Mia the Meek (12 page)

“See? You jumped and you didn’t even need a net.”

I smiled at her. It didn’t matter if I won or lost. The world felt amazing outside of my corner.

I
loaded the last of the dinner dishes into the dishwasher and then, still buzzing from my day, headed outside to shoot a few hoops. I was just warming up when I heard someone call, “You are in desperate need of an expert to teach you how to handle that ball.” I went for a lay-up over Tim’s head. “If an expert comes by,” I said, “let me know.”

Tim rebounded the ball and dribbled to the perimeter for an outside shot.

“I’ve been waiting for that batch of cookies you owe me.”

“You didn’t win the bet. It was a tie.”

“Then I guess it’s all right for me to beat you in a game.”

His shot clanked off the rim. I grabbed the rebound and swished a shot. “In your dreams,” I said.

Tim checked the ball and asked, “So, what did you think of Cassie’s speech?”

“I thought it was intellectually stimulating. It must have taken you all of five minutes to help her write that yesterday,” I said, blocking Tim’s shot and stealing the ball. Dribbling around the court, I mimicked, “I’ve got a body. Yes I do. I’ve got a body, so I’ll show it to you!”

“Hey, don’t blame me for that speech—I had nothing to do with it,” Tim said, covering me. “Cassie must’ve thought of it after she left my house. I was just as shocked as you when she started taking off her clothes.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy Cassie’s speech.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”

I head-faked Tim and drove for a lay-up. “You’re such a pig,” I said after my bucket.

“No, I’m not. I’m normal. Statistically, the average male thinks about women once every seven seconds.”

“No wonder you’re so mental. You spend way too much time thinking about girls.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘too much time’ when girls are involved,” Tim remarked as he grabbed the ball. “By the way, how’d you ever come up with the idea for your speech?”

“It just kind of came to me as I stood up on the stage. Did it sound totally lame?”

Tim dribbled around the court.

“Well, it did get kind of weird when you called yourself ‘Queen of the Freaks,’ but the rest was pretty original. What gets me is the whole ‘Mia the Meek’ thing. I just don’t get it—you’re about as timid as a tidal wave.”

“Believe me, I never thought that within a couple weeks of starting high school, I’d be giving a speech to be class president.” As Tim dribbled behind his back, I lunged for the ball but missed.

“My charm and award-winning personality must have rubbed off on you.”

“If anything of yours rubbed off on me, I’d need to be vaccinated.” I grabbed the ball out of Tim’s hand and an electric shock snapped my hand. I dropped the ball and rubbed my palm on my shorts.

“Man,” Tim said, “did you see that spark? I had no idea you were so hot for me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. The only attraction I feel toward you is the urge to beat you in a basketball game, so I can wipe that smug look off your face. Unfortunately, your humiliation on the court will have to wait. I’ve got a ton of homework tonight.” I started walking toward my house.

“Hey, Mia?” I stopped and turned to look at him. “Good luck tomorrow. I hope the best person wins.”

Before morning announcements, Mr. Benson gave a predictable speech on how all the candidates were winners and, no matter who became president, would still be contributing members to the class. We nodded our heads in agreement, but secretly we all knew his words didn’t mean a thing.

Suddenly, the speakers of the PA system came to life and the air was filled with the sound of Mrs. Jensen loudly blowing her nose.

“I told you to wait to turn on the intercom until I was done clearing my nasal passages!”

The speakers went dead, then squealed as Mrs. Jensen shouted, “Well, I’m done now. Turn it back on! The intercom’s on? Why didn’t you tell me sooner—oh, never mind.” After an additional series of coughing fits, retching sounds, and phlegm clearing, she finally began the morning announcements, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following students will be your class officers for student council this year.” She coughed. “This blasted cold! I knew I shouldn’t have shaken hands with the Bishop yesterday—he was sniffling all over the place. I need a cough drop.” Then there was dead silence as the intercom was turned off.

Just as abruptly, it buzzed to life again and Mrs. Jensen repeated, “The following students will be your class officers: for the freshman class, the vice president will be Jessie Carson, and the president will be. . .” The microphone squealed again, and then there was silence.

“What happened?” Lisa asked.

“Somebody run to the office and check,” Mr. Benson commanded.

“I will,” Mike yelled, sprinting out the door.

“I hope she didn’t die,” I whispered to Lisa. “Then we’ll never know who won.”

“Your concern for her health brings a tear to my eye,” Lisa said.

After a few minutes, Mike finally reappeared.

“Mrs. Jensen’s cough drop got stuck in her throat.”

“Is she all right?” Mr. Benson asked.

“Yeah, Mrs. Peterbody—the secretary—gave her the Heimlich maneuver and it popped right out. Mrs. Peterbody must be stronger than she looks.”

Cassie stood up. “Enough about those two geezers, you idiot! Who won?”

Mike smiled. “You can’t call me an idiot any more, because I happen to be a good friend of the freshmen class president—Mia, you won!”

There had to be a mistake. But the intercom sprang to life again and Mrs. Jensen announced in a raspy voice, “The freshman class president will be Mia Fullerton.”

The class erupted in cheers and we missed hearing the names of the other classes’ presidents, but it really didn’t matter. I’d won! I sat in a stupor as our American History class ticked away, and jumped up out of my chair when the ending bell rang. In a trance, I gathered my books.

Jake ran over and slapped me on the back, knocking the wind out of me.

“Boo-yah! You’re the top dawg!”

I struggled to catch my breath. “Huh?”

“Dude, you’re the prez. You wanna chill at my crib tonight? My video games are all that.”

“Um, sure. I’ll ask my mom next period to see if it’s all right.”

“Mia,” Mr. Benson interrupted, “I need to speak with you and Jessie for a moment.”

Jake swaggered out of the class. “I’m out. Holla back later, dude.”

Mr. Benson smiled at us. “Well, girls, it looks like the people have spoken. Isn’t democracy great? Anyway, here’s your list of responsibilities. Mia, as president of the freshman class, you’re now in charge of the student store, which includes getting students to work it, ordering supplies, and keeping track of inventory.”

“All right,” I replied, taking a look at the list of items sold.

“You must order school sweatshirts ASAP. Hoodies are really popular right now and we’re running low, so order them today.”

I took a catalog from him, thinking: What’s a hoodie?

“Next, you need to arrange all the student council meetings. Here’s a calendar of extra-curricular events going on for the year. You have to work around all the teachers’ meetings, sport practices, academic practices, band practices, play rehearsals, and religious education classes.”

“All right,” I said more hesitantly.

“OK, let’s move on. Here are the ideas that were put in our suggestion box last year—all the things students want the student council to do to raise funds, boost morale, and show leadership. You need to go through this pile and eliminate all suggestions that are vile, ludicrous, or against the law. If you have any suggestions that survive these three categories, organize them in order of importance and begin researching them.” Mr. Benson handed me a large box overflowing with scraps of paper.

“Are you sure I have to do all this?” I asked. “What about the other class presidents?”

“I’ve found I can rely on freshmen to get the job done. Juniors and seniors are too busy with jobs and applying to colleges, and sophomores—well, don’t even get me started on them.” Mr. Ben-son shook his head. “Being president of the freshman class is a big responsibility. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

I looked at Jessie. I didn’t want her telling Cassie I was having second thoughts. I nodded my head more confidently than I felt. “I’m up for the job.”

“Good. Now, the last item is probably the most important. As you know, freshmen aren’t allowed to go to any of the formal dances at St. Hilary’s, so every year we plan a fall and spring informal dance for the freshman class in an effort to let the kids have some fun and also raise money for the student council. Our first dance is in October, which means you have less than one month to get a DJ, buy concession items, hire a security guard, and create a theme. But for now, just get yourself to your next class.”

The bell rang and as everyone piled out of the English classroom, my mom rushed over to me.

“Oh, Mia, it seems like just yesterday you were toddling around with a pacifier in your mouth, wearing droopy diapers. Now you’re class president!”

I knew the
Petey and the Potty
story would come next, so I decided to get my mom off the track of diaper stories and take full advantage of her warm feelings toward me.

“Mom, can I ask you a huge favor?”

“Of course! How can I deny my little madam president?”

“Can I go over to Jake’s house tonight? I promise his parents will be home and I’ll get all my schoolwork done before I go. Please, please, please?”

The smile faded from her face.

“Why does your first boyfriend have to be Jake Harris?”

“Mom, Jake’s not my
boyfriend,
but he is the most popular guy in our class and he’s finally noticed I’m alive.”

“Well, if it took him this long to notice I have the most amazing daughter, he’s dumber than I thought.”

“Mom, you can’t call your students dumb.”

“I can call my students anything I want, especially if they’re dating my daughter.” I gave her my most pitiful look and she sighed. “All right, you can go over from seven until nine, but only if his parents are home.”

“Thanks, Mom. You’re the best!” I hugged her and ran out the door to science class.

After I plopped down on my stool, Jake leaned across the table.

“What’s up, dude?”

“My mom said ‘yes.’ I’ll be over at seven o’clock, but I have to leave at nine.”

“Fo shizzle, I can’t wait to be kicking it with my chassy.”

Tim whispered in my ear, “If I were you, I’d bring a dictionary tonight. Maybe you can teach him to speak English while you’re ‘kicking it.’”

My smile didn’t dim. “Not even you, Tim Radford, can get me down today.”

“Why? What’s so great about today?” Cassie asked, filing her nails with the miniature manicure kit she kept in her folder. I bit my lip.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said that in front of you. I guess you’re pretty disappointed about not winning, huh?”

“God, you
are
a freak. I couldn’t care less about winning the election. I just thought it’d be fun to do my cheerleading routine in front of my friends. Personally, I’m glad I didn’t win. Who wants to do all that work for Mr. Benson? If he were a real teacher, he wouldn’t have to get a job in a Catholic school—no offense toward your mom or anything,” Cassie added, putting her manicure kit away.