The Cat Ate My Gymsuit (5 page)

I decided to say something. “Stuart, I love you.”

He smiled, and I smiled back. It’s so easy to love him sometimes. He’s a little weird, but he’s a good person, for a four-year-old. Ms. Finney says that age doesn’t matter, but sometimes it’s hard to talk to a little kid. But the thing with Stuart is that we say a lot without talking.

We heard a car door slam, a scary sound when you know that it means your father is home. My mother went to the front door to meet him.

“What a rotten day,” he said. That’s what he always says. It’s always the same. My mother then kisses him and hands him a Scotch and soda. It’s one of our few family traditions.

“Martin, I want to talk to you about something. Please, stay calm.”

My mother has a fantastic sense of timing. It got quieter, and then I heard my father scream, “Marcy Lewis, get in here!”

I ran into the living room and tripped on the rug, but didn’t fall.

“You’re such a klutz. I thought sending you to dancing school was supposed to make you more graceful.”

“I wanted drum lessons, not dancing.”

“You’d probably give yourself a concussion with the drumsticks,” my father said. “What’s this I hear about school?”

“Mr. Stone’s wrong. Ms. Finney’s a good teacher.”

“How many times must I tell you to respect your elders?”

“But he’s wrong.”

“I doubt that, but even if he were, you must learn to respect those in authority. How do you expect to get ahead?”

“I don’t care about that. All I care about is Ms. Finney.”

“I never did like her, young lady. She’s been feeding
you a lot of garbage, with that sensitivity-training crap and calling herself Ms. What’s wrong with Miss? Just be good and play by the rules and you’ll be a much happier person. Your mother and I know that.”

“Martin, I think Miss Finney has helped Marcy.”

“Don’t you start. Look. I know what’s best for this family. Don’t I support you and take care of you?”

Stuart came over, hugged me, and smiled.

“Why is the kid so dirty?” my father asked.

“I fell off my bike,” Stuart remembered.

“Just what we need. Another clumsy kid in this family.”

My mother said, “Let’s all wash up for dinner. Marcy and Stuart, let’s go set the table.”

We went into the kitchen while my father sat down to read the paper in the living room.

Once the table was set and dinner ready, we all sat down. My father talked about how hard his job was. Stuart kept sucking his thumb. I stared at my plate, and my mother suggested how nice it would be for all of us to go on a weekend trip.

“I work hard all week,” my father said. “I want to relax on the weekends.”

Everything got so quiet, you could hear the milk
going down Stuart’s throat. The phone rang. My mother got up to answer it. I figured it was Mr. Stone again. I got really scared.

“Marcy, it’s for you. A young gentleman.”

I had forgotten. Joel had said he’d call me if he found out any new developments. I got up from the table and went to the phone as if I were used to getting calls every day from boys.

“Hi, Marcy. I just found out. It’s serious.”

“What happened? Did she lose her marking book?”

“Very funny. She’s been suspended because she won’t say the Pledge of Allegiance in homeroom.”

I thought about that for a while.

“But lots of kids don’t say it.”

“She’s not a kid, she’s a teacher. And anyway, my father thinks it’s more than that. He says a lot of people don’t like her—Mr. Stone, some of the teachers, Mr. Goldman, and some of the parents.”

“How can’t they like her?”

“Look, Marcy, she’s different. Not everybody likes you when you act and dress differently.”

“Joel, I really care about her. What can we do?”

“I’m not sure. Listen, meet you in front of school tomorrow half an hour before classes start, O.K.?”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll see you.”

I called Nancy right away, told her what was happening, and had her spread the word. My father was yelling that I’d better get back to the table, so I hung up and went back to the dinner table. As I sat down, my mother started gushing. “Our daughter is growing up . . .her first call from a boy.”

My father grumbled, “Can’t you tell your little friends not to call during dinnertime?”

“Oh, Martin. It’s her first call from a boy. Did he ask you out?”

I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Look. I’m sorry he called during dinner. He wanted to know if he can borrow Wolf to cut it up in science class.”

Stuart started to cry. Sometimes I feel really sorry for the kid, but it was the only way that I could get my parents to stop bothering me about the call.

“That’s it, young lady. Go to your room!” my father screamed.

“Martin. She hasn’t finished eating,” my mother said softly.

“That’s all right. That girl won’t waste away to nothing.”

I ran upstairs to my room and cried.

A while later, my mother knocked at the door and immediately came in. She didn’t even give me time to say whether I wanted company.

“Honey, I’m sorry it’s like this. You’ve got to learn to live with it. I’m sorry. I love you very much.”

We hugged each other, and then she left and I cried myself to sleep.

M
y alarm went off in the morning. I got up, dressed, and went downstairs. Both my parents were eating breakfast. The morning paper was lying on the table. Ms. Finney’s picture was on the front page. The headline read “Junior High Teacher Dismissed; Refuses to Pledge Allegiance.”

Finishing the article, I put the paper back down on the table.

My father started. “I suppose you are impressed by this woman’s actions.”

“I’ve learned a lot in her class.”

He slammed down his coffee cup. “I want you to stay out of this, Marcy. You are not going to turn into a revolutionary. Learn to play by the rules.”

I concentrated on pouring the milk on my cornflakes.

My mother put her hand on mine. “I’m sorry. I was very impressed by her when I met her at the PTA meeting.”

I asked, “Can I go to the hearing?”

“Martin. Why don’t we go together—you and me and Marcy. I know it’s important to her.”

“All right. I suppose so. It’ll be interesting to see Miss Know-It-All’s teacher get fired. But I’m warning you, young lady. I want you to stay out of trouble.”

“Can I be excused? I have to meet someone at school to go over homework.”

“All right, but remember what I said.”

I ran up to my room, grabbed my books and jacket, and ran out the door before anyone else had a chance to say anything to me.

When I got there, Joel was waiting. A bunch of other kids were also standing around. They were from the different classes that Ms. Finney taught. Also from Smedley. All of them were pretty upset.

Joel said, “What we have to do is get all of the kids together and make plans. Each of you go around now and get lists of kids who are willing to help support her.”

The group broke up, and Joel turned to me.

“Marcy, we have only four school days and a weekend before the hearing. We’ve got to organize fast. And listen, Nancy’s decided to have a party Saturday night. Would you go with me?”

Just like that, I got asked out for my very first time.

“Yeah, if you want to take me, I guess I can go. But I have to ask my parents first.”

The bell rang for homeroom, and we got up and went into the school. I was in a daze. Joel and I went to our separate lockers. I ran into Nancy.

“Hey, Marcy, you had to hang up last night before I had a chance to tell you. I’m having a party Saturday. Can you come?”

“Yeah. Joel just invited me . . .I think.”

“What do you mean, ‘I think’?”

“Yeah. He asked me.”

“Don’t be so surprised. I said he liked you. See?”

Mr. Stone walked up to us. “Good morning, girls. Marcy, I want to see you in my office after homeroom. Be there promptly.” Then he walked on.

“Marcy. Are you going to get it because of what happened in class yesterday?”

“Probably. What’s it like to go to the principal’s office?”

“I don’t know. I only get detention a lot.”

Just what I needed to think about. Maybe we’d have an earthquake during homeroom and I wouldn’t have to go. Or maybe I’d be lucky enough to trip and break my leg so that the ambulance would carry me away before I got to the office. Probably if that happened Mr. Stone would yell and tell me to go to the nurse, who would tell me to take a nap and then go back to class.

Going into homeroom, I tripped over someone’s feet, but I didn’t break anything.

When it came time to say the Pledge, I looked around to see what everyone was doing. Some kids said it. Others passed chewing-gum sticks and notes. A couple of kids talked. Not too many seemed aware of the words. What did it all mean? It seemed to say everything that Ms. Finney believed in, liberty and justice for all, one nation. Maybe it was the under-God part. She never talked about religion, but maybe that was it. I didn’t know.

The bell rang, and I headed for the office. Lots of kids were there. Some had come to school late, and now they were waiting around until the secretary had time to make out late passes. A couple of kids
were there because they had been caught sneaking cigarettes in the bathroom. They should have gone to the faculty room. The smoke there is so thick, no one would have seen them. I sat down, chewed on my nails, and waited to see Mr. Stone.

About forty-five minutes later I was called into his office. He had a picture of his family on his desk. It was the kind that you get on a Christmas card with a dittoed letter about how the family was doing and how they had grown. Mr. Stone frowned at me.

“Marcy, you were very rude to me yesterday. I don’t understand it. You’ve always been such a good student. I don’t want you or any other student to get involved in this situation. It’s a matter for grown-ups to handle.”

I was scared, like when you go to the doctor to get a flu shot. But I couldn’t let him bully me.

“Mr. Stone, it involves us. Ms. Finney was our teacher, and she’s a good teacher.”

He kept frowning. “Don’t you understand? I’m very concerned. Miss Finney has a great many philosophies and teaching techniques that are not good.”

“No, I don’t understand.”

“Marcy, the younger generation just doesn’t
understand they’ve got to play by the rules. Let me tell you about my oldest daughter. She was a good student, just like you, and she was accepted to a fine college. When she got there, she met some people with very radical ideas. Now she’s dropped out of school and is living in a commune and spending all her time making quilts and gardening. Can’t you see now why I am so concerned about Miss Finney and her strange ways?”

“But, Mr. Stone, she’s not strange. She does teach us regular English. And I don’t think your daughter is doing anything wrong.”

Mr. Stone exploded. “That’s it! I’ve had it! Now you listen, young lady. You’ll be very sorry some day. I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep America’s ideals in mind, and this school a good place to educate young people. And then along comes a teacher who talks about feelings and being in touch with yourself and she doesn’t believe in grades and argues at teachers’ meetings and doesn’t dress like a teacher and won’t salute the flag. And I also have to deal with community pressure. Well, I just won’t have it.”

I got really scared. It’s horrible to be yelled at. Then his phone rang. He picked it up, listened for a
minute, and looked up and said, “Marcy, I hope that you understand that I only want the best for all of you. You may now return to class.”

I left the office. I was very confused. I had gotten a late pass to go to gym. As long as Mr. Stone kept me out of class, he should have let me miss that class. But since he didn’t, I went up to the teacher, told her that I gave my gymsuit to a poor starving orphan who needed it to trade for a bowl of rice, and sat down to watch another volleyball game.

Afterwards, in the locker room, everybody came over to ask me what had happened. Nancy really knows how to spread news quickly. I just said that Mr. Stone was mad at Ms. Finney and didn’t want students to interfere.

It was strange. In Ms. Finney’s class we had read
To Kill a Mockingbird
and talked about the part where Atticus tells Jem that you can’t understand someone until you’ve walked around in his or her shoes. So now I tried, in my head, to put myself in Ms. Finney’s place, and in Mr. Stone’s, and in my father’s and mother’s. It was horribly confusing. It sure gets tough when you get older. It’s much easier to be a little kid whose big problem is learning to tie shoelaces.

Next period, while I was still trying to think, Nancy passed me a note, trying not to let the teacher see it.