Elle couldn’t believe her eyes. She had actually discovered a real, honest-to-goodness, fossilized dinosaur egg! Some ancient giant lizard-king from distant millennia had obviously nested here, carefully caring for the beautiful egg in her clutch. Then something terrible must have happened; thousands of years had passed, the mother was long dead, her egg never to hatch. It sat forlorn, abandoned among the scraggly shrubs and rocky debris, perched dangerously near a stream.
Elle glanced around the dense forest, cautiously listening for any noise to penetrate the hallowed silence. Assured that she was completely alone, she timidly knelt by the mottled moss-green orb, carefully held it up, and reverentially placed it in a soft bed of ferns a short distance from the bubbling water. The warmth and silence of the forest squeezed in on her, and as she gazed on the rare and delicate egg, she felt a small tendril of happiness—a rare emotion for her these days—slowly unfurl in her chest.
To her amazement, the egg began to crack; miniature lines snaked over the delicate shell forming a spider-web of fissures. This was some sort of miracle that she was witnessing-an actual miracle. How had it survived alive all these years? There was a pregnant pause as Elle held her breath, wild with anticipation, when suddenly, the top cracked, and out popped a small pink, bald head.
It was wearing a bow tie.
Then she noticed that the tiny creature had a bushy mustache and was sporting a bad comb-over and ridiculously over-sized glasses and…..come to think of it….. looked suspiciously like her math teacher, Mr. Johnson. It morosely peered up at her through watery eyes. “You have one minute left to finish the quiz,” it squeaked.
Elle woke with a start.
She blinked and groggily looked around. The lush, dense forest green walls had been replaced by the drab avocado-green tiled walls of Mr. Johnson’s math classroom. She looked down. Judging by the pool of drool that had formed on her desk next to her very empty test sheet, Elle realized that she must have dozed off during the pop-quiz in Mr. Johnson’s math class.
The feeling of wild excitement and gloriously glowing expectations cracked, not unlike an oversized imaginary egg, and was replaced by a slowly sinking feeling of raw dread as she rubbed her eyes and glanced around the silent classroom at the other students diligently marking answers on their papers.
It had been such a pleasant dream, one of many that she had in Mr. Johnson’s math class, but now it was dawning on Elle that not only had she NOT discovered a new species of dinosaur, she HAD just slept through an entire pop-quiz!
Mr. Johnson called for pencils down and began collecting papers from each row near the front of the room. Just great, Elle thought, Ok! Time to scribble answers and pray!
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Mr. Johnson’s Pop Quiz
What is a+b-c/y?
What is Albert Einstein’s theory of relativity? Discuss in 20 words or less.
Why is pi?
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As Elle frantically scribbled everything she could remember about Albert Einstein (which unfortunately consisted mostly about reflections on his choice of hair style), Mr. Johnson suddenly loomed over her desk and blinked myopically through his large glasses.
“Well, Miss Waters, let’s hope that we did better on today’s quiz than on last weeks’ quiz…” He had an annoying habit of always using the word “we” in place of every other pronoun.
“We hope so, too,” Elle said. We wouldn’t bet on it, though, she thought glumly.
Mr. Johnson’s mustache twitched. She could tell he was annoyed.
“We would hate to have to repeat the test.” Mr. Johnson glanced at her test sheet and winced at her scrawled answers. “Hmm…Looks like we need to work on our focusing …again. Well, there’s always next week,” he sighed and shuffled his Dr. Scholl’s over to the next row.
Cheeks burning with embarrassment, Elle stalked out of class. It was so unfair! If only Mr. Johnson had asked her something else on the quiz—anything else. But nooooo, the test had to be about math. Why did he always focus on math? Sure, Mr. Johnson was a math teacher, but that was no excuse. Couldn’t they ever talk about anything else?
Elle straightened up. Maybe there was hope. Her second answer on the quiz was slightly plausible…well, at least slightly legible…maybe…
Sighing deeply, Elle ambled down the packed hallway following the throngs of middle-schoolers, not remembering which way her locker was, and also not caring. Who was she kidding? She had definitely failed the quiz. Again. It wasn’t just that she didn’t know the answers (she didn’t), or that she hadn’t spent time studying (she hadn’t). She just needed to work on focusing. Focusing was a problem for Elle.
Elle had just started eight grade at Clark Middle School which meant navigating her way through winding hallways to each class, while simultaneously trying to avoid getting run over, shoved into lockers, randomly insulted, tripped, tagged with “Kick Me” signs, wedgied or pummeled by flying projectiles.
It was not a good start to the school year. Not only had Elle had been assigned to Mr. Johnson’s math class, but his afternoon homeroom as well, which was so boring that it was rumored that one student last year had to go to the emergency room after he lost consciousness during one of Mr. Johnsons lectures, fell out of his seat, and hit his head on the side of his desk, splitting his lip open. Of course, it wasn’t entirely Mr. Johnson’s fault that he was so boring. According to Highly Reliable Middle School Gossip, Mr. Johnson once had a personality, but he was in a terrible accident when he was younger and had to have it surgically removed.
Elle opened her locker to drop her math book inside. Unfortunately, she timed it at the same moment when Kat opened her locked right next door.
“Did you have a nice nap?” Kat asked, snidely.
As part of her first week introduction to Clark Middle School, Elle had been assigned to follow the Eighth Grade Student Council Representative, Kat Turner, to all her classes. Kat was painfully tall, fashionably thin, and incredibly snobbish. She had large dark eyes, an upturned nose, and a perpetual scowl, all the traits that gave you the impression that she was looking down her nose at the world. And she was. Other than technically being of the same species, there was no connection between Elle and Kat, a fact that became painfully obvious after the first few milliseconds of their initial meeting. After an hour, Elle was ready to quit school. After three weeks, Elle wanted to quit life. She was sure that she would either kill Kat, or herself, or both. In addition to being the Self-Appointed Student Council Representative, Kat made it her duty to be Elle’s tormentor.
“I think someone should tell the New Kid that we don’t have nap-time in middle school,” Kat said to the some girls nearby, who laughed.
After much introspection over the last three weeks, Elle concluded that math wasn’t the most irritating part of Middle School. The worst part wasn’t even being “The New Kid.” Considering how often she had moved over the years, Elle was used to being The New Kid, and all that entailed: having your name mispronounced, being overlooked when teams were picked, and of course, being silently judged on your clothing choices. In fact, the title of New Kid was not just bearable, but a blessing in disguise because it came with one essential perk--Total Anonymity: No one called on you, no one blamed you, no one asked you uncomfortable questions about your family, no one noticed you. You were a ghost in the realm of the living.
The problem at Clark Middle School, was that even though she was the New Kid, everyone seemed to notice her; the teachers called on her, the bullies bullied her, even Ron the bus driver yelled at her for chewing gum on the bus.
Elle felt conspicuous as The New Kid-- not that anyone actually took the initiative to learn her name or try to befriend her. Every day for the last three weeks she had lunch by herself at the table reserved for kids with communicable diseases. The longest conversation she had (that wasn’t in her own head) was with the Scary Janitor, and that was when he told her to get out of the bathroom so that he could clean it. For the last few days she had started sneaking her lunches outside with a book, so at least she could read and wouldn’t be completely bored while she ate.
But what was it—what made her so noticeable and yet so alone? It was a question that she had thought about a lot. It’s not as though she had some sort of horrible disfigurement that scared the other children away. Elle had wracked her brain…horrible body odor? Nope. Buck teeth? Nope. Strange family? Well, ok, yes, but no one else knew that. No fashion sense? Quite possibly, she conceded.
No hump-back—not even acid scars on her face…she was completely normal looking. She had long, wavy brownish blonde hair swept up into a very sensible ponytail. She had grey-blue eyes that changed color depending on her mood (greenish when she was excited and grey when she was upset. And pink once when she got conjunctivitis.) She had a nondescript face, with three small freckles, all in a line, pointing down her cheek towards the corner of her mouth. Except for the big black rubber-soled boots that she always wore, she was as ordinary looking as the next kid (which isn’t saying much considering that she usually sat at the communicable disease table).
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After the very first day, really, the first hour at Clark Middle School, Elle realized that she wasn’t like Kat and the other kids. She was different. Not acid-scar different, but different in a less disfiguring, but more profound way. She didn’t feel compelled to join the student council or the homecoming committee. She would rather read than go out for cheerleading or basketball. She didn’t care about boys or bands, and especially not boy-bands, or hair-styles or make-up or fashion.
“Hey-hello? Did you fall asleep again?” Kat said, tapping Elle hard on the shoulder. “I said- did you enjoyed your nap-time in math?” Elle’s attention snapped back to the present.
“Oh, yes, thank you for asking.” Elle said with polite sarcasm.
“Were you dreaming about getting a life some day?” Kat asked with mock earnestness, oblivious to the sarcasm.
“Actually, I have a rare form of Narcolepsy. The doctors say it’s from excessive boredom. There’s no cure-- at least not in Clark,” Elle said with a dead-pan expression.
“Eww! Gross! The New Kid’s a pervert!” Kat said loudly so that all the kids in the hallway could hear. Most turned to stare.
“What? No—I meant….” Elle started, turning red as a group of three other students formed around Kat. But it was too late; Kat and her groupies had zeroed in. She was a lone, injured caribou, and the wolf pack could smell it.
“That’s probably why her mom left,” Kat said in a loud whisper to the girl next to her. “She was too ashamed of her kid.”
Someone gasped, and the hallway was suddenly silent—the temperature seemed to drop. Kat stared at Elle with a look of defiance, while the others behind her twittered, and looked on expectantly.
Elle tried to keep her face as calm as possible, but she felt a flutter in her stomach, and she could feel her face getting hot.
Thankfully the bell rang at that moment, and the group around Kat began to dissolve, clearly bored that there wouldn’t be a fight. Luckily, Kat’s attention was diverted by a few straggling scared looking sixth-graders.
How did she know about my mom? Elle thought to herself, as she moved her books in her locker. Actually, it was no surprise; Kat made it her business to know everything about everyone.
Elle shook her head and attempted to erase Kat’s sneering face from her mind. It didn’t matter. According to Dr. Dismel, the school psychologist, it was important to focus on the positive. In their infinite wisdom, the Clark school system assigned Elle to visit with the psychologist once per week. Dr. Dismel's advice: Think Positive!:
1. Sure, she was currently Kat’s favorite bullying target, but luckily Kat also had a short attention span, and only had the stamina to bully her a few times a day.
1. Elle may flunk math, but at least she would be caught up on her rest! And who knows, maybe she could meet a friend with similar sleep-related interests—they would have so much to talk about… if only she could manage to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time.
She slammed her locker shut, then stopped dead; terror trickled its icy fingers down her spine as she remembered her next class. Math had been a disaster, but the worst part of the day was yet to come. It was time for….GYM!!!
After racking her brain for any kind of plausible excuse to avoid the class, Elle finally admitted defeat and resignedly trudged down the dark corridor, following the scent of old gym mats, unwashed socks and athlete’s foot that marked the way to the “Pit,” the euphemistic nick-name given to the old gym in the basement.
_____
Elle’s Excuses to get out of Gym
Note from her doctor explaining that she's deathly allergic to gym mats.
Note from her psychiatrist saying she has an unhealthy attraction to balls.
Note from home saying that they belong to a religious cult that doesn’t believe in physical exercise.
Use a red marker to cover herself in red spots and start a rumor about having contracted “the pox” after refusing to be vaccinated.
____
After the first few minutes of free play, in which Elle had the tiniest inkling of hope that today’s class might be cancelled after someone had anonymously called the CDC tip-line to report unsanitary locker-room conditions, Mr. Schmuck, the gym instructor, made them all gather around on the gym mats for a truly horrible announcement (actually, he yelled it, because he yelled everything and punctuated most of his yelling with a sharp tweet on his whistle).
Mr. Schmuck was a monster of a man, over 6 feet tall with a buzz cut, two hedgehogs that lived on his face where his eyebrows should have been and a neck that was inexplicably larger than his head. Interestingly, for someone with so much body mass (all muscle, of course), he tended to wear very skimpy clothing. He was currently wearing something that more closely resembled a pair of red bikini briefs rather than a pair of gym shorts and a miniscule tank top that didn’t entirely hide his bulging pectorals. And of course, he had his trusty whistle perched in his mouth, ready to blow at a moment’s notice.
Today, however, he was forced to stopped blowing on his whistle long enough to inform the class (and by “inform,” I mean “yell”) that they were in for a special treat today (and by “treat” I mean “the worst punishment imaginable”).
“OK you buncha whiners! Time to grow some back-bones and toughen up! It’s time for… THE ROPE,” he barked.
Elle groaned internally. She hated The Rope. The activity involves a rope, which happens to be suspended from the ceiling. The purpose is to climb up it, touch the ceiling, and climb back down in a reasonable amount of time without losing your pants or making a total fool of yourself. Elle tended to do both.
“You there!” Mr. Schmuck barked, suddenly pointing at Elle, “Get off yur good-for-nothing mat and get up here ‘n show us how it’s done!” He blasted his whistle for emphasis. If there was one thing that was more annoying than being “The New Kid” it was being “You There.”
Trying to ignore the stares from the rest of the class, Elle approached the rope, already aware that she was blushing so much that even her knees felt hot. She put her hands of the rope, trying to decide if she could make a run for it, surreptitiously eying the distance to the nearest exit. Nope-too far away--she would probably get tackled by an over-excited gym teacher before she made it half-way across the gym.
Mr. Shuck tweeted the whistle in her ear a few times, and she awkwardly climbed halfway up the rope and then, inevitably as always, got tired and dangled limply while the rest of the class pointed and laughed.
From down below, Mr. Shuck blew his whistle until he turned red in the face, redder, that is, because he was always red in the face (quite possibly because his gym shorts were on too tight, effectively cutting off the circulation to his brain). Oddly enough, this “encouragement” didn’t help any, and in fact just made the situation twice as embarrassing.
“I bet she fell asleep!” Kat yelled up at her. As if on cue, Kat’s entourage began twittering with laughter; Kat, however, was clearly beside herself with glee. Kat always laughed the loudest in these situations. As Self-Appointed Best Athlete* in the class, Kat took it upon herself to point out everyone else’s weaknesses, the gift of a true bully.
*Kat was the self-appointed best at everything. Not only could she stay awake in Mr. Johnson’s math class (something only the bravest would attempt), she could do pop-quizzes like Einstein and climb ropes like a monkey (whereas Elle seemed to be doing pop-quizzes like a monkey and climbing ropes like Einstein...no offense to Einstein....who knows, maybe he was a genius rope-climber, too).
Later in gym, after Elle had made her “graceful” descent from the rope (involving rope burns in quite a few unmentionable places), Mr. Shmuck announced (yelled) that the class could finish the period with a game, and as Kat had won the Rope competition, she could pick the game.
Kat had many talents, but her forte was gym, and her favorite gym game was dodge ball: she would play it to the DEATH. According to Highly Reliable Middle School Gossip, she had even given her ball a name: “The...(pause for effect) Crushinator.”
And so the class started a friendly game of dodge ball that rapidly deteriorated into an all-out struggle of life and death. Five minutes into the game, Kat accidentally (deliberately) smacked Elle right dead-center in the face with her ball.
“Hey! Try not to wreck my ball with your face!” Kat snorted as her sycophants dutifully giggled. Elle staggered backwards, slightly dazed. “Gnnh!” Elle said (interpretation: “Help, I’m suffering a Traumatic Brain Injury”). By some stroke of luck, Mr. Shuck was too busy extracting a wedgie to notice the attack and Elle wasn’t about to point it out to him. She valued her face too much for that.
“Although, maybe a ball to your face would help your look,” Kat said, bouncing “The (Pause For Effect) Crushinator.” “Your nose is too big, anyway—you’ll thank me later for fixing it. Now hold still.” She aimed, screwing up her face.
Thankfully, the bell rang just as Kat was considering the best angle to remove Elle’s nose, thus wrapping up the torture for the day. Elle was sure there was still an imprint of the ball on her face.
She did her best to realign her nose as she trudged down the avocado-green hallway. Elle stopped at the end of the hall to glance up at a giant poster.
It was advertising the upcoming Homecoming Week, filled with fun school-spirit activities, and culminating with the football game on Friday and the Dance on Saturday. Elle wondered what it would take for her, short of a lobotomy, to get school spirit.
Sports! What was it with sports? And why was everyone so obsessed? It’s not like climbing a rope was an important life skill that she needed to master. How was dodge ball going to help her get into college? And why did sports they play need to be so physically violent? Why couldn’t they play a normal sport in gym? Like ping-pong, or yoga, or sitting very still and not touching each other?* *All greatly underappreciated sports.
The next few periods passed in a blur, which was only partially due to her concussion. There was her free period, a blissful lunch all alone at the end of the Contagious Table, followed by homeroom with Mr. Johnson, history with Mr. Dr. Wu, English with Ms. Dunkirk, and finally, science with Ms. Schmidt.
Science was by far Elle’s favorite classes. They go to do real experiments and were not required to hit anyone with balls.
Late in the spring last year, the old school science teacher Mr. Winder, announced his retirement—that is to say Mr. Burke, the Principle announced it for him. There was some Highly Reliable Middle School Gossip circulating that Mr. Winder had been politely asked to take retirement by the school board after had been caught for counting cards at the local casino. There was also some Not-So-Highly-Reliable Gossip that he was planning on eloping to Barbados with his new mail-order bride. Whatever the reason, Clark Middle School had an opening in the science teacher department this year, and Ms. Schmidt filled it immediately.
With only partially concealed hero-worship, Elle watched Ms. Schmidt saunter into class. She was in her late 30’s or early 40’s, with dark olive skin, long black hair, bright eyes framed by thick glasses, and a no-nonsense attitude. There was something compelling about Ms. Schmidt. Outwardly, she was a normal eighth grade science teacher, respectably dressed, and apparently, for some mysterious reason, interested in students and the noble art of teaching.
Behind the horn-rimmed spectacles and sensible bun, a burning intensity smoldered which gave the impression that, given the chance (and possibly with exposure to too much oxygen), she would burst into flames. And like a moth to the flame, Elle was drawn to her immediately. Everything about her--from the way she confidently held her head, to the way she handled every obnoxious and immature middle-schooler question with cool, calm logic--was fascinating to Elle, who couldn’t even control blushing when asked a question. She made chalk covered clothes and thick corrective glasses seem like the height of fashion.
“Before we begin, there are a few announcements. Ms. Tanner?” She said, turning to the secretary. Ms Tanner stood at the door, and said, “I’mhappytoreportthatwehaveanewstudent —thisisJuanRamirez. He’sfromWisconsin. Let’swelcomehimtoClark,shallwe?” Ms. Tanner breathed, giving a polite golf clap. The kids in the room looked at each other in confusion, trying to understand what she had just said. Ms. Schmit cleared her throat and announced, “This is Juan. He’s new — clap.” She said, and clapped and looked pointedly around the room, as if to say, “Clap now, or regret your life later.”
There was a smattering of applause. Everyone craned their necks to stare as though he were some sort of new exhibit at the circus. He looked, if possible, even more uncomfortably awkward than Elle, which was hard to do, considering she had a Kleenex stuffed up her nose to stop her brain fluid from leaking out.
Despite the concussion, Elle suddenly felt great! She was off the hook. She wasn’t The New Kid anymore! Finally, she could become anonymous and let the New New Kid take over the bullying for a while.
As The new kid shuffled to the back of the room to his seat, Ms. Schmidt went on smoothly, “And finally, a word from the Student Council Representative.” She sat down abruptly, folded her hands on the desk in front of her, and watched with an impassive expression as Kat stood up and walked to the front of the room, beaming with self-importance. Elle suspected that Ms. Schmidt was barely concealing her irritation with having her class interrupted.
“As your Self-Appointed Student Council Representative,” Kat intoned annoyingly, “I would just like to remind you that next week will be Clark Middle School Homecoming,” She started handing out flyers. Elle looked at the flyer on her desk like it was poisonous.
“Homecoming means Spirit Week, with silly outfit days, the football game, and fund raisers, which we as eighth graders will be in charge of. And of course, we will help count votes for the King and Queen election for the Homecoming dance. We will also have a post-dance party which our parents will be chaperoning…..”
Elle felt her mind drift away. What did she care about Clark Homecoming? Clark would never be her home. She didn’t have a home.