sweetie or baby or honey. Mrs. G must be in her fifties but is very perky and energetic. The way she bounces around the room reminds me of Tigger from Winnie-the-Pooh. When she calls out Zoey’s name I debate telling Mrs. G why Zoey’s not here, but what would I say? Zoey turned orange today and will be late?
“Josie Taylor?”
I completely forgot the word I had chosen for today. I wrack my brain and think of a word from the theater. “Um, soliloquy? A dramatic monologue that gives the illusion of being a series of unspoken reflections.”
“Excellent, baby,” she says, beaming. She then turns to the blackboard and gestures with her attendance book. “So today’s your birthday, Josie. Can you explain to us why it’s only your fourth?”
Most of the kids already know since they’ve known me since kindergarten, but who am I to turn down an opportunity to have everyone pay attention to me? A mini-performance. “Do you want me to go up front, or just stay here?”
“From your seat is fine.”
“Okay,” I say, slightly disappointed. “Well, February twenty-ninth only comes around once every four years, when there’s a leap year. So this is only the fourth time in my life that I’ve actually had a birthday.”
“And why do we have leap year?” Mrs. Greenspan prompts me. This answer I know like the back of my hand. “Because it really takes the earth three hundred sixty-five
and a quarter
days to go around the sun, so we make up for the quarter day by adding a full day every four years. Otherwise, the seasons would get all messed up and eventually Christmas would wind up in the summer.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” Missy Hiver calls out. “I think that would be cool!”
I really do not like Missy Hiver. She’s been trying to compete with me since the second grade, when she told our teacher that she should be the carrot in the school vegetable parade instead of me because I was too short. She also has this weird obsession with Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, those twins who have their own television shows, movies, clothing and makeup lines, CDs, books, and private jet. In eighth grade she was Mary-Kate for Halloween in the morning and then Ashley in the afternoon. As much as I can’t stand her, I have to admit that was pretty clever.
“You might want to reconsider that, Missy,” Mrs. G says. “You already have summers off from school, so you wouldn’t get an additional Christmas vacation.”
That shuts her up fast. After Mrs. G finishes taking attendance, she erases my happy birthday greeting and writes, contemplating your navel. “Now, what does this mean?” she asks.
A hand shoots up from the back. “Does it have something to do with deciding whether or not to get a bellybutton piercing?”
Mrs. Greenspan smiles thinly. “No, it doesn’t.”
Amelia Peters tentatively raises her hand. Amelia pretends to be shy and quiet in front of the teachers, but she’s really the opposite. She wears a big cross around her neck and her parents make her wear a uniform every day like she goes to Catholic school instead of public. I steer clear of her whenever I can. Since Amelia so rarely volunteers, Mrs. Greenspan immediately acknowledges her. Amelia lets her arm fall slowly as she asks, “Is contemplating your navel the question of whether Adam and Eve had bellybuttons if they were not born of man?”
“Not exactly,” Mrs. Greenspan says with a sigh. She turns back to the class. “It’s simply an expression of deep thought and introspection in the absence of other activity. I had hoped some of you might be able to connect it to
Walden Pond,
which we’ve been reading for the past two weeks.”
“I was going to say that,” Missy Hiver mutters loud enough for everyone to hear, “but I thought it was too obvious.”
Mrs. Greenspan flashes her a wan smile and then says, “On Wednesday we will begin
The Scarlet Letter,
and in preparation, I’m going to ask you all to be introspective.
“Josie Taylor?”
I completely forgot the word I had chosen for today. I wrack my brain and think of a word from the theater. “Um, soliloquy? A dramatic monologue that gives the illusion of being a series of unspoken reflections.”
“Excellent, baby,” she says, beaming. She then turns to the blackboard and gestures with her attendance book. “So today’s your birthday, Josie. Can you explain to us why it’s only your fourth?”
Most of the kids already know since they’ve known me since kindergarten, but who am I to turn down an opportunity to have everyone pay attention to me? A mini-performance. “Do you want me to go up front, or just stay here?”
“From your seat is fine.”
“Okay,” I say, slightly disappointed. “Well, February twenty-ninth only comes around once every four years, when there’s a leap year. So this is only the fourth time in my life that I’ve actually had a birthday.”
“And why do we have leap year?” Mrs. Greenspan prompts me. This answer I know like the back of my hand. “Because it really takes the earth three hundred sixty-five
and a quarter
days to go around the sun, so we make up for the quarter day by adding a full day every four years. Otherwise, the seasons would get all messed up and eventually Christmas would wind up in the summer.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” Missy Hiver calls out. “I think that would be cool!”
I really do not like Missy Hiver. She’s been trying to compete with me since the second grade, when she told our teacher that she should be the carrot in the school vegetable parade instead of me because I was too short. She also has this weird obsession with Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, those twins who have their own television shows, movies, clothing and makeup lines, CDs, books, and private jet. In eighth grade she was Mary-Kate for Halloween in the morning and then Ashley in the afternoon. As much as I can’t stand her, I have to admit that was pretty clever.
“You might want to reconsider that, Missy,” Mrs. G says. “You already have summers off from school, so you wouldn’t get an additional Christmas vacation.”
That shuts her up fast. After Mrs. G finishes taking attendance, she erases my happy birthday greeting and writes, contemplating your navel. “Now, what does this mean?” she asks.
A hand shoots up from the back. “Does it have something to do with deciding whether or not to get a bellybutton piercing?”
Mrs. Greenspan smiles thinly. “No, it doesn’t.”
Amelia Peters tentatively raises her hand. Amelia pretends to be shy and quiet in front of the teachers, but she’s really the opposite. She wears a big cross around her neck and her parents make her wear a uniform every day like she goes to Catholic school instead of public. I steer clear of her whenever I can. Since Amelia so rarely volunteers, Mrs. Greenspan immediately acknowledges her. Amelia lets her arm fall slowly as she asks, “Is contemplating your navel the question of whether Adam and Eve had bellybuttons if they were not born of man?”
“Not exactly,” Mrs. Greenspan says with a sigh. She turns back to the class. “It’s simply an expression of deep thought and introspection in the absence of other activity. I had hoped some of you might be able to connect it to
Walden Pond,
which we’ve been reading for the past two weeks.”
“I was going to say that,” Missy Hiver mutters loud enough for everyone to hear, “but I thought it was too obvious.”
Mrs. Greenspan flashes her a wan smile and then says, “On Wednesday we will begin
The Scarlet Letter,
and in preparation, I’m going to ask you all to be introspective.
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