Jennifer came home with me after school, and we closed my bedroom door so Larry’s bowing and scraping on his fiddle (boy, he hates it when I call it that) wouldn’t bother us. He hates it when I call his viola a fiddle, but I told him I’d call it that or even a converted sardine tin if he doesn’t stop calling me Fatty Rascoon. Especially when Brent is over. Like he did it again, yesterday.
We started drilling one another and correcting ourselves, and I guess Mr. Henderson is right. It maybe won’t be so bad, after all. But I’m still mad at him for calling me a complainer. I used to like that man, kind of. But I’m getting not to.
“Jennifer”, I asked her, because I wanted to know if it really seems like I was a complainer to her, too. Like maybe I’m not realizing it or something, and I am. “Does it seem to you as if I’m always complaining, like Mr. Henderson said?”
“Wellll”, she started, after taking her time answering. “It’s true that you seem to do that more than anyone. But most of us feel like you do, and don’t bother saying anything ourselves."
“I happen to think that if you feel like saying something, or if you’ve got a point of view, you should say something.”
“I suppose so, but because you do it so much of course, everyone notices it, and says something about it. Why let it bother you, anyway, if you think you’re right?”
“It’s just I’m getting tired of Mr. Henderson picking on me all the time! Like, it isn’t bad enough Sally’s clique is always ridiculing me. They never used to, until she started talking about me, to them. I bet she tells them all kinds of ridiculous lies about me. About all of us, really, I guess.”
“Well, since when do you care what that bunch think about you anyway?”
“I don’t, really. But they used to be nicer to us, to me. Like remember at the camp? They were all right, there.”
“Oh, forget it, Jen. Anyway, I think you said the right thing about that stupid thing they want to get for Mr. Henderson. What on earth would he ever do with it? It’s expensive and it’s not even nice or practical or anything.”
“That’s right. And I don’t care what anyone says to me about it, I’m not going to chip in. Are you?”
“I guess not. I guess we’ll have to be prepared to put up with a big hassle about it. They’ll try to pressure us into chipping in.”
“ I won’t. And I’m going to ask Donna and Diane and a few other kids if they won’t, too.”
So I did, the next day. Me and Jennifer, both. Asked the other kids about it, but they said they’re going to give their two dollars. Like they think it wouldn’t be right not to. Jennifer and me talked to them about how stupid it was, a so-called gift like that. It wasn’t even attractive or useful or imaginative, or anything. But they didn’t agree. So it looks like it’s just me and Jennifer. Against the whole class.
We had that English test and it didn’t seem so bad, after all. When we got the results back I did pretty good, and there was a lot of grumbling from some of the kids who didn’t do so well. I felt like telling them they better get going and pull up their socks, because they’ll have to do better in the exams. Just to kind of get back at them for being nasty to me about telling Mr. Henderson about all the work, and stuff.
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