November, the Month of Acheivements

In which Corey calls someone a b*****d. With that said, if you dislike cursing, particularly the variety of eleven year olds cursing, perhaps you should steer yourself away from here.

I told Mrs. Evans-DuBois that Kerwin Barrows is a b*****d and got in real big trouble. See, he made my friend Annemarie cry, then she ran out of the history room, so I ran out after her. Now, you're not ever supposed to just leave class right in the middle, but I figure everyone needs a friend in a crisis, so I did anyway. It would've all gone just fine, except Mrs. Evans-DuBois saw me running through the halls. She didn't see Annemarie, so she didn't know there was a crisis going on, just that I wasn't in class.

When I found Annemarie, she was sitting by Exit 7, looking more mad than upset. She told me that's because she hates crying, cause it makes her feel like a crybaby, which she isn't. According to her, she and Kerwin Barrows were both waiting in line to talk to the history teacher about our November projects. We're doing' our projects on someone who achieved something, cause November is Achievement month here at Booker T. Washington Middle School. Each month here gets assigned one of the nine C-H-A-R-A-C-T-E-R traits. This is only the third month of sixth grade, and I'm dead sick of C-H-A-R-A-C-T-E-R.

Now, it seems to me that a person should be able to wait in a line in peace. But then again, Kerwin Barrows and I don't agree on a lot of things. When the two of them were both waiting in line, Kerwin Barrows looked over her shoulder, and asked her how come she was doing her project on Malcolm X when it isn't even Black History Month. Annemarie, being a pretty smart girl, snapped right on that by saying' “Yeah, and Malcolm X only worked one month out of the year.” Kerwin Barrows, aside from being good at being mean, is also very good at what my brother Doug would call non-sequiturs. His response was telling Annemarie that he could do a better three-point shot than her. Annemarie just shook her head here, since there's no point in responding to someone who isn't making any sense at all. Kerwin Barrows, still trying to upset her, told Annemarie she's a moron, which everyone knows isn't true. She's in a seventh grade math class with my other friend Dave, and he says she's doing even better than he is in there. Like I said, Annemarie's pretty smart, so she just kept on ignoring Kerwin Barrows, until he told her she had no common sense, which seems to me is another non-sequitur.

“No, it wasn't a non-sequitur. He said other stuff, but I can't remember,” Annemarie says. I know how that is. Whenever I'm angry, everything gets all fuzzy, like a big blur of mad. But just in case she's lying, I decide to ask again.

“What'd he say? C'mon, I'm not gonna tell anyone.”

“I told you Corey, I don't remember. When I'm mad I don't remember stuff. ” I opened my mouth to say something' more, but the bell rang, so I had to go to English, and she had to go to Science.

I was late to English cause I had to run to History to get my backpack. And, when I got there, Mrs. Evans-DuBois was waiting for me. She had that pursed-lip, not-happy look on her face, and didn't even try and pretend she's my friend like she usually does. I'm Mrs. Evans-DuBois's special little project. Every Monday she pulls me out of Art class to talk. She thinks I got problems cause I live with my brother instead of my parents. I don't see what the big deal is, since Doug's old enough to be taking care of me, and does a pretty good job at it, too. Why she's worrying about me when there's eighth graders in the boy's bathroom trying to sell people something called grass goes way over my head like baseballs in gym class. It just seems to me there's gotta be worse kids in Baltimore than me. Since today is a Wednesday and I'm in English, this is not gonna be our usual chat.

She pulls me down to her office, which I always hate, I mean, strongly dislike. I think if she's so concerned with me having good social skills and grades and whatnot, she'd drag me out of class less. This time it was different, cause I was feeling sort of self-righteous, like a soldier or a superhero, or Joan of Arc, except a boy, being taken captive for doing something right. She leads me into her office, like I haven't been there enough times and don't know where it is. The whole time I'm thinking, Here I am, being dragged to the dungeon, where I will be strapped to the interrogation chair, ruthlessly questioned. I will not give in, and they will be forced to lock me in, but I will"

“Corey? Are you paying attention? Why were you out running in the hallways? Wasn't there a class you had to be in?” I couldn't say anything about Annemarie, cause then she'd get called down for intensive interrogation, I mean, a friendly chat, and I would not want to inflict that kind of torture on anyone. (Maybe Kerwin Barrows)

“Corey, why weren't you in class?” Mrs. Evans-DuBois asked again.

Since I had to say something, I said, “Cause Kerwin Barrows is a b*****d.” Really, that was the deep-down root reason for why I was running. I actually meant to call Kerwin Barrows a jerk, but it occurred to me that any guy who made a girl cry, and Annemarie in particular, deserved a worse name. The worst name I knew to call a guy was b*****d, cause that's what Doug calls my father. Actually, after he says that he always says “But you didn't hear me say that word, Corey.” Since I don't curse all that often, really not at all, since Doug would have my non-literal hide, it comes out sounding more like: “Cause Kerwin Barrows is a j"b-b*****d.”

Mrs. Evans-DuBois frowned, cause she obviously did not approve of my language. She even confirmed this by saying, “There's no need for language like that, Mr. Stein.” She seems to want me to say something, but I don't know what to say, so I just stare at her the same way she's staring at me. “Well? Nothing to say?” Mrs. Evans-DuBois got it spot-on that I've got nothing to say, cause I still am not saying anything about Annemarie.

“You need to Cooperate, Corey,” she says, tapping the the first C on her big C-H-A-R-A-C-T-E-R poster. Maybe she's upset cause I was not being Respectful of Kerwin Barrows. Well, it isn't Respect month yet (Respect=Fourth Letter=December), and I was just trying to protect Annemarie and her Achievements (Achievement=Third Letter=November). Mrs. Evans-DuBois blows out a breath, long and slow, saying she's real frustrated without saying anything at all. I feel like I should do something, so I bite my lip. Mrs. Evans-DuBois sighs.

“Do we have to call your brother, Corey?” she says. I wanna ask why she said we, since there's only one of her, but I feel it may not be the best time. Maybe she's got a clone hidden in one of her desk drawers. I shake my head. No, we don't need to call Doug, not at all. Mrs. Evans-DuBois frowns, and reaches for the phone. I think she might be bluffing, like when I was little, and Momma used to pretend to call the tooth fairy and tell her not to bring any money for me cause I wouldn't brush my teeth.

The bad news is, she actually dials the number for the diner. I hear the buzzy sound of someone talking on the other end. “May I speak to Douglas Stein?” she asks, sounding professional and uptight. I hope it was Jake who answered the phone at the diner. I hope he answered it “Hello, Moe's Tavern.” like he sometimes does. I hear the buzz again, and Mrs. Evans-DuBois huffs real impatient-like. After nearly two minutes, the fuzzy buzz comes again, and Mrs. Evans-DuBois says “This is Patrice Evans-DuBois.” Buzz-buzz. “The guidance counselor at Booker T. Washington Middle School.” Buzz. Buzz-buzz, buzz. According to her, I was “truant,” “violating school rules,” and “in an altercation with Kerwin Barrows.” Doug says something, and Mrs. Evans-DuBois frown deepens. She does the little huff, then, “Alright. Good-bye.” She puts the phone down and turns to me. “Your brother will be here soon. For now why don't you go out to the front office. I have work to do.”

She must think I wanna stay in her office, but I'm thrilled to be out of that stuffy torture chamber. All I was trying to do was help a friend, and now Doug's gotta leave work to come over to Booker T. to talk to Mrs. Evans-DuBois. I watch other kids go by to their classes. At least, that's what I think, until I see a boy go by with a lunch box, and realize I'm missing out on lunch. I think about knocking on Mrs. Evans-DuBois's door and asking if I can go too. But Doug'll be here soon, then this'll all be over with. Besides, Mrs. Evans-DuBois will probably tell me missing lunch is one of the consequences of my actions or something.

It feels like I've been waiting forever, but I figure it's a trick of my mind, making ten minutes seem like an hour. I pick at the hole in the knee of my jeans. It grows to twice its size, which still isn't much bigger than two or three nickels set next to each other, but I figure I better stop anyway. I imagine the hole growing and growing and growing, so large my knee sticks through it, so large my whole leg goes through it, so that you can only see the jeans to my knee, like I'm wearing shorts, but the rest dangling from the back. Someone might step on it by accident, and I would trip, and fall, tearing my jeans more and"I hear tapping on the glass.

I turn around in my seat to see Dave waiting at the window. He mouths something at me, and I shrug my shoulders. “Hey!” says the secretary, getting up from her seat, “Shoo! And you, sit down!” I slouch back in my seat. I'm trapped in the dungeon, taunted by the view of my fellows outside one small window, unable to make contact, unable to get help. My stomach growls, and my spirits sink farther, cause if Dave was in the hall, then that means lunch is over and he's heading back to class. I watch the seconds hand on the clock and practice holding my breath.

I get all the way up to thirty seconds when Doug comes in the door. He didn't even take off his apron from work, just threw his jacket over it. “You weren't waiting long, were you? You gotta stop getting in trouble during the lunch rush, buddy.”

“I never, I've never been in trouble!” I protest. It isn't fair that someone can just say something like that.

“Sorry,” says Doug. “You okay, Corey?”

“Hmph.” I cross my arms over my chest and stick out my lip to show Doug I'm not happy about having to wait, even if wasn't his fault that he had to work.

“Hey,” Doug grins, and I think he's about to try to cheer me up, “What's a Kerwin Barrows, anyway? Sounds like some sort of company waitin' for a bailout.”

“Yeah,” I say, “With a corrupt CEO, and bank fraud.”

Mrs. Evans-DuBois comes out of her office with her lips pursed and a ticked-off, not-so-happy look on her face. “Mr. Stein,” she says, and you can tell she don't, I mean doesn't, like calling Doug mister one bit. “I was under the impression you were going to be here an hour ago.”

“I got held up at work.” Doug says, politely and all, but with a little touch of “Let's get on with this, please.” Mrs. Evans-DuBois does a tight-lipped smile that means “I do not approve one bit, but I have to pretend I do,” and leads us to her office. I do not think Mrs. Evans-DuBois's office was made for three people, especially when one of them missed lunch and the other smells like hamburgers. I sit in my chair like someone threw me in it, and keep my arms crossed so they know I'm not happy. Not even one little bit.

Mrs. Evans-DuBois explains what she thinks is the situation to Doug, who nods along real polite-like, even though he already heard all this over the phone. She finishes up, and gives us a look like saying, “So there.”

Doug shakes his head. “I still don't get the deal with this Curtain Barrel kid.”

Mrs. Evans-DuBois does her little huffy thing.“That is exactly what we want to know. Corey will not tell us anything except that Kerwin Barrows is a...” Mrs. Evans-DuBois stops for a moment, like she's trying to build up the suspense, then says, “b*****d.”

“Huh.” laughs Doug, “I really gotta watch my mouth around you, don't I.”

I dunno why everyone's trying to make this such a big deal. It's not like I'm going around cursing all the time. I just needed the right word for Kerwin Barrows.

“He is.” I say, and try and cross my arms tighter over my chest.

“Well, the words Corey's picked up aside, we need to get to the bottom of this,” Mrs. Evans-DuBois says.

“Why don't we get this other kid down here. It sounds like he did something. Corey doesn't seem to be in the wrong here.” Doug says. I can see Doug's fists clenched in his pockets, but his face stays the same. He's definitely using the yoga breathing Jake taught us. I think I can heart him counting backwards from ten, too.

“Do I need to spell this out for you, Mr. Stein?” Mrs. Evans-DuBois huffs. “Corey was skipping class, and running in the halls. I'd say he's very much in the wrong. The punishment for this is usually in school suspension.”

Doug throws his hands in the air. “What I'm tryin' to say is that this Barrows guy must've done something. Corey doesn't just go around cussing for no reason, at least in my experience.” he says.

“Well,” replies Mrs. Evans-DuBois with her pursed-lip smile, “Since Corey won't tell us what has happened, we'll have to assume he is the one in the wrong.”

I start to space out, because this conversation appears to be going in circles. Maybe Doug'll take me back to the diner with him. Once we're there, Fran'll make me a hamburger, with pickles and lettuce and fried onions, a double order of fries, oh, and my favorite strawberry-peanut butter milkshake.

“C'mon, Corey, we're leaving.” Doug says, cutting through my food fantasy. We leave Mrs. Evans-DuBois's office. Doug signs me out with the secretary, and we finally get to leave.

“I cannot believe that woman!” Doug exclaims once we get out of Booker T. “She's the single most irritating individual I've ever been forced to interact with! And she's a guidance counselor! Honestly! I don't understand how she keeps her job!”He stops and lets out a huge breath of air. “Don't listen to me, Corey. You gotta respect your teachers and whatnot.” Doug slings an arm around my shoulder.

“Maybe I'll respect everyone next month.” I say, because Respect=Fourth Letter=December.

Reviews

[ScarlettTheDreamer]

Wow, that was so awesome! Its like looking at the world from a eleven year old's life. I wish to read more of this. Please upload more!!!