First, Sister Mary Joseph, the school principal, speaks. We never had much to do with Sister Joseph, hardly know her, really. She just started at Fatima this year, spends most of her time in her office. Sister Marion seems to be the one who has everything to do with us girls.
Sister Joseph says all the usual stuff. Then Father O’Connor, the parish priest, gets up and says his piece. After him, it’s Mrs. Hanrahan, president of the Parents Auxiliary, who got this whole tea organized today. Each speaker gives us graduates every best wish and I’m starting to feel that I’m going to die with boredom. That’s if I don’t collapse from heatstroke first.
Then Sister Marion is back at the microphone. “And now we have come to the highlight of our afternoon,” she says, looking around. “Each year at Fatima Academy, one girl is chosen from the graduating class who best epitomizes the Fatima values of good character, high academic standing, and sound Christian principle. Our valedictorian for the graduating class of 1971 is Miss Debbie Thomas. Miss Thomas, would you come forward, please?”
There’s polite applause as Debbie stands and heads for the stage, all calm and dignified. I clap loudly too. I’m proud of her, I really am. And she does a great job. Thanks the Mercy Sisters, the lay teachers, our parents. Talks about the fun times we’ve had at Fatima, about faith and a good education. Doesn’t look the least bit nervous to me. Gee, I hope I’m as good when it’s my turn.
Too soon Debbie is done and Sister Marion is back on stage, smiling and nodding at me, which can only mean one thing. I’m next. My stomach flips. Why did I even agree to do this?
“This year we’ve added a special feature to our Mother and Daughter Tea,” she begins, “in recognition of the fact that our music teacher, Miss Margaret Godwin, will be retiring effective this month. Miss Godwin has given thirty years of her life to educating young girls, the last ten here at Fatima Academy. This afternoon, Miss Maureen O’Neill will give a tribute to Miss Godwin, to thank her for her years of service. Miss O’Neill, could you come forward, please?”
Okay, here we go! Head high and shoulders straight, just like I’m at the ballet recital, I walk up the steps to the stage, concentrating with all my might on beating back my ping-ponging nerves.
“Thank you, Sister Marion,” I say, as my voice booms through the hall. Whoa, is that ever loud! I press my papers flat onto the podium, pull back an inch or two from the microphone, and try again. “It is an honour for me to give this tribute today for Miss Godwin.” Hey, that’s better.
Once I start, you know, it’s really not so bad. I speak about how Miss Godwin was born in England and came to Newfoundland during the war. About her passion for music and her desire to share her knowledge with girls like us. About her volunteer work with the parish and the respect that everyone feels for her. Respect? Yikes! Now I feel squirmy.
Then I stop. I want to say something else. I look up from the pages of my speech, and when the next words come out, my voice is quiet and low.
“Miss Godwin, I know sometimes we haven’t shown you the respect you deserve and that I haven’t always been a perfect student. But because of you, I believe I’ve become a better person this year.”
Instantly there’s a huge hush. You can actually hear people suck in their breath. Backs straighten, heads whip around, every eye in the room locks on me.
But it’s too late to turn back now.
“People say you learn from your mistakes, and I think that’s true. Well, it is for me, anyhow.” I cough nervously. What am I doing?
“So, thank you, Miss Godwin and Sister Marion, for all your advice this year.” At this point, Sister Marion is eyeing me carefully while Miss Godwin has just pulled a large white tissue from her pocket, dabbing it at one eye. “I’ll always remember the things you told me.”
Now I smile at Mom, right out so everyone can see, and her face is shining with love for me. It gives me courage to go on.
“And I know this tribute today is supposed to be for Miss Godwin, but Miss, I hope you don’t mind if I say a little thank you too. I just want to thank my mom, Cecelia O’Neill, for coming out to this tea today.”
For one long moment, the hall is quiet. Then a single person in the back of the room begins to clap. A few seconds later, more people join in. Then chairs scrape back from tables as everyone rises to their feet, and still the clapping continues. I’m standing there on the stage, watching it all. There’s Sister Marion and Miss Godwin. Aunt Kay, Aunt Grace, Beth-Ann, and Mom. Debbie and Mary Ann, Heather and Bernadette. And Patsy and Evelyn too, can you believe it? All through the hall, people clap and cheer for bravery and mistakes and becoming the best you can be.
* * * * *
Later, as we all pile into Dad’s big car, laughing and talking over each other, Beth-Ann comes running up from behind, a long-stemmed pink rose in her hand.
“Here, Reenie,” she says. “This is for you.”
“For me?” I look at her strangely, then take the rose and open the tiny attached note. Congratulations, it says, from John.
Sweet God. I feel heat creeping up my neck, spreading into my cheeks. “Bethie, where did you get this? Who gave it to you?”
By now the adults have stopped talking and are turned around, listening. Oh, for heaven’s sake! Of course, Beth-Ann’s only too delighted to be giving news.
“He’s over there,” she says, pointing a chubby finger behind me.
I turn. And there leaning against a wooden fence is John, a half-smile on his face. Then he waves at me. Hey, what’s he doing here?
“Is that him?” I hear Mom ask.
“That’s him!” Dad replies, with a big grin.
This is so embarrassing! And my brain is bobbing crazily inside my head, so it’s really hard to think clearly. Shyly, I wave back. Then I have an idea.
“Mom, Dad,” I say, leaning into the car. “I think I’m going to walk home. Is that okay?”
“Go right ahead,” says Dad, as he starts up the engine with a roar. Meanwhile, Mom, Aunt Kay, and Aunt Grace are smiling and nodding at each other, exchanging knowing looks. Well, let them.
I walk away from the car toward John, the long pink rose and card still in my hand.
“Hey,” I say to him. “Thanks for the rose and the card.”
“Hey yourself,” says John. “Congratulations. I heard all the clapping in there. Was that for your speech?”
“Yeah, but I think I strayed off topic a bit. I guess it turned out okay in the end, though. You want to walk home?”
He grins at me. “Sure. Why not?”
So we turn and head over the hill, out onto Elizabeth Avenue, leaving Fatima Academy behind us as we go. He’s telling me about his exams and the long weeks of study and his plans to visit Ontario for the summer. I walk next to him on the sidewalk as the cars leaving school zip past us and Debbie waves from the front seat of her mother’s Austin Mini.
The bees are buzzing and the birds are chirping and the breeze is soft against my face. And even though I’m still dying of heat in this heavy old uniform, I don’t even care anymore. My years at Fatima are finished and so are these last few months, which have been so tough. I don’t know if Mom will be okay, but I have hope and that’s enough. I’m moving forward now, toward people and places and ideas I don’t even know about yet, but honestly I’m not nervous at all. Because you know what? I think it might just be a bit of fun.
About the Author
Susan Chalker Browne is a writer living in St. John’s, Newfoundland. The Secret Life of a Funny Girl is her tenth book for children and her first young adult novel. Her other works include Goodness Gracious, Gulliver Mulligan; The Land of a Thousand Whales; and Freddy’s Day at the Races. Susan has won writing awards from the Newfoundland and Labrador Arts and Letters Awards, the Cuffer Prize, and the Writers’ Federation of Nova Scotia Writing Competition. She is
married to Dennis Browne and they have four grown children.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Authors Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
About the Author
the secret life of a funny girl
The Secret Life of a Funny Girl Page 15