The Misfits (14 page)

“That hurt!” Addie complains as Ms. Wyman walks away, chirping at other kids in the hall like they're Munchkins and she's Glinda, the Good Witch of the North.

“Sorry,” I tell Addie, “I just didn't want you saying anything that was going to make her want second helpings of our livers. We're already in enough trouble.”

“Trouble?” Addie goes. “For what? We didn't do anything wrong!”

Ms. Wyman doesn't see it this way.

“I just don't understand why you can't work within the system,” she is telling us minutes later. We are standing in front of her desk.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Addie goes. One career option I rule out for her is diplomat.

“Don't play games with me, Ms. Carle,” Ms. Wyman snaps back. Addie and I jump like it's a rubber band she's snapped at us. “You know perfectly well that you are behind those signs that were put up around school yesterday. There is no use denying it. You were seen by a teacher, who reported you to Mr. Kiley. I am
not here to debate the worthiness of the message. I am here to remind you that you were told there is no need for a third party and therefore there
is
no third party.”

“Who says the signs had anything to do with a third party?” Addie jumps in with both feet before I can stop her. “What about freedom of speech, freedom of expression?”

Ms. Wyman's sigh is like a blanket she pulls over her on a cold morning. Addie is the cold morning; you can tell Ms. Wyman just wishes she would go away.

“Ms. Wyman,” I say. “Do you think we could talk to Mr. Kiley about this?”

“Mr. Kiley asked me to speak with you,” Ms. Wyman goes.

“It's true that the signs have to do with a third party,” I tell her, fast, so she can't get another word in and, besides, I am hoping the truth will disarm her. “But it's different from the Freedom Party—and it's different from the other two parties, too. It has a message that
needs
to be heard. I'm sorry we didn't get permission to put the signs up. We know we should
have. Sometimes kids just act impulsively, but it's because we have strong feelings, not because we're trying to make trouble.”

Ms. Wyman's mouth is slightly open, like she's ready at a moment's notice to put it to work, but she doesn't say anything. I can tell that she is actually listening. Addie must realize this, too, because she doesn't jump in with her own ready-for-action mouth and lets me keep talking.

“Maybe we could meet with you
and
Mr. Kiley,” I go on. “If you would just hear what it is we're trying to do, you'd understand about the signs. Will you do that, Ms. Wyman, please? Just hear us.”

Ms. Wyman gives me a good study then, looking me over the way
I
look people over—except not when they know I'm looking—as if she's trying to see what's on the inside even more than what's on the outside.

“Bobby,” she says, “you are full of surprises this morning. You're usually so quiet.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I say.

“And you're very convincing in your sincerity as
well as your words. I will speak to Mr. Kiley and will let you know if we'll meet with you.”

“If?”
Addie goes, and I reintroduce my toe and her ankle.

“That's great,” I tell Ms. Wyman. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Doesn't she think
I'm
sincere?” Addie hisses at me as we move away from Ms. Wyman's desk.

“Or you could say, 'That was so cool, Bobby. Way to go,'” I point out and leave her with that thought as we turn away from each other to take our seats.

The meeting takes place during lunch period. I do not know how it is that Ms. Wyman decided from the beginning that I was as involved as Addie, but it is a good thing she did because if I had not been at the meeting, the No-Name Party would have had a shorter life span than a fruit fly.

Addie doesn't even wait for her fanny to hit the chair before she starts talking. “Mr. Kiley,” she says, “it's not fair that our signs were taken down. What they represent is important! And what about freedom of—”

“Stop,” Mr. Kiley says without raising his voice. He folds shut an appointment book and rolls up the
sleeves of his shirt. I note that he has managed a much better coordination of shirt and tie today, although the jacket slung over the back of a nearby chair is a disaster, haberdasherily speaking.

Ms. Wyman clears her throat. “As I explained to you, Mr. Kiley,” she says, “it was Bobby's argument that convinced me we should have this meeting. Perhaps
he
should be the one to speak.”

“It's a free country,” Mr. Kiley says. “Either one of you can speak—Bobby, Addie. I just don't want to hear anything more about what's fair or not fair. I want to hear specifics. I want to know what it is you are doing and why you think you should be allowed to do it.”

“You just said yourself it's a free country,” Addie says. Fastest mouth in the west. Or anywhere else, for that matter. “Well, why shouldn't—”

“Did I not just say this is what I
don't
want to hear?” Mr. Kiley says. “You know, Addie, ever since you started this business of refusing to say the Pledge, I have sensed in you a rebel without a cause.”

“But—”

“Uh-uh-uh. I want to hear
specifics.”

“Mr. Kiley,” I butt in, hoping to head Addie off, “I
have been called names ever since third grade, on account of my being, y'know, chunky. My friends have been called names, too. So have a lot of other kids. The other day, Daryl Williams was called a name—”

“Dweeb,” Addie interjects.

“Right. And I thought—I mean,
we
thought—that that shouldn't be allowed. So we came up with the idea of the No-Name Party. And that's what makes us different from the other parties. That's what our platform is about—making kids think about name-calling and, well, putting an end to it, if we can. We put up those signs yesterday to get everybody talking about it. And it worked.”

Mr. Kiley nods his head. I take it to mean, “Go on.” But I'm not sure what else I have to say. I open my mouth again and hope for the best.

“Addie wanted to start a third party because she believes that we have a long way to go in this country until there is real justice and liberty for all.
That's
why she stopped saying the Pledge, Mr. Kiley, not because she's a rebel without a cause—although that
is
a good movie.”

I note out of the corner of my occuli that this gets a
smile—a real smile—from both moviegoers of the older generation. I press on.

“The problem with the Freedom Party was that it wasn't specific enough. Even saying we represented minorities didn't mean a whole lot. But saying we want to put an end to kids being called names, well, that does have meaning. And you have to admit it would make a difference. I mean, you don't have to admit anything, I'm not telling you what to do, I just mean—”

Mr. Kiley's expression stops me. I can tell that he has heard enough and that I've won. I'm thinking, I really
am
a good salesman. Thinking I am good at something makes me smile, I can't help myself.

“Very impressive, Bobby,” Mr. Kiley goes. “I wish I could say that school policy had put an end to the kind of name-calling you're talking about, but it hasn't. I'm sure Ms. Wyman would agree with me—knowing how much she cares about self-esteem—that anything you can do among your peers would be of great help. I want to give the No-Name Party the go-ahead. What do you say, Ms. Wyman?”

I look over at Ms. Wyman and she is looking at
me, like one human being looking at another, and it strikes me how funny it is that grown-ups, especially in school, always call each other Mr. This and Ms. That. And I think how different it would be to call Ms. Wyman Ellen, which is her first name, and Mr. Kiley Tim, which is his first name, and I get to wondering what Mr. Kellerman's first name is. You would think I would have more important things to think about at this particular moment, but this is how my mind works.

Ms. Wyman brings me back to reality.

“You've presented a very compelling argument,” she says to me. “Good luck.”

I cannot believe it. The No-Name Party is in business, and all on account of me. As we are leaving the office, I am worried that Addie will be mad at me. After all, this whole thing was her idea and it is starting to feel like I have taken it away from her.

But she isn't mad. Not at all. What she says when we get in the clear is, “That was so cool, Bobby. Way to go.”

THE NEXT day our posters are up all over the walls—and they stay up. No dolphins this time. Our symbol has become a name in a circle with a line slashed through it. This is what one of the posters looks like:

Vote for the NO-NAME PARTY—
End name-calling once and for all!
President. . . Addie Carle
Vice President. . . Joe Bunch
Treasurer . . . Bobby Goodspeed
Secretary . . . Skeezie Tookis

Sticks and Stones May Break Our Bones,
But Names Will Break Our Spirit

You might figure—
we
did, anyway—that putting our names out there like that, especially with certain choice epithets right underneath them, would make us sitting targets for ridicule. But it doesn't happen. I mean, what can anybody say that doesn't just prove our point? Even Kevin Hennessey is at a loss for words. All he can come up with is, “Whatsa matter? Didja run out of whales to save?” Not exactly A-material, even for him.

Between science and math, Daryl Williams smiles at me in the hall. I want to tell him how he was the inspiration for the whole thing, but I don't want to embarrass him, so I just smile back.

In art class on Friday, Colin tells Joe and me that he thinks what we're doing is the best thing that ever happened at P.F.M.S., he
means
it, and that Addie is
amazing,
and then he turns to Joe and goes, “Hey, we're running against each other for vice president. Is it bad if I vote for
you?”
and Joe blushes on every part of him that shows. This gets me feeling sorry for Joe and wondering what Colin would do if he knew Joe liked him.

I decide that after about the age of three, life is not simple.

Which reminds me.

On Thursday, Joe gets another note from Kelsey in his locker. It says, “Meet me at the flagpole after school.”

To which Addie goes, “At least she could be original.” She owns up to having told Kelsey about meeting Colin there on Tuesday and how they're now going out together. If she's looking to spread gossip, Kelsey-the-silent is the wrong person to tell.

Anyway, Joe begs Addie and me to go with him to the flagpole after school on account of Skeezie is unavailable and Joe does not want to be a creep and not show up, and besides which he figures he has to tell her to her face that he does not want to go out with her and he needs our support. He thinks he is doing some kind of community service or something when he turns to me and says, “And if
you're
there, Bobby, you can walk her home and console her and then maybe she'll decide she likes
you.”

“Great idea,” I tell him. “I can be like the year's
supply of steak sauce they give you when you don't win the sports car.”

It turns out that Joe does not have to tell her anything and I do not have to be the steak sauce, because Kelsey chickens out and doesn't show. Leastwise, that is what we figure. What happens is that we go to the flagpole after school and wait until all of a sudden Addie spots Colin and goes, “Oo, my boyfriend,” and runs off. At which point I turn to Joe and make some comment along the lines of, “I hope Addie's brain does not completely rot out on us before the election.” And Joe says, “Do you think Colin is going to start hanging out with us?” To which I shrug because I do not have an answer.

Joe watches Colin and Addie walk away and I almost—but don't—reach over and rub him on the top of his head, because he reminds me of one of those puppies who looks up at you at the pet store with its big, sad eyes, just begging you to take it home with you, but nobody does.

It is bad enough watching Joe being miserable and Addie being happy, even though I can't help wondering
how seriously Colin takes his relationship with Addie, or if he even knows he has one. To make matters worse, I find this scrap of paper after art class on Friday when I am on cleanup. It is all crumpled up and for some reason I do not know the meaning of, I uncrumple it and there I discover the initials B. C. inside a heart. I do not think anything of this until, upon closer inspection, I see that the C is a G and I am all of a sudden confronted with the mystery of who in my art class likes me, because of course I am figuring these to be my initials. I am wishing it is Kelsey but I know it is not, so I get to casting my eyes around the room without being too obvious about it when Mr. Minelli calls out, “Looking for something, Bobby?” and I drop all these scraps of paper on the floor and sputter some kind of answer that must be pretty funny because it gets a lot of people laughing, but for the life of me I have no idea what it is I say.