Lessons I Never Learned at Meadowbrook Academy Read online

  “Well, Miss Romano, you’re exactly who I’m looking for.”

  I quickly turned to see Twiggy Finger standing behind me.

  “Why aren’t you in class?”

  “Oh, I was just going into class—”

  “Class started fourteen minutes ago. You’re just going into class now?”

  “No. I mean, yes…well, no, not exactly.” I could feel beads of sweating forming on my forehead. “What I mean is…” I looked to the ground and forced my eyelids to stay open so that I could start crying. When I felt a tear ready to inch its way out, I looked back up at Twiggy. “My grandfather just passed away. An hour ago.” I threw in a couple sniffles to heighten the realism.

  “Really,” Twiggy said. “And would this be your mother’s father or your father’s father?”

  “It was Nonno, my mother’s father.” I gave Twiggy a slight smile, letting her know that I’d be okay, as I dramatically wiped the tear from my cheek.

  “Nonno, you say?”

  “Yeah, dear, sweet Nonno. My mom called my cell phone and Ms…” I started to panic because I didn’t even know the English teacher’s name. “Ms…”

  “Ms. Shwartz?”

  “Yes, Ms. Shwartz let me take the call in the bathroom, but I’m okay now and it’s all okay and I’m ready to go back to class.” I put my hand on the doorknob to Room 202.

  Twiggy reached out and placed her hand, which was ice cold, on top of mine. “Just one second, Miss Romano.” She guided me away from the door. “What I find incredibly interesting is that the use of cell phones during the school day is absolutely and unequivocally prohibited, and I am most certain Ms. Shwartz is well aware of this rule.”

  “Oh, of course. Of course she is.” I was trying to think fast on my feet. “Ms. Shwartz just made an exception because of…the death and all.” God, my lies were now expanding to incriminate Ms. Shwartz, whom I didn’t even know. Before knowing Christine, I never used to lie, but now I could have won the lying Olympics. And why did I say cell phone in the first place? The closest thing I had to a cell phone was an expired calling card I found on the ground outside an IHOP.

  “Interesting,” Twiggy said as she rubbed her chin. “Well, Ms. Shwartz is a very compassionate type of person.”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “But, really, what I find even more intriguing is that I just got off the phone with your mother and she never even mentioned the loss of Nonno.”

  What! Why the hell was my mother calling Twiggy Finger? I tried to play it calm, hoping Twiggy couldn’t see my pulse pounding in my neck.

  “And when I called Ms. Shwartz over the intercom to have you come to my office, she said you never showed up to class. Therefore, what you are presenting me with is a contradictory story to that of Ms. Shwartz’s, and I’d have to say I don’t believe yours. Come with me please.”

  Twiggy abruptly turned and headed down the hall. I was royally screwed and had no choice but to follow. Why did my mother call? Following behind Twiggy’s mothball aroma, I started to worry. I seriously hoped my lie about Nonno didn’t cause some kind of bizarre cosmic chain reaction that really had caused the untimely death of a family member. I don’t think there were enough Hail Marys to get me out of this one.

  The Bowels of Hell

  9:49 a.m.

  Twiggy’s office was located toward the back of the school, behind the gym, across from the nurse’s office. There was a small sign on her door that read, “Dean of Students.” She pulled a chain full of keys from her blazer pocket, and they clanked together as she grabbed one from the middle of the bunch to unlock the door. Freezing cold air hit me in the face as the door shut behind me with a thud.

  Twiggy placed her keys down on a dark brown leather blotter, which was on top of her modest silver metal desk. She pointed to two straight-back silver metal chairs. “Take a seat,” she said sternly.

  I sat down and felt the coolness of the metal press against my ankle. I placed my sheets of paper and pen across my lap. The bulk of my makeshift maxi-pad was uncomfortably riding up my butt, and I discreetly tried to wiggle around, hoping the wedgie would fall out, but it didn’t.

  The vent in the ceiling was pumping out a relentless stream of freezing air. I swear I could see tiny icicles forming on the grate. I inched my hands under my butt to keep them warm. My nipples grew hard, and my teeth started to chatter a little.

  Twiggy moved over to a tan metal filing cabinet. She took out another small silver key from her other jacket pocket and opened a tiny square metal box that was sitting on top of the filing cabinet. From this box she lifted out another key, which she then used to open the filing cabinet. She pulled out the cabinet drawer and began meticulously thumbing through files.

  I could barely stand the cold. Twiggy, however, seemed totally unaffected by the inhuman arctic temperature. Maybe Twiggy was like a zombie and she didn’t have any blood in her body and that’s why she didn’t mind the cold. Or maybe she was a vampire. Yeah, a vampire…

  I glanced over at Twiggy as she moved her glasses forward on her nose. Her tightly wound bun stretched her face back so far that I swear I could see her skull. I began to rock back and forth, trying to stay warm. Twiggy finally grabbed a blank manila file and a paper that looked like some kind of form sheet. She sat down behind her desk and uncapped a black felt-tip pen.

  I was fascinated by her desk. It was immaculate, with not even a speck of dust on the thing. There was a small, almost obligatory, green plastic plant sitting on the corner. It looked so sad to me, like it was lonely. I caught a glimpse of something brown and furry hidden between the leaves of the plant. Twiggy began writing my name on the outside tab of the file. I inched forward a little to get a better look at the mysterious brown furry object. What I saw was a small stuffed bear holding a purple sign that read: “I can’t bear to live without you!”

  I quickly leaned back in my chair, not wanting Twiggy to catch me looking at her secret personal object. I tried to imagine what kind of person couldn’t bear to live without Twiggy. I mean, my God, she was practically dead. I bet she lived with some uptight old guy who drank scotch, read The Wall Street Journal, and didn’t give candy to kids on Halloween.

  Twiggy cleared her throat and folded her hands. In a dry, stern voice she said, “Miss Romano, I want to make it perfectly clear that I absolutely abhor liars. It goes against the very nature and heart of what this educational institution stands for, and I will simply not tolerate it. I shall give you one opportunity to explain to me why you were fourteen minutes late for English class.”

  For a second, I actually thought about telling her the truth, but taking in her judgmental stare, I could just feel she had already made a decision about what kind of “kid” I was. This made me angry, so I opted to fuel the fire instead.

  “I didn’t feel like going,” I said as snottily as I could.

  My attitude made Twiggy wince, ever so slightly. “You didn’t feel like going?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  “Miss Romano, if your behavior does not change, you will be in jeopardy of losing your spot here at Meadowbrook Academy. There is a waiting list of students who want to be here, and we will not waste space on someone who is ill-equipped to carry on the Meadowbrook name. Do I make myself clear?”

  I didn’t respond. I’ve learned that silence sometimes can be much more infuriating than words.

  Twiggy shook her head and picked up the form sheet. “Now then, this is a standard disciplinary incident report. I will fill out the date, time, and detailed description of the incident that I feel needs disciplining. If you receive three of these reports, Headmaster Murphy has the implicit right to expel you from Meadowbrook. Your parents will also receive a copy of this report. You will attend detention today for cutting class. Detention takes place in the study hall room, which is located around the corner from the dining hall, at exactly 3:15 p.m. Do you have any questions?”

  I really couldn’t care less what thi
s woman was saying. I was close to experiencing hypothermia, my butt crack was being uncomfortably wedged open by toilet paper, and maybe this was my perfect opportunity to get kicked out of Meadowbrook so that I could go back to West Orange.

  “Miss Romano, do you have any questions?”

  “No.”

  It was obvious that my non-kiss-ass response took Twiggy a bit off guard. She was probably used to kids breaking down and crying, begging her to please…please not tell their parents. I could see right through Twiggy; she was a mean, shriveled up, lonely lady who got her jollies by throwing pathetic power trips over defenseless kids. Give me a break. I had grown up with an overbearing, obsessive, controlling Italian mother; Twiggy was no match for me. Which reminded me…why had my mother called in the first place?

  Twiggy began meticulously filling out the incident report.

  “Oh, yeah, and when you’re finished filling out that thing, could you please tell me why my mother called?” I didn’t want Twiggy to know that I was even the slightest bit worried.

  Twiggy stopped writing and pulled off her glasses. “I do not appreciate your attitude, Miss Romano.”

  I scratched my neck. “Whatever.”

  Twiggy pursed her lips and put her glasses back on. She opened her top desk drawer and pulled out a fluorescent yellow piece of paper. She scribbled a few things on the paper and handed it to me. “This is a special needs pass for the Meadowbrook bus. Your mother called because your family’s car has broken down, and they are unable to pick you up today. I have informed your mother that you will be attending detention this afternoon and traveling on the first late bus home, which leaves promptly at 5 p.m. There is also a second late bus, which leaves promptly at 6:15 p.m., but you will have more than ample time to be on that first bus home. This pass is used when a student with financial hardship, who is unable to afford the bus on a regular schedule, is in need of transportation. It will expire the day after tomorrow in the event that you need further assistance.” Twiggy closed my file and crossed back over to the filing cabinet.

  I stared at the fluorescent yellow pass, which read: “SPECIAL NEEDS TRANSPORTATION.” Financial hardship…unable to afford…needs assistance. That pass was a branding that I didn’t belong here. I would be picked on, teased, and made fun of. I knew something like this was going to happen. I just knew it. I crinkled the paper hard in my hand. I wanted to run screaming out of her office. I could feel my eyes filling with tears.

  Twiggy sat back down and recapped her pen. “All right, Miss Rom—” She looked at me.

  Tears, real tears, not like the ones earlier, were streaming down my face. I just couldn’t help it.

  Twiggy sat there for a few moments, hands folded, just looking at me. I could feel her taking in every pathetic inch of me. Then she walked over to the silver straight-back chair next to me and said something surprising. “May I sit down?”

  I shrugged and she sat. I wiped my tears away, angry at myself for being weak. The bell rang, ending second period.

  She took the yellow fluorescent death sentence out of my grip. As she touched my hand, it surprised me that her skin felt warm this time.

  “May I tell you a funny story, Miss Romano?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “When I was your age, my mother made me wear a string of fake plastic pearls to school each and every day. She thought they made me look elegant.” Twiggy sat with her memory for a moment. “It’s not what’s on the outside that counts. It never is. Be lucky enough to understand that now.”

  I had managed to stop crying and I looked at her. A soft pink flushed her cheeks, and instead of her pale blues eyes looking cold and empty, they now seemed tender and…full. She didn’t look severe or horrible or even mean anymore.

  I wanted to tell her that I was scared and how much I deep down hated myself for being embarrassed about my family. I wanted to tell her that I felt different, and ugly, and that she was right…I didn’t belong at Meadowbrook.

  “Okay,” I said. And that’s all that came out.

  “Don’t give up an opportunity just because it’s challenging. The greatest obstacles often yield the most splendid gifts.” Twiggy’s tone was soft and comforting. “What’s your next class?” she asked.

  “Gym.”

  The second bell rang. Third period had started.

  Twiggy put the bus pass on her lap and took out a small pad from her blazer pocket. She grabbed the felt-tip pen off her desk and scribbled a note. “Give this to Ms. Dalton, the gym teacher. It will keep you out of trouble.”

  I took the note and hesitated before I asked, “Do I absolutely have to use that?” I pointed to the yellow pass on her lap.

  Twiggy took the pass and ripped it in half, sending relief throughout my entire body. “I’ll inform the monitor that you will be on board today. Just make sure you get on the West Orange/Livingston bus.”

  I nodded.

  “All right, then. Get going to gym.”

  I stood up and headed toward the door, but stopped. “Ummm…I just…thanks.”

  Twiggy smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  “And I’m sorry you had to wear fake plastic pearls. That must have sucked.”

  “Only temporarily,” she said.

  “Oh, good. That’s good to know.” I opened the door.

  “Now, don’t forget, Miss Romano, you still have detention today, 3:15 p.m. sharp in the study hall room. Don’t be late.” Twiggy stood up, her hands neatly folded against her skirt. “And one more thing.” She took a few steps toward me. “You’ll do fine, Roberta. Just fine.”

  Twiggy called me Roberta instead of Miss Romano, and I don’t know why, but in that moment, I really did feel like everything was going to be okay.

  A Perpetual War Zone

  10:18 a.m.

  On my way to gym, through the half-opened nurse’s door, I saw Mervin. He was slumped over like a sack of potatoes, holding his stomach. His gigantic green backpack was on the floor next to him. I already had a note excusing my lateness, so I stopped in to see what was going on.

  “Hey, Mervin,” I said as I opened the door and walked in. “You okay?”

  Mervin sat up. There were large, red, puffy blotches scattered across his neck.

  “I’m just waiting for some medicine.”

  “What happened to your neck?” I sat down on a chair next to him.

  “Number two pencil.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Number two pencil…I’m deathly allergic. If a number two comes in contact with my skin, I develop a shortness of breath, severe hives, and digestional complications. It’s no joke.”

  The puffy red welts did look horrible. And painful. “That sucks.”

  “We’ve all got problems.”

  I thought about it for a second. “Aren’t all pencils number two?”

  “Statistically speaking, yes…unless you’re an artist, then there’s number one and number three. Basically, I live in a perpetual war zone.”

  The school nurse finally came out from the back room, caring a Dixie cup and Cortisone cream. Her name was Nurse Brown, and she had rosy red cheeks, soft brown hair, and smelled like sweet apples. Her warmth and demeanor offset the sterile fluorescent lights and white-tiled floor of her office. She was so gentle that it made you want to be sick, just so she could take care of you.

  “Okay, Mervin, here you go. Drink this.” She handed him the cup. “And we just need to get some cream on those hives.”

  “Nurse Brown, this is Roberta.” Mervin downed the liquid concoction.

  “Hello, Roberta. Are you not feeling well, either?” Nurse Brown bent down and applied some thick, white cream to Mervin’s neck.

  I quickly thought of my uncomfortable toilet seat liner and entertained the idea of asking for a tampon. I mean, she was a nurse, surely she had feminine hygiene products.

  As uncomfortable as the moment was, I decided to go for it. “Do you have a tampon?”

  Mervin choked a little.r />
  “A tampon?” Nurse Brown said as she finished rubbing the cream into Mervin’s neck. “Are you menstruating?”

  Mervin loudly crinkled his Dixie cup.

  “Yep.” I averted my gaze out of embarrassment.

  “That’s no problem. Let me go grab a few,” she said as she recapped the cream and headed to the back of her office.

  It’s amazing how tortuous a mere ten seconds can feel when something as uncomfortable as “female menstruation” is on the line.

  Nurse Brown came back out and handed me five tampons. “Here you go. Do you know how to insert them?”

  Mervin cleared his throat.

  “Yes, I got that covered. Thank you.”

  I excused myself, went to the bathroom in her office, and took care of business. As I watched my faithful toilet-seat-liner-maxi-pad flush down the toilet, I actually felt proud of my quick thinking ingenuity. I don’t know, like I could survive in the wild if I had to. On the way out, sort of by accident, I saw Mervin’s chart. Nurse Brown had written: Severe hive outbreak over gym class. Same as last year. No real allergy to no. 2 pencils.

  Nurse Brown wrote Mervin a late pass for his next class, which also happened to be gym. She gave us each a strawberry/banana hard candy and insisted that Mervin check in with her again before the end of the day. We both profusely thanked her.

  Out in the hallway, Mervin anxiously fiddled with his backpack straps. “Sorry, Roberta, I didn’t mean to get all weird in there. It’s just…your stuff…down there,” he gestured toward my crotch, “it makes me nervous.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Trust me, it makes me nervous, too.” I looked at him, his big glasses and small wrists, and something inside me really did want to protect him, whether I had seen Nurse Brown’s chart or not. “Hey, Mervin, can I ask you a favor?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “God, I feel so stupid even asking you this, but would you mind hanging out with me during gym?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I just get really bad anxiety over gym. I freakin’ hate it.” I took an exaggerated deep breath. “See, it’s already starting. The anxiety, I mean. I understand if you don’t want to—”