Millicent Min, Girl Genius Page 15
Though I knew that the centripetal force would weld us to the seats, I was unprepared as the roller coaster made its first plunge into a loop-the-loop. As the cars free-fell and turned upside down in excess of fifty miles per hour, my stomach churned and my hands melded into the safety bar. My face hurt from the wind whipping my hair. I was glad I had just updated my last will and testament.
Turning toward Emily, I could see that she was scared out of her wits too. The wind had dried out her hair, and her face was frozen into the kind of look you hope no one ever captures on film. She glanced my way and then we did the only reasonable thing we could. We screamed for our lives.
With each death-defying plunge of the roller coaster we screamed louder and louder, testing the limits of our vocal cords. As the cars chugged up the steep inclines we barely had enough time to catch our breath. Just when we thought we could scream no longer, we were up against the last and most fearsome part of Monstroso … the terrifying triple dip.
As the roller coaster neared the top, I could see the expanse of the Fiesta and somehow spotted my mother waving down below. She looked so small. Then the big moment came. Monstroso plunged downward, hurling us to the earth. I shut my eyes as I let out a shriek like never before, for I was certain that my life was over.
“Everybody out!” So that’s what God sounds like, I thought. “Miss, the ride’s over,” the man said as he cleaned his teeth with a toothpick. “Exit to your left, please.”
I opened my eyes to see Emily grinning wildly and my father with his hands in the air. At first I thought he was being held up, then I realized what had happened. He did it. He had finally beaten Monstroso, the Roller Coaster of Death.
Dad and I hugged each other as we jumped up and down. Though we were both proud of our accomplishments, we agreed not to go on Monstroso for another year, or at least until our stomachs had settled.
After bidding farewell to Monstroso and my parents, Emily and I took off. As we ran around the theme park, Emily kept looking over her shoulder. “Do you think Stanford is here?” she asked repeatedly. “Does my hair look okay?”
I scrutinized the ringtoss before moving on to the floating rubber ducks. “I can’t believe you still like Stanford knowing that he’s just a stupid boy.” I realized I sounded hostile. But really, Stanford Wong?
“I still liked you when I thought you were a stupid girl,” Emily answered as we turned the corner.
Since Emily and I had reconciled, neither one of us had seen or spoken to Stanford. It was as if he had slithered back under his rock. Although it was neat to have Emily all to myself, it is remotely possible I missed Stanford too. He added another dynamic to our relationship. He made Emily happy, and in the end, that made me happy.
The last time I saw Stanford he was frantically cramming. He had turned in his last book report, but it hadn’t been graded yet. All that was left was his final exam. If he passed his English class he would move on to the seventh grade. If he failed, it was sixth grade all over again.
Being a professional, I was determined to help Stanford, even if he did snarl at me every time I corrected him, which was often. As my last task as his tutor, I tossed him a list of what he would need to focus on to pass his test. He took it without looking at me. When I got up to leave, neither of us said a word.
As Emily and I wandered around, I still didn’t know Stanford Wong’s fate. Emily was convinced he had passed his class. “What I don’t understand,” she mused, “is why he never apologized. I thought he liked me.”
“He does like you, he likes you a lot. But Stanford’s afraid you don’t think very highly of him,” I tried to explain on his behalf. “He thought you liked him because you thought he was really smart.”
“Listen,” Emily said, stopping so suddenly that the people behind her crashed into us. “What’s the big deal about brains anyway? You’re supposed to be some genius, but frankly, Millie, and don’t take this the wrong way, you’re just as dumb as the rest of us. Maybe even dumber, sometimes. As for Stanford, I liked him because he made me laugh, not because he knew what a metaphor was. I also liked that he’s not all hung up about the fact that I’m not some skinny supermodel.”
I started to analyze what Emily had just said, but stopped myself, figuring that too much analysis was what got me in trouble with Emily in the first place. We started walking again until we came to the Amazing Steve-A-Roni. He was wearing a purple cape and had a turban on his head that looked like one of Maddie’s old bath towels.
“Guess your weight for a dollar,” he said to me. I guessed his weight to be about 240 pounds.
“Why would I pay you to guess my weight when I already know what it is?” I asked. Before he could reply, Emily pulled me toward the bandstand.
The Rancho Rosetta Rockers were playing “Color My World.” My parents like to slow-dance to that song in the living room and I am forever trying to close the curtains lest the neighbors catch a glimpse of them. The last time Dad dipped Mom they both fell down and thought this was terribly funny.
Though I had always associated rock bands with youth, the one on the stage appeared to be made up of middle-aged men in ill-fitting black T-shirts. The drummer looked suspiciously like Dr. Marks, the principal at Star Brite. They all had their eyes closed as they played. I told Emily it was so they didn’t have to look at the other band members and be reminded of who they really were.
Emily elbowed me. “Hey!” I cried. She pointed to a group of boys standing off to the side of the stage. They were trying desperately to act cool by slouching and hooking their thumbs though their belt loops.
“I think those boys are looking at us,” Emily said, giggling.
I recognized the boys from Stanford’s basketball team. They were the same ones who had made fun of me at Monstroso. I started to turn away, but to my horror, Emily smiled at them and waved. I could have killed her. Then the carrot-topped boy nodded and came toward us. Emily straightened up and I stiffened.
“Hello, ladies,” he said, smiling.
“Hi,” Emily said coyly.
I could not believe she was talking to him.
“Nice song, isn’t it?” He looked toward the couples who were slowly making their way around the dance floor.
I waited for him to ask Emily to dance, but to my surprise he turned to me. “May I have this dance?” he asked gallantly.
In the time it took for his words to leave his mouth and meet my ears, my world stood still. Emily let out a little squeal. It was so embarrassing. He looked straight at me and repeated his question. It was a good thing he did because I didn’t think I heard him correctly the first time. Our eyes locked and my brain went on overload. Warning! Warning! it tried to tell me. Yet another part of me was pleased that he had singled me out.
“Come on, let’s dance!” he insisted.
“No, really …” I tried to pull myself away. Something about him was familiar.
“Let’s dance!” he said, turning to his friends and giving them a thumbs-up.
“Go on,” Emily said, grinning. She kept winking at me and I wished she would stop.
I had never danced before. Well, not in public. The sum of my dancing took place in front of the bathroom mirror. I never had occasion to dance with another person, unless you counted when I was a toddler and stood on my father’s feet as he leapt around the living room.
Taking my lack of an answer to be a “yes,” the boy grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor. When he slipped his arms around my waist, I stiffened. He was so smooth. I suspected he had done this before. An adolescent Lothario.
“Loosen up,” he whispered. He smelled like pine needles or some other familiar household cleaner. As we shuffled around the dance floor, my acid reflux shifted into overload. My hypothalamus went on alert as it received cautionary brain impulses brought on by the presence of an actual boy. I began to hyperventilate, which, I am afraid, he must have mistaken for heavy breathing.
My briefcase fell to the floor with a dull thud. I felt naked. More than anything I wanted out of there. Suddenly, I realized why.
“So,” he began, “how have you been … Mill the Pill?”
I froze. It had been five years since I had last seen Digger, the juvenile delinquent who used to throw food at me. His hair might have faded from red to orange, but my distaste for him – hadn’t. Ironically, here I was, in a clinch with the very boy who got me expelled from Rancho Rosetta Elementary. I panicked.
“Get away from me,” I heard myself saying as I pushed him away. I was not in control of my voice, and my shouting caused the couples around us to stop dancing momentarily.
Digger’s eyes narrowed and his face contorted in anger. “You’re still just a little nerd,” he said loud enough to be heard over the music. “You lost me ten bucks!” I didn’t understand. I felt faint as graceful couples pirouetted around us. I was getting dizzy.
Then, to make matters worse, I spotted Stanford heading my way. Why this? Why me? I wished I could just disappear. I shut my eyes.
“Hey, Stan-dude!” Digger said, suddenly smiling. He held up his hand to give Stanford a high five. “What’s up?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you,” Stanford said, keeping his arms crossed. He looked angry, and I knew he was still mad at me for the Emily misunderstanding.
“Just lost me ten big bucks because this geekazoid here can’t dance,” Digger said, giving me a look of disdain. “I bet the guys I could get through a whole dance with Miss Smarty-Pants.”
Stanford looked at me and I prayed he wouldn’t add to my humiliation. To my surprise, he held out his hand. I hesitated, thinking he might pull it away. Maybe the whole thing was a setup. I considered crying.
“It’s okay, Millicent,” Stanford said. He didn’t sound angry. “It’s okay.”
Something told me it was. I took his hand.
Stanford turned to Digger. “Get lost, loser,” he said. “Millie knows how to dance, she just doesn’t want to dance with you.”
Digger looked shocked. “Hey, Stan the Man, can’t you take a joke? It’s just that I made a bet and then this nerdball …”
“And nothing,” Stanford said, cutting him off. Digger appeared to be shrinking as he slunk away. Without looking at me, Stanford put his other hand on my waist and whispered, “Even if you don’t know how to dance, pretend you do.”
As we marched around the dance floor, I tried to think of something clever and insightful to say. Finally, I hit upon the right words.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, and added, “and thank you. I passed my English class.”
As I was getting the hang of dancing, someone else cut in. “If you ever forget the steps,” my father instructed as he twirled me around, “just stand on my feet and enjoy the ride.”
Stanford had moved to the side to join Emily. I smiled at them as my father and I covered the dance floor. Stanford looked apologetic and Emily looked happy. As we waltzed past my mother she clutched her teddy bear. She had a strange look of contentment on her face, like she was in a world all her own.
Afterward, my father, Emily, Stanford, and I headed back to Monstroso. I rode six more times, even though I had to ride the last time alone. Both Emily and Stanford said they were done for the day, and Dad pleaded exhaustion. “Back again,” the ride operator said. I nodded and handed him a ticket. He waved me through. “This one’s on the house,” he said.
My last ride was the best. By then I was all screamed out, so I rode in contented silence, with my hands up in the air and a smile on my face, as the Fiesta, my friends and family, and the last days of summer rushed past me in a blur.
Emily spent the night and insisted that Lanford sleep with her along with her favorite beat-up old bear. “I don’t think TB minds, do you, Millicent?” she asked as she fluffed up her pillow. As if I would have an opinion about the social lives of stuffed animals.
Lanford is the elephant that Stanford won for Emily at the B-Ball Bushel Throw. He is about twelve times bigger than the bear my dad won for my mom. But then, Stanford made lots more baskets than my father.
The first few times Stanford threw the ball it bounced right out of the bushel. Stanford, who takes unnatural pride in his basketball free-throw skills, was getting frustrated. Then I noticed something funny. I motioned to the man in the booth.
“Want to throw the ball, little girl?” he asked, holding his hand out for a dollar.
“No, I want you to take those out.” I pointed to the spare basketballs that sat at the bottom of each bushel.
“No can do,” he said, grinning and showing me where his upper teeth were missing.
“I think you can,” I told him. I put my hands on my hips to prove how serious I was. “It is clear to me that if there is a ball in the bottom of the bushel it deadens the ball that is thrown. It changes the angle of the refraction of the second ball and causes it to bounce out, making it almost impossible for anyone to win a prize.”
The man’s eyes narrowed and his smile vanished. “Says you and who else?” he asked. I wondered if he had ever been convicted of a felony or if my murder would be the first.
I looked around. Stanford and Emily were waiting for the man to come back so Stanford could waste more money trying to win a stuffed animal. Just then I spotted a policewoman. I waved to her and yelled, “Good evening, officer!” Turning to the basketball booth man, I said, “Would you mind if I shared my insights with my friend over there?”
“Smart aleck,” he snarled as he snatched the money from Stanford’s hand and shoved a basketball at him. I glared at the man until he removed the extra balls from the bottom of the bushels.
Every ball Stanford threw made it into the basket and stayed there. I didn’t tell him why, only that I thought he was really good at basketball. Stanford gave his giant stuffed elephant to Emily, and they both just stood there beaming at each other for so long I thought I was going to throw up. Emily claims I felt that way because I had gone on Monstroso so many times.
I thought that Dad might feel funny that Stanford won a big stuffed animal and he only won a small one. But nothing could shake his good mood. Right as we were exiting the theme park, Dad stopped us to make an announcement.
“Ah-hem,” he said, clearing his throat dramatically. Emily, Mom, and I froze, thinking he was choking on his gum. “You ladies are looking at the new Assistant Manager of Radio Shack!” my father announced, trying hard not to grin.
Mom threw her arms around him and squealed, as Emily and I beamed like proud parents.
Dad’s new job starts on Monday and this time it’s for real. It is totally perfect. I wish I had thought of it. He spends so much time there, they might as well pay him. Mom is pleased because he finally has a real job, plus he’s entitled to a substantial employee discount.
*
After breakfast this morning we stopped to pick up Maddie. It was a day I had been dreading all summer. Julius, the wooden dragon, greeted us on the front porch. Maddie’s asked me to take care of him until she returns.
My grandmother’s house was empty except for the suitcases all lined up in the entryway. As Dad tried various configurations to fit them in the trunk, Mom walked around and touched the walls where pictures used to hang.
“C’mon. Let’s go!” Maddie said, clapping her hands as she took one last wistful look around. “Don’t want to be late for the big event.”
Maddie, Emily, and I were squashed in the backseat of the car. Julius sat on my lap since there was no room for him elsewhere. Maddie kept pinching our cheeks and hugging us, but we didn’t fuss.
The gym was already full when we arrived. I noticed Stanford sitting near the back bleachers. He waved at me when I sa
w him and I waved back. Emily turned red and they gave each other almost imperceptible nods that spoke volumes.
“Emily! Millicent, over here!” Alice stood up and motioned us over to the third row. She was wearing a tailored blouse and capris.
Our team finished the season in a respectable third place out of ten. After the rankings were given out we broke off for individual team awards. Julie was named MVP and when Emily accepted the Team Spirit award, Alice leapt up and cheered so loudly that Emily almost fainted from embarrassment. Then Coach Gowin made one final announcement.
“In a unanimous decision, the award for Most Improved Player goes to Millicent Min!”
Most Improved Player? I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted. In the end, I decided to be flattered. Maddie said that anytime your peers single you out, it is an honor. My teammates gave me a standing ovation, and before I could do anything about it, tears flowed freely down my face. What a time for my allergies to act up.
“Hey, Millie,” Julie yelled over to me. I thought she was going to make fun of me. Instead, she said, “Nice job.”
“See?” my mother whispered as I sat down. She handed me a wad of Kleenex. “You just had to give volleyball a try. Oh,” she added, “I almost forgot to tell you, I’ve signed you up for basketball in the fall.”
I was going to protest, but she ran off to the bathroom.
After the awards ceremony, Maddie pulled me aside and fished something out of her big black purse. In her hand rested a small red box. “This is for you, for continued good luck,” she said as she ceremoniously placed a green jade pendant on a yellow gold chain around my neck. It complemented Emily’s friendship necklace. “I am so proud to see that you’re beginning to use your whole self, Millicent. Not just your brain.”
When I started to speak, she pressed two fingers to my lips. “Confucius says that you can become part of the moral order of the cosmos once you find your proper place in it. Millicent,” Maddie stared deeply into my eyes. “Continue searching out where you belong. Only then will you find happiness.”