Mia the Meek (10 page)

“I think there’s some microwave popcorn in the cupboard.”

“I’m supposed to starve just because I don’t want to go out to eat with you?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “And I can’t work on my report because I don’t even know who I’m going to write about.”

“Since you’re acting like such a martyr, why don’t you write about Joan of Arc?”

I scowled. “That’s perfect,” I said. “Her parents lived in the dark ages, too.”

Sunday afternoon, I whispered into the phone, “Lisa, it’s me, Mia.”

“Who?”

“It’s me, Mia.”

“Speak up, I can’t hear you.”

I whispered louder, “It’s Mia.”

“Is this an obscene phone call? Because if it is, you’re not doing a very good job—I can barely hear you.”

I whispered even louder, “It’s Mia!”

“Mia, what’s wrong? Why are you whispering?”

“I’m not supposed to be on the phone. Look, this is the first chance I’ve had all day to call you and I just wanted you to know that I’m not coming over today to write my speech for the election. My parents extended my grounding.”

“What did you do? Make out with the mailman?”

“Very funny.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lisa said. “I’ve already written a speech for you. Listen to this, ‘Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal—’”

“Uh, Lisa, I think that speech has been done before.”

“No good? How about I start the speech with, ‘I have a dream’ and end it with ‘Free at last! Free at last! Thank God almighty, we are free at last!’?”

“I think I’m in big trouble.”

“I’m kidding. Actually, I have a really good speech already written. My plan is to have you give such an amazing address that everyone will
have
to vote for you. All you have to do is practice it. I’ll bring it over later.”

“You’re the best,” I said.

My mom yelled from downstairs, “Mia, are you on the phone?”

“Lisa, I’ve got to go. The guard discovered I’m communicating outside the prison walls.”

I hung up the phone and walked downstairs. Grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter, I said, “I was talking to Lisa about my speech tomorrow, if you care.”

My mom mimicked my tone of voice.

“Well,
if you care
, your father needs help cleaning out the garage and washing the car, so get out there.”

I sighed as heavily as I could so my mom would realize how unfunny she was. Then I threw my apple back in the bowl and ambled outside. My dad, in the middle of hauling everything out of the garage, stopped when he saw me.

“Great! I could use a helper.”

“I’m not a helper, but a convict assigned to the chain gang.”

“Well, whatever you are, you and your brother need to wash the van.” He threw me an empty bucket.

“Do I have to wash the van with him? I’d rather be in solitary confinement.”

“I heard that, dog breath!” Chris yelled, turning on the hose, soaking me from head to toe, and running from what he knew would be my wrath.

“Get back here, you gene mutation!” I screamed, grabbing the dropped hose. I filled the bucket and began chasing him around the front yard.

Chris dodged the bucket of water I tossed in his direction.

“You’ll never catch me—I’ve seen you run before. Grandma Fullerton runs faster than you!”

I dropped the bucket and grabbed the hose. Tackling Chris to the ground, I put my finger over the nozzle and gave him a full spray in the face.

“I let Grandma win because I’m her favorite,” I said. “Now you have to answer: who’s your favorite sister?”

“Get off me!” Chris sputtered.

“Say it!” I yelled, holding the water closer to his face.

“All right, Mia’s my favorite sister!”

I dropped the hose and let him up. Chris immediately yelled at the top of his lungs, “Mia’s my favorite sister who stuffs her bra with socks!” and took off around the back of the house.

“Jerk!” I yelled, chasing him to the backyard. “I do not stuff my bra with socks!”

“Hi, Mia,” came a familiar voice. I stopped dead in my tracks and turned toward Tim’s deck. “Isn’t it sweet that Mia still plays with her little brother?” Cassie said to Tim. “It must be hard not having any friends.”

I gritted my teeth and headed to my house.

“By the way,” Cassie called, “if you really do stuff your bra, you should get bigger socks, because nobody can tell.”

I suddenly became very aware of the wet T-shirt clinging to my flat chest. As I opened the back door to my house, Cassie yelled, “Tim’s helping me write my speech for tomorrow. Too bad Jake couldn’t help you write yours. But then again, Jake has trouble with any words over two syllables.”

I couldn’t take it any more. I turned around and said, “But sometimes, all it takes is two syllables. In fact, I have a really simple two syllable phrase that can be summed up with just one finger. Want to see it?”

My mom’s voice boomed behind me.

“Mia Claire Fullerton, get in here NOW!”

I slammed the back door and stormed into the kitchen.

“What has gotten into you?” my mom bellowed. “First, we catch you making out with Jake, and now I catch you about to use an obscene gesture?”

“If you’d let me finish, you would’ve seen I was going to give Cassie the thumbs up sign. You know, good luck on your speech tomorrow, may the best person win—a gesture of peace and love. . .”

“I’m not that gullible. Go up to your room and reflect on your behavior this weekend.”

“Mom, if I do any more reflecting, I’m going to have to enter the convent. And, for your information, I wasn’t ‘making out’ with Jake—I was winning a bet. Why don’t you lay off, for God’s sake. And yes, I used the Lord’s name in vain, so I guess I can go and reflect on that, too!”

I ran up to my room, slammed the door, and threw myself on my bed. Grabbing a miniature basketball off the floor, I hurled it against the wall.
Wham
! That’s for my parents, who won’t let me grow up.
Wham
! That’s for Chris, who’s the biggest imbecile in the world.
Wham
! That’s for Cassie, who’s a wicked witch.
Wham
! That’s for Tim, for helping Cassie and not me.
Wham
!

“Mia, stop that racket or you’ll be grounded for a month!” my mom shouted.

I threw the ball one more time.
Wham
! Then I fell back on my bed and began planning torturous punishments for all of them. I’d just reached torture idea one hundred and sixty-seven when I suddenly found myself strapped in my roller coaster car. I began the gradual ascent up the gargantuan hill and then, at the top, plunged into darkness. I screamed, but my voice came out, “Beep! Beep! Beep!”

I groggily reached over and shut off my alarm. I yawned and stretched.

“Man, I’ve never had a nightmare in the middle of a nap before.”

Then it hit me. My alarm wouldn’t have gone off in the afternoon. I quickly looked at the clock. It was 6:30 a.m., and I hadn’t even looked at my speech for the election!

I
raced to my parents’ bedroom. “How could you let me sleep for fifteen hours?” My mom crawled out of bed. “Honey, you were so exhausted, we didn’t have the heart to wake you last night. You must’ve needed the sleep.” “What I needed was to practice my speech for today’s election!” “Lisa dropped the speech off late yesterday afternoon,” Mom said, “but I figured your sleep was more important.”

“Well, you figured wrong as usual. Mr. Benson told us we had to memorize our speeches, and now there’s no way I’ll have time to do that. I’m going to make a total fool of myself today and it’s going to be your fault!”

I ran into the bathroom and took a shower in record time. After quickly drying off, I slipped on my lucky underwear and my favorite uniform blouse and skirt. I threw my hair in a ponytail and brushed my teeth as I dashed downstairs. I looked frantically for the notes.

“Where are dey?” I screamed, my mouth full of toothpaste.

“What are you talking about?” my mom yelled from upstairs.

“The dotes! The dotes Lisa left for my speech!”

“If you’re talking about a stack of note cards,” Chris yelled, “they’re here on the kitchen table. I spilled some milk on them.”

I ran to the kitchen sink, spit out my toothpaste, and grabbed the notes, drying them off on my skirt.

“Thanks a lot, moron.”

Chris shoved cereal in his mouth.

“Who’s the moron? You can’t even write your own speech,” he said, spraying Frosted Flakes along the kitchen table.

I hurriedly scanned the notes.

“I can’t memorize all this! There are too many words with too many syllables, and too little time to look up each word in the dictionary!”

My mom came into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“You’ll be fine. Just say what’s in your heart. You don’t need a speech written by somebody else.”

Chris poured more cereal into his bowl.

“Yeah, the only thing that could save you is if you
were
somebody else.”

Lisa opened her locker and pulled out her American History textbook.

“Were you really sleeping when I came over yesterday?”

“Yeah, I slept for fifteen hours last night. I haven’t done that since I was six months old.”

“So, what did you think of my speech?”

I paused.

“Um, I know you’re really smart and everything, but did you have to use such big words? For example,” I said, looking at my notes, “‘Cassie Foster is the platitudinous candidate?’ I don’t even know what ‘platitudinous’ means.”

“It means that she’s trite.”

“And that means. . .”

“It means she’s old news—you know, a has-been.”

“Shouldn’t I talk about myself rather than put Cassie down?

Look at this part of the speech—you tell them to ‘ratiocinate and vote for me’. I can’t even pronounce it, let alone ask my classmates to do it!”

“‘Ratiocinate’ means to make the most logical choice—I thought everybody knew that.” Lisa sighed. “I worked very hard on this speech and spent a lot of time making sure every word was perfect.
I
was busy working while
you
were busy sleeping.”

“You know I’m grateful for all your hard work,” I said, “but sometimes you forget that nobody is as smart as you. I’m giving this speech to ninth graders. They won’t know what I’m saying when I tell them I’m an ‘aspirant’ for the ninth grade presidency. They’ll think I’m speaking a foreign language!”

“Just memorize the speech, you’ll be fine. Quit showing your poltroonery.”