Elvis

I’m not sure if anyone’s ever died from boredom, but I think I’m going to be the first person to succumb to that fate. Covalent bonds. Yawn.

“Can I go to the bathroom?” I ask as I raise my hand, interrupting whatever was about to be said next. Mr. Garden looks at me disapprovingly.

“When we’re finished for the day.” I let out a sigh, blowing my long, straight, dyed-too-red-to-be-natural hair out of my face as I retract back to my slumped posture and return to drawing in my notebook instead of writing down the whatever-it-is on the board.

“Can you believe it?” I hear whispers coming from the table behind mine. Carly Sommers. Cheerleader, my friend, and literally nicest-person-ever. Talking to her best friend Kale. “I’ve always wanted to be in one.”

“What are you guys talking about?” I ask as I try to turn around without being obvious. I’m just looking for something to do so I don’t have to listen to Mr. Garden talk about how covalent bonds share electrons between atoms. Or whatever.

“That new teacher,” Kale started, “Miss Dew. She’s starting a drama club.” Kale can barely handle himself he’s so excited. Which isn’t really that big of a deal. I’ve seen him get just as excited about finding an accidental curly fry in an order of onion rings.

Kale and Carly are in my friend group here at Coffeeville High School, which is right smack dab in the middle of what I’m sure is the smallest town in the world because we don’t even have a McDonald’s, Coffeeville, Mississippi. Yes. Coffeeville. Named for the most disgusting drink known to man.

Carly is a cheerleader, and probably the nicest and prettiest person anyone could ever meet. Smart, too. Perfect four-point-oh. Kale is her best friend. Just as popular. Just as smart. And he is named after kale, the literal vegetable. His parents have been health nuts since before they met each other, and apparently, they couldn’t think of anything they liked in their shakes more.

“Drama club?” I whisper back, suddenly losing all interest. “You mean like plays and stuff?”

“Yeah!” Carly says just loud enough for everyone to turn around and look at us.

“Miss Sommers,” Mr. Garden chastises. “Is there something you’d like to share?”

Without skipping a beat, Carly stands up in her chair. She smooths down the cheerleading skirt that she and her teammates wear every game day that is a little shorter than her modest self would like and clears her throat. “Miss Dew, the new English teacher, has decided to start a drama club!” Kale chooses this time to clap and smile as big as possible, but he’s the only one who seems even remotely interested in the news.

“Fantastic,” Mr. Garden says, but it’s obvious he most likely does not think this news is necessarily fantastic. He goes on to talk about chemistry stuff as Kale helps Carly off of her chair. Immediately I can see the excitement leave her eyes as she looks down at the table in front of her and puts her chin in her hand. Kale gently rubs her back.

Immediately feeling guilty for not caring, I ask, “What do I have to do to join?”

“Really?” she asks, perking up. “For real?”

“Yeah,” I said hesitantly. I mean, I don’t know how good of an actor I am, but maybe I can play, like, a maid or whatever.

“There’s an interest meeting right after school,” Carly whispers back to me, the smile on her face bigger than before. “We’ll be meeting in the auditorium.”

“Great,” I said, giving a small smile. “I’ll be there.” And I hope I don’t regret it.

..:::..

“It’s so good to see so many people,” Miss Dew says as she stands on the stage in front of us. I look around. Ten people. Is she kidding?

Among the faces are others from my friend group. Right behind me is Damian, a tan-skinned boy in pretty much all AP classes who also plays snare drum in the band. Beside him is his cousin Tilly, who is very pale and has natural orange hair and classes, also in AP classes and in the band playing saxophone. Carly and Kale are to my right, and, to my left, my best friend Bria, otherwise known as B. B’s family is from Italy, so she’s naturally beautiful. She’s smart. All the boys like her. And she’s good at everything and better than me at everything in the world. Except one thing.

“Wait,” B says in response to something Miss Dew just said that I was definitely not paying attention to. “A musical? I can’t even sing.” My ears perk up. I can sing. I can sing pretty well. This might be more fun than I originally thought.

“That’s okay,” Miss Dew responded. “We’re just here to have fun. I have no expectations.” I laugh.

“No,” I say. “You don’t understand. She’s the worst singer I’ve ever heard.”

“Again,” Miss Dew says, losing patience. “That’s fine. I can help you guys figure out the tones and the notes. We’ll work together. Let’s just focus on having fun. So, if you’re still interested in participating, I just need you to come up here at sign the sheet on the side of the stage and we’ll meet again Monday right after school.”

I take this opportunity to get a good look at Miss Dew. She’s tall. Skinny. Everything about her seems pretty as I work my way up, but her face is just kind of plain. Nothing that would seem extraordinary to look at. No makeup. Her brown hair in a pony tail with bangs that hang a little into her eyes. I heard that her first name is Lilly. Lilly Dew. That’s a Bambi name if ever I heard one. She’s dressed normal, though, which isn’t something I can say for Mrs. Harn, the English teacher she took the place of. She would wear awful velvet vests with skirts that were the same basic color, but not the same shade, that fell awkwardly between her knees and her ankles. Miss Dew, however, wore simple black slacks with a perfectly ironed white shirt with a collar and some black flats. And I don’t notice I’m staring her down until she’s right in front of me, smiling and saying something I don’t catch.

“I’m sorry, what?” I say, my cheeks turning as red as my hair. “I zoned out a little.”

“Do you think you’re interested in being in Drama Club?” she asked. “We can use all the people we can get.” She looks around at the very few people that actually showed up, and her smile starts to falter a little.

“I think so,” I said. “I mean, I promised my friend.” I make a motion towards Carly who is talking to Tres, some weird guy from our Chemistry class. That’s Carly. Friend to all. Enemy to none. Except Brandon.

Brandon Greenwich is a football player. A stereotypically dumb football player. He’s currently repeating his sophomore year when he should be in the eleventh grade with the rest of us. He’s also Carly’s stepbrother and son of Carly’s stepdad, head football coach, Coach Frank Greenwich.

“Carly’s your friend?” Miss Dew says, her smile fully returning. “She’s been really excited about a drama club.”

“Yeah,” I respond, looking around for a way out of this conversation with a teacher I’m just now talking to for the first time. “She goes to acting camps. She wants to be an actress.”

“That’s fabulous!” Miss Dew exclaims.

“Or unrealistic,” I say.

Miss Dew’s smile starts to falter once more. “I’m sure all actors and actresses have had at least one person tell them that in their lifetime.” Well, she’s got a point.

And then I see it. My way out. My dad calling. “I gotta go,” I tell Miss Dew. “My dad’s here to pick me up.” I pick up my bag from the floor in front of the auditorium seat I had been sitting in a few minutes earlier, lined with red fabric that had been stained with something brown since before I got to the high school over two years ago, and start to walk toward the doors leading outside of the auditorium before I backtrack to the stage. I look at the list. A line down the middle, the left labeled girls, the right, boys. Knowing who was at the meeting, I had a feeling I knew what the list would look like. Beautiful handwriting from my girl friends and all the other girls who signed up.

I try to copy the style of handwriting that everyone else has. Tried. And failed. I look at the curls that looked nice in my head, but they’re so awkward looking, and my name is written bigger than everyone else’s. It’s all just a huge mess.

I set the pen down and sigh. I adjust the strap on my bag and make my way out of the auditorium. As soon as I turn away from the list, I decide that I won’t give it another thought. But during my ride home, all I can think about is how ugly my name looked compared to the others. Wondering why I couldn’t be good at something like everyone else, not even something so third grade and basic like cursive handwriting, I envision it over and over again in my head. And I remember something my mom asked me once. "If you life were a book, what would it be called?"

Mary Davis: The Girl Who Can't Even Write Her Own Name