“She was nice.”
Yes, she was.
“You should call her.”
Ah, but you did call her, didn’t you? Back in ninth grade. You talked for twenty minutes. Then you heard her mom in the background ask her a question and she said, “some boy,” and her mom asked another question and she said, “No, he goes to Midlands.” The way she said it and the way her mom laughed when she heard it made you wish you could take the call back.
“And I wish you wouldn’t slouch like that when I’m talking to you. Sit up straight, why don’t you? Is that how you would sit in a job interview, all slouched over like that? And did you ever pick up an application from the grocery store like I asked? It seems like that HELP WANTED sign is up every other week. You could have had that job if you had gone over the first time I told you. And how many times have I told you that you have to write up a resume? Why did I bother buying that program for the computer if you’re not going to use it? I’m telling you, Kyle, I am done talking to you about these things.”
You wish.
Naturally, that Zack kid is in your English class.
He’s sitting two rows over, but there’s nobody in the seat between you, so you have a clear view of him. He’s wearing jeans and sneakers, new, but neither in what could be referred to as the adolescent fashion of the day.
And he’s wearing a lime green sport coat.
It looks ridiculous, especially with the yellow shirt underneath, yet it fits so well that you realize that it’s not something his father outgrew. He’s kicked back, all slumped down, his legs stretched out, his feet crossed at the ankles way up under Megan’s seat. He’s got the front cover of
Ms. Casey wants you all to read Act II, Scene 1 silently to yourselves while she takes attendance or does whatever she does with her grade book every day before class. Nobody really reads when she says this, since you all know she’s going to go back and have you read it as a class anyway. But it’s Zack’s first day and he can be forgiven for doing what he was told. It’s the laughing part that has everyone, even Ms. Casey, glancing over at him.
“It’s Zack, right?” Ms. Casey says, looking at him then at the paper in her hand, so it’s obvious that she knows that’s his name.
He looks up from his book, his laugh dying to an open-mouth smile. “No, it’s Zack
Ms. Casey closes her eyes and sighs and for once you can relate. She pauses a half beat longer than usual and even the nerdy kids are peeking over to see what she’ll do. “Zack, we’re reading silently to ourselves, so that means no distracting-”
“Sorry. Can’t be done.”
“Excuse me?”
“No problem, apology accepted,” he says, and keeps on reading.
A line crossed, her tone shifts. “Mr. McDade.”
He looks up and now everybody is watching. “Yes?”
“We are reading silently to ourselves. Do you know what that means?”
He tilts the book down and looks up at the ceiling, one hand coming up to his chin, like he’s pondering the question. “Well,” he says, drawing the word out with a growl, “since we can’t very well read silently to each other, I’m assuming-and this is just a guess, so jump in if I’m way off base here-that you want us to consume Act Two, Scene One without verbalizing the words or the content therein.”
Ms. Casey gives him an icy stare.
“Well then,” he continues, “it seems we have a problem.”
Her stare drops a few more degrees.
“Ms. Casey, as much as I’d like to comply with your quite reasonable request, it is scientifically impossible to read Act Two, Scene One of
“Mercutio is talking about Romeo and says, ‘’twould anger him to raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle, of some strange nature, letting it there stand till she had laid it and conjur’d it down.’” He looks up at Ms. Casey. “You want me to read jokes about virgins, erections, and hand jobs without laughing? It cannot be done.”
You’re in the last seat of the row and even from there you can see her eyes narrowing, her nostrils flaring out. If you can see it, so can he.
“And then there’s line thirty-eight. I mean I’d expect it in, say,
So, like everybody else in the class, you look at the line-the open-arsed part is obvious, but what’s a pop’rin pear? And even though they’re laughing, you know your classmates don’t have a clue. This is Midlands High, not Odyssey. Students here don’t get Shakespeare. Ms. Casey has all but said it since passing out the book a very long week ago.
But apparently somebody does get Shakespeare. Or he knows how to pretend he does.
Either way, it makes no difference.
Without taking her eyes off Zack, Ms. Casey reaches for the pad of preprinted forms they use when they send someone down to the vice principal’s office. You know the form well and you wonder if she’ll check the Disruptive Behavior or the Insubordination box.
Either way, it makes no difference.
At the door, checked form in hand, Zack turns back to face the class. “‘Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.’” But before he closes the door, he looks at you and gives a nod. You nod back.
Two minutes later, the class is back to normal, the students pretending to read silently to themselves and Ms. Casey pretending to care.
The weather holds and there’s a fire drill during fifth period.
Thursday morning. Homeroom. A summary of the things Ashley says during your eight- minute conversation:
· She got the job at the ear-piercing place
· Cici also got a job there
· This is a good thing because Cici is her best friend
· Next week she’ll be spending Thanksgiving at her grandparents’ house
· She wants a new phone
· She saw the funniest video online
· No, she has never seen a porno online and thinks it’s gross
· She texts too much
· She thinks she needs glasses
· She would rather have contacts
· She asks if you know the new kid in school named Zack
· Just because someone wears a sport coat doesn’t make him gay
· He got kicked out of class for swearing at Ms. Casey
· This is what everyone is saying
· She didn’t know that he was in your English class
· She thinks what he really said was funny
· She thinks he sounds cool
