The Meaning of Maggie by Megan Jean Sovern

Author:Megan Jean Sovern
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Chronicle Books LLC
Published: 2014-04-03T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

But boy, did I wish I could give up February. I HATED February. It was always gloomy and cold and all anybody talked about was love and smooching and blah blah blah. I hated it. Sure, I got a giant yellow Whitman’s Sampler from Dad. Sure, Layla and Tiffany would let me have theirs. Sure, there was candy at school every day. But there were also Flower-Grams and I HATED Flower-Grams.

Never heard of a Flower-Gram? I hadn’t either before middle school. But turns out they’re a form of torture where boys pay a dollar to have the Booster Club deliver a flower to the girl of their dreams during homeroom. And so what, I probably wasn’t going to get one. I probably wasn’t ever going to get smallpox either and I considered myself lucky. And so what, maybe I thought Clyde might send me one after we totally had a moment over Neil Young. Even though we hadn’t really talked since. So it was totally fine that he didn’t. He probably thought they were stupid. Of course he did.42

The big delivery day was Valentine’s Day. And I made sure not to wear pink or red because I knew every girl in school would be wearing pink or red. So I wore Dad’s Bruce Springsteen shirt instead. I didn’t need love. I had America.

When I got to my locker, Mary Winter43 was holding a bouquet of Flower-Grams like they were a Nobel Peace Prize or something. She fixed her hair in her full-length locker mirror and proceeded to ruin my life.

“Happy Valentine’s Day Maggie! How many Flower-Grams did you get?”

“I don’t believe in flower murder,” I said.

“Oh well, I have a bunch if you change your mind. You can have one of mine.”

She tried to give me a carnation but I shooed it away. “No, thanks.”

She insisted. “Come on, take this one. It’s so pretty.” She read the tag, which was amazing because I didn’t think she could read. “It’s from some boy named Clyde? Do you know him?”

HOLY.

WHAT.

I slammed my locker door and ran down the hall with a knife in my heart.

The rest of the day was a blur of one devastation after the next. First the flower and then the cafeteria ran out of chocolate milk and then I got a 94 on my French test instead of my anticipated 98 and then the hand dryer in the bathroom was broken and I had to dry my hands on my pants which left behind an embarrassing wet spot that I didn’t want to talk about and then TO TOP IT ALL OFF at the end of the day, that stupid flower was stuck in my locker with a note from Mary that read, “From me to you, Happy Valentine’s Day Girl!” Girl?! Don’t call me girl, GIRL. I am a woman. A future world leader. You would never call Margaret Thatcher GIRL, would you? Certainly not to her face? ON THE WORST DAY OF HER LIFE?!

When I got home I didn’t even want to catch up on current events with Dad.

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