted, but we knew that was exactly what it was.

  “Jessica, I’ll need you to be my speechwriter, and, Anna and Danielle, you’ll be in charge of my posters and that sort of thing,” Lexie said. The three of us exchanged glances and rolled our eyes. Lexie was in charge. Everybody look out. Of course, we didn’t object. We hadn’t been given anything like this to work on together since Mr. Terupt’s classroom. It was going to be fun.

  “We need to tell the guys,” Jessica said. “Maybe they’ll help.”

  “Like, one day we’ll talk about how this moment was the beginning of me becoming president of the United States.”