Standing Up to Mr. O. by Claudia Mills

Author:Claudia Mills
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

9

Maggie worked on her opinion essay all through the long Martin Luther King, Jr., weekend. She usually wasn’t the type to brag, but when she read over the final draft, freshly printed from the computer, she did think, in all honesty, that it was the most convincing essay ever written in the history of the world. Anyone reading it would definitely give up eating meat and unhappy-animal products forever, and never do a dissection again.

As she read the essay a second time on Monday afternoon, lovingly adding a few commas and semicolons here and there, the phone rang. Maggie picked it up.

“Hi, Maggie,” a boy’s voice said. It sounded like Jake, probably too cool to bother saying his name. Maggie hated it when people didn’t identify themselves on the phone. It was rude and arrogant to assume that everyone in the whole world would recognize your voice instantly.

But of course Maggie had recognized Jake’s voice instantly. She remained silent, waiting for Jake to do his part.

“You don’t know who this is, do you?”

Maggie still refused to answer.

“It’s Jake.”

“Hi, Jake.” Maggie thawed a bit. The only boy who had ever held her hand was also the only boy who had ever called her on the phone. And he did have a great voice—low and confidential, as if whatever he was saying was meant for her alone.

“What’re you doing?”

“Nothing much. Working on my opinion essay. I just finished it.” She could close her eyes now and see how her essay would look printed in the typeface of The Grand Valley Gazette.

“You really go in for prizes and stuff, don’t you?”

Was that an accusation? Some people liked to be good students. Some people thought it was a sacrifice, not an accomplishment, to be getting F’s on every biology lab.

“What about you?” Maggie asked, to turn the conversation back to Jake. “What are you doing?”

“Hanging out. Thinking about you.” Maggie caught in her breath. “That was all I called to say. That I was thinking about you.”

Maggie didn’t say anything. What was she supposed to say? Thanks. Or: What were you thinking? Or: I was thinking about you, too. Silence on the phone was even more uncomfortable than silence in person. On the phone you couldn’t see the person—his gestures, the look on his face, whether or not he was smiling. It was odd to be holding on so tightly to the receiver, listening to … nothing.

“Well, I gotta go,” Jake said finally. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

“Tomorrow,” Maggie echoed softly. Jake hung up first, then, after a long moment, Maggie.

“Who was that?” her mother called to her from the kitchen.

“A boy from school.” Maggie tried to say it casually, as if boys called her all the time.

“A boy from school?” Her mother stood in the doorway now, obviously interested. “I hope it wasn’t Matt What’s-His-Name, with more menu advice.”

“No, it was a different boy.”

“What did he want?”

“Nothing,” Maggie said. But she knew that the smile that insisted on hovering around her mouth was giving her away.

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