September
Two
“Mallard, Ronald…”
“Here.”
“McCannlis, Kelly…” Ms. Moore’s voice was music.
“Here,” I said.
Ms. Moore was the one teacher that everybody at Rossevelt wanted to get, and there was a six year wait just for the chance. When it was finally your turn, your odds were only one in four.
I was lucky.
Ms. Moore was tall, with long brown hair that spilled half way down her back. She had giant eyes that never left whatever student she happened to be speaking with or listening too. Despite numerous requests from the school’s Principal, Mr. Butler, Ms. Moore liked to teach lessons using music she knew her fifth grade students would enjoy. “Know your audience, Mr. Butler,” Roy Drummond had overheard her say to the principal last year in the hallway after she had brought in a particular hip-hop song to demonstrate “the artist’s use of language.”
Ms. Moore finished taking roll, then called Billy Crabtree to the front of the class. “Billy,” she said, handing him a stack of plain white paper. “I’d like you to hand one sheet to each student.” She turned her attention to the class. “And I would like each of you to make a name tag for your desk.”
Ms. Moore parted her lips and showed her perfect white teeth to her new roomful of students. “Before I hear a chorus of groaning on our first day together, let me explain your assignment. I would like you to take this sheet of white paper and transform it into something that best represents you. If you were to disappear tomorrow and the only thing that you would be remembered by was this single sheet of paper, what would you want it to say to the world about who you are?”
Ms. Moore sat in one of the empty half sized chairs at the front of the classroom. “You can use any materials you’d like and the tag can be any size. You may cover it in drawings or fill it with words, but I expect it to be taped to the front of your desk tomorrow morning before I call role. You may have twenty minutes to start the project now. Whatever you do not complete, you may finish at home.”
Ms. Moore stood, smiled again, then turned and walked to her desk.
“Wow,” I thought. This really was going to be my lucky school year. Not only did I get Ms. Moore, but my plans seemed to be falling right into place.
I’ve always been a fast artist and twenty minutes was more than I needed to make a rough sketch the assignment. I folded the paper in half and drew everything a sixth grade teacher would expect on the front. I had pictures of movies, books, video games, candy, action figures, and my family. I even threw in a unicorn jumping over a rainbow just for grins. When time was called, I slipped the sheet in my backpack and began to mentally rehearse what I was going to say to my mom.
“So how was the first day,” our mom asked Nicole and me a single question meant for both of us as we both piled in the back seat.
“It was great,” I said. “I got Ms. Moore.”
“You did?” I could see my mom’s smile through the rearview.
“Can I get a cell phone?” Nicky asked.
“No.” Mom said.
Silence filled the car and I thanked Nicole inside my head for asking our mom something so completely absurd before we even hit the first red light. The request I had been rolling around in my head seemed all of a sudden reasonable. “Can you take me to the Friendly Dollar?” I asked when we were just a few minutes from home.
My mom looked at me in the mirror. “You hate the dollar store,” she said. “Every time we go, I have to listen to you whine, but sure,” she shrugged, “I don’t see why not. I’m going on Saturday, you can come with me then.”
“I meant tonight,” I said, pinching my face into a perfect pretty please.
“Why on Earth do you need to go tonight? We bought your school supplies a month ago.” I didn’t say a thing. “Does this have to do with whatever it is you’ve been working on?”
I stayed quiet, though I don’t really know why. Trying to keep something from my mom was like trying to keep from getting sick when everyone in your house is sneezing.
“I don’t want to say.”
“I don’t want to say can wait until Saturday,” she said.
I stayed quiet for maybe another minute. “I’m thinking of starting my own business,” I shifted in my seat, “and I need some supplies.”
“A business, huh?” My mom lifted her eyebrows. “What kind of business?”
“A business built to serve the needs of the modern pre-teen,” I said.
She smiled, then almost laughed, though I could tell she was trying to hide it. “And where are you planning on basing this business, may I ask?”
“In my backpack.” I grinned. “It’s a mobile business.
“What are you planning to shill in your backpack, Kelly?”
“My inventory will change with the needs of my customers.” I was still smiling, though she had clearly stopped.
“I think you spent too much time at the lake with your grandfather.”
“Maybe,” I played back. “He definitely left me with a few things to think about. I’m going to need your help Mom.” I changed my tone to mock serious. “Are you with me?”
“I don’t know Kelly. Do you have the school’s permission?”
“Well,” I said, “I was thinking I would take the ‘beg for forgiveness’ instead of ‘asking for permission’ approach.”
At least I was honest.
“Kelly,” my mom said. Her voice all of a sudden sounding like it had been lifting weights. “I don’t think I’m comfortable with this.”
“Mom,” I started, in a tone of voice I hardly ever used; the one that often got me what I wanted on the rare occasions when I did. “Do you trust me?”
“That’s a ridiculous question.”
“Just trust me Mom and I promise I won’t let you down.”
“Okay,” she finally said, after a pause so long that the song on the radio ended and a new one started. “But I will be telling your father.”
“Of course,” I agreed, then sat back in my seat with a wide smile spread across my face.
“That’s just perfect,” piped Nicky. “Kelly gets to start his own business and I can’t even get a cell phone for emergencies.”
I wore my grin the rest of the way home.
TO BE CONTINUED…
