Mia the Meek (15 page)

I thought for a moment. “I don’t know, what’s a henway?”

“About three pounds! Get it? What does a
hen
weigh?” Tim fell off the couch laughing hysterically. “I can’t believe you fell for it! That’s the oldest joke in the book.”

“I guess my humor must be a little more sophisticated than yours. You probably like the Three Stooges.”

“Who doesn’t like the Three Stooges? They’re comic geniuses!” Tim climbed back onto the couch.

“It’s genius to poke each other’s eyes out and saying ‘nyuk, nyuk, nyuk’?”

“You just don’t have a sense of humor,” Tim said, shoving another cookie in his mouth.

“I have a great sense of humor!” I said.

“People who aren’t funny always say they have a great sense of humor. Just admit it—I’m funnier than you.”

“You may be funnier
looking
, but I have a great sense of humor. My family thinks I’m hilarious.”

“Why don’t we go outside and ask your brother, then? He’s playing football with Kevin right now.” Tim headed for the door.

“What about our Quiz Bowl practice?” I asked feebly, hoping to keep Tim from finding out I hadn’t made my family laugh since learning to speak.

“Trivia can wait. You seem to be doing fine.” He yelled out the door, “Hey, Chris, does your family think Mia is funny?”

“I always crack up when I see her,” Chris said, tossing the football to Tim.

“Really?”

“Yeah, just look at her face—that’s enough to make anyone crack up!”

“Creep!” I ran out the door and tackled Chris.

“Come on, Mia!” Kevin yelled. “Let’s you and me take on Tim and Chris in a game.”

Tim pounded his fist into the palm of his other hand. “You’re on!”

Kevin pulled me over in a huddle and whispered, “You go long and I’ll throw it to you. Got it?”

Not having a clue what he meant, I hesitated. “Um, yeah.”

“You are toast,” Tim taunted as we faced each other across the line of scrimmage.

I ran to the end of the yard, and Kevin threw me a perfect spiral. I had the ball on the tips of my fingers when I was pummeled from behind. Tim grabbed the ball before it hit the ground.

“Interception!”

“I thought this was touch football!” I said, standing up and brushing the grass off my jeans.

“What, you too much of a pansy to play a real man’s sport?” Tim asked, strutting around the yard.

“I’ll show you who the pansy is,” I said. I got into formation, again lining up across from Tim. Tim cut across the field, and Chris threw him the ball hard. I sprinted to keep up, leapt in the air, and tackled Tim as he caught the pass. “Need any help getting up?” I said, offering him a hand.

Tim pushed my hand away and growled, “The game has just begun.”

During the next play, I intercepted the ball from Chris and raced it back all the way for a touchdown. Just as I crossed the line, Tim grabbed me from behind and tackled me to the ground, falling right on top of me.

“Too late,” I said. “The score counts.”

Tim was breathing hard and I stopped smiling, realizing he was still on top of me. We stared at each other for a minute, and then Tim leaned toward me.

“Come on!” Chris yelled. “What are you two doing? Is this football or
The Dating Game
?”

I pushed Tim off me. “All right,” I said, “no more football. I’ve proven my point that I can outplay Tim in any sport he chooses.” I walked into the house and went straight to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face—to cool down from both the game and my close encounter with Tim. The phone rang.

“Hey, Tim, would you answer that?” I yelled from the bathroom. “It’s probably my parents checking up on us.”

After a moment, Tim knocked on the bathroom door. “It’s for you. It’s Jake.”

I hurriedly dried my face and took the phone from Tim’s hand.

“Hello?”

“What’s Tim doin’ at your crib?”

I walked into the kitchen for some privacy. “I only invited him over so he could help me study for the Quiz Bowl. Otherwise, I wouldn’t go near him. You know I can’t stand him.”

“It’s all good, but he better not be triflin’ with my breezy.”

“Tim’s nothing to me.”

“Dude, why don’t I come over? We can chill and. . . well, you know. . .”

“No,” I said nervously. “That wouldn’t be a good idea. I don’t know when my parents will be back, and I’d hate to get grounded and miss the dance next Friday.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait to get busy.”

I laughed uneasily. “Um yeah. . . How about I talk to you Monday at school?”

“Holla back. Peace out,” he said, hanging up the phone.

I turned around to do the same and bumped into Tim.

“Were you listening in on my conversation?”

“I just came in to get a drink of water, but I couldn’t miss a
friend
saying she couldn’t stand me. Lisa was right—you
have
turned into a snob. And since you obviously can’t stand me and I’m nothing to you, I guess you don’t need my help studying. See you later,
dude
.” And he slammed the door behind him.

My roller coaster car plunged downward at a terrifying speed. Just as I was about to smash into smithereens, Tim suddenly appeared at the bottom of the hill, wearing a football jersey. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m here to help. That’s what friends are for.” Then he pulled out some maracas and began singing
Copacabana
.

I bolted upright in bed, covered with sweat, but Barry Manilow continued to croon about Lola and Tony’s doomed love affair. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating as Barry concluded his sad story and was replaced by Michael Bolton wailing out a love song. I turned off my alarm clock and yelled, “Chris, stop messing with my radio!” It was bad enough dreaming about Tim, but Tim combined with Barry Manilow and Michael Bolton was just too much for me first thing in the morning.

My mom poked her head in my room.

“Good morning, honey. I can’t wait to hear your report on Joan of Arc today.”

Oh my God! Is that today?
“I totally forgot to get a costume,” I stammered. “I’ve been so busy planning tonight’s dance.”

“I figured as much. I’ve been hearing from more than a few teachers that your grades are starting to slip. You know that in this house, school comes first.” She picked up some dirty clothes from my floor and threw them into the laundry basket. “Your room could use a little attention, too.”

“Is the lecture over so I can get ready for school now?”

“First, though, my surprise. I know how hard you’ve been working on student council, and since I’m the best mom in the world, I took the liberty of getting you a Joan of Arc costume!” She left my room and came back lugging an enormous suit of armor. “I know you should have made a costume on your own, but I just couldn’t help myself when I saw this in the costume shop window! Isn’t it great?”

I pulled my jaw up off the floor.

“Uh, ‘great’ isn’t the word that first comes to mind.” I crawled out of bed and looked closer at the armor. “Too bad it’s dented.”

“The dents signify the wounds she received in battle—one to her head and one to her breastplate. You should know that from your research.”

“Oh, right. I was just testing to see if you remembered.” To tell the truth, I hadn’t read anything about Joan of Arc since being grounded. I sighed, “All right, I’ll wear it, but can you keep the costume in your room until class time? I don’t think it’ll fit in my locker.”

Mr. Benson met me at the classroom door. “Mia, don’t panic.”

Not a good way to start a conversation.

“OK, what shouldn’t I panic about?”

“I’ve got some bad news for you. The DJ you hired just called. He has the flu and can’t make it tonight.”

“Don’t panic? The dance is tonight! I have to find Jessie!”

“That’s the other bad news. Jessie’s mom called this morning, and Jessie’s grandfather passed away last night. They’re on their way to Indiana, and Jessie will have to miss the dance.”

I started chewing my fingernails down to the quick. “What am I going to do?”

Mr. Benson shrugged. “I’ve heard that Mr. Corrigan, one of the custodians, does a little DJ work on the side. You could ask him if he’s available.”

I descended the creaky steps to the basement. “Hello? Mr. Corrigan?”

“I’m in the back, by the furnace,” a voice called out.

I stepped tentatively between a maze of textbooks and old AV equipment and headed back to the furnace room. Mr. Corrigan looked up as I approached.

“Well, lookee here. Why, if it isn’t Maureen Fullerton’s little tyke all growed up. I remember when you used to follow me around when you were no bigger than a corn stalk that’s knee-high on the Fourth of July. Remember how I used to pull a quarter out of your ear? Or when I used to take your nose and hide it in my hand? How about when I used to make my thumb come off of my hand?” Mr. Corrigan proceeded to pretend to pull his thumb off his hand. I laughed awkwardly.

“Sorry, Mr. Corrigan, I don’t remember that.”

“I guess you’d be too old to fall for those tricks now. Hey, what’s that? Come over here. You got something in your ear.” Mr. Corrigan pulled me closer.

“What? Take it out!” I yelled, imagining that a cockroach had emerged from his feast of textbook glue and decided to snack on my earwax.

“Well, lookeee here!” Mr. Corrigan proudly showed me a quarter he had supposedly pulled out of my ear. “I guess the bigger you are, the harder you fall!”

I tried to laugh. “You got me, Mr. Corrigan. The old ‘pull a quarter out of the ear’ prank—it’s an oldie, but a goodie.”

“It’s one of my fav-o-rites!” Mr. Corrigan whistled. “Now, what can I help you with?”

I took a deep breath and blurted as fast as I could, “Tonight’s the ninth grade dance at St. Hilary’s and I’m in charge. We hired a DJ, but he got the flu and had to back out. Mr. Benson said you’re a DJ on your time off, and I was wondering if you were available to DJ tonight’s dance.”

“Well, sure, I could do that. The missus and me don’t have nothin’ else going on tonight. In fact, bein’ a DJ for your dance would tickle me as much as a newborn tick on a fat basset hound.”

“Um, that would be great, Mr. Corrigan. The dance is at seven in the gym. We’ll be there decorating after school today if you want to set up any equipment.” I breathed a huge sigh of relief and started heading toward the stairs.

“By the way, what’s your theme this year?” he asked.

“We’re doing a fall theme. You know—pumpkins, scarecrows, hay bales. . .”

“Super dee duper, I have the perfect music for you. It’ll be so good, it’ll make you want to slap your granny.”