Chapter 2
“WHOA!” Em heard the loud warning call too late as
she plowed head first into someone just inside the door. The person she’d run into took a few steps
back to avoid falling over. Emily, embarrassed,
untangled herself from the stranger.
“Can I
help you?” asked a man’s voice. Em
looked up into the face of her human road block, surprised to see laughing eyes
under abnormally huge eyebrows. They
were so funny, it caught her off guard and she actually smiled.
“Um…maybe…”
she managed to get out before catching her breath. “Sorry!
I mean…” she faltered. Her mind
went blank and she realized that these might have been the most words she’d
spoken to anyone outside of her family in months.
“Well-“
said the stranger, sensing her discomfort.
“Let’s start with names. Mine’s
Mr. Tuttle. I’m the Principal here at
Pine Hollow. And you are…?“
Emily
felt the familiar sinking feeling in her stomach. Oh great.
The principal.
“Emily Preston,”
she mumbled. “I’m-“
“The
new eighth grader!” a springy voice perked up from somewhere behind her. Em swung around and saw two other girls who
looked her age. One, with tight curls
and bright eyes smiled at her. The
other, taller and athletic, smiled cautiously and looked Emily up and
down. Before Emily could refuse to acknowledge
them, like normal, Curly grabbed her hand and pulled her closer.
“I’m so
glad you’re here!” she said, talking unbelievably fast. “Our class is so small. AND it’s full of BOYS! Anna and I are the only eighth grade girls
and can you imagine dealing with that every day? AND…”
“Savannah!” Mr. Tuttle’s voice broke through the girl’s
cascade of words. “Hold on just a
second, please.”
The
girl froze in mid-sentence and slowly turned on her toes, smiling. “Oh.
Sorry Mr. T. What?”
Em couldn’t help but laugh in her
head. Huge Eyebrow Man’s nickname was
Mr. T. That was the name of a character
in an old show her dad used to watch.
Only in that show, Mr. T was a big scary guy with a tough attitude. Mr. Tuttle seemed the exact opposite of that. The principal
put his hand on lightly Em’s shoulder.
“Let’s head into the office so we can get you settled in,” he said to
her. “Girls,” he said glancing at the other two
eighth graders. “Why don’t you head to
class? I’ll have Mrs. Montrose bring her
down when we’re ready.”
Curly, or Savannah, sighed
dramatically. Anna, the tall girl,
rolled her eyes at her, and smiled cautiously at Em. Then both girls disappeared down the narrow
hallway, with Curly nearly pulling the other girl out of her shoes.
Em felt the principal’s hand on her
shoulder as it guided her through a large green door with a huge glass window
on it. “Office” was printed in white block letters across the window. Mr. T turned to the right and led her into
another room. It must have been his
personal office. It was complete with a
mini fridge and picture frames of his two grown children. At least, Em thought they were his children. They had giant, matching eyebrows.
The principal motioned for Emily to
sit on a stiff looking love seat, situated in the corner of the little
room. Em eyed it for a second. It seemed a bit odd for a principal to have a
sofa in his office. Maybe he lounged around on it and watched
movies on his phone during the day? Mr.
Tuttle must have noticed Em’s confused look because he said,” That old love
seat belonged to my Grandma Alice. It
was my inheritance present, and I thought it might make my office seem more
homey.” He paused. “It IS a little old and stiff, but good
memories…” he smiled and repeated himself again as if to emphasize his
point…”good memories.” Em nodded like
she knew exactly what those good memories were.
However, in reality, she was starting to be concerned that her new principal
might be crazy. She sat down on the sofa
and looked at her hands.
“Emily,”
the principal said after taking a moment to look at some papers on his
desk. “It is a little unusual for a
student to come to school on the first day without a parent accompanying her.”
“Oh?”
She responded intelligently. She felt
herself getting angrier at her mom for putting her into this awkward spot. Now, not only did she come from a broken home,
she also came from one with an absent parent.
“I really am a charity case,” she thought. Immediately she quieted the shame from that
thought with the familiar refrain she’d taught herself to repeat when she
couldn’t handle the pain: “Who cares? It
doesn’t matter anyway.” If she told that
to herself enough, it really didn’t
matter. Nothing did.
Mr.
Tuttle sensed Em tightening up, and smiled at her. His enormous eyebrows almost touched together. “Don’t worry though!” he said. “It says in my paperwork that you’re 14 years
old! 4 more years until adulthood. I’m sure you can answer these questions as
well as your mom. Here-“ he said handing
her a packet of papers. “I just need you
to fill out some of these for the enrollment paperwork.” He glanced up at an apple shaped clock on his
wall. “I have to go check on class 219
before the bell rings. Just finish up in
here and bring the forms to Mrs. Montrose.
She is our school secretary, nurse, teacher’s aid, notary, and recess
teacher.” Mr. Tuttle looked at her, as
if to see her reaction to the long list of jobs given the poor Mrs.
Montrose. Em just stared at him.
“When
you teach at a private school, my dear, you have at least seven other jobs than
your own!” Mr. Tuttle laughed too hard
at his own joke. He then left, still
chuckling to himself. “Seven other jobs…maybe eight!” she heard him
reemphasize as he headed down the hallway, laughing again.
Em sighed. Maybe she could take to six hours fill out
the paper work, and miss the whole school day.
She rifled through the first few papers.
They looked pretty easy. Basic
questions, such as her name and birthday were simple enough. She frowned as she continued to look. She didn’t know any of the insurance
information that the school was asking for, nor the name of a doctor in case of
an emergency. She would have to force
her mom to come in tomorrow and fill that stuff out.
The last page, however, was the
most perplexing of all. The entire page
was nearly blank except for a short blip of writing at the top. It was a question. “Who are you?” it read. Em
groaned inwardly. Essay questions were
the worst, and this was a weird one. Em
sat for a minute thinking. “What a dumb
question,” she said aloud to herself.
“This entire packet is about who I am.”
The more she thought about the question, the more annoyed she
became. This was what she didn’t like
about school, or counselors. Everyone
was always trying to get her to think deeply about everything, and it was
getting old. Her dad didn’t want her,
she was far away from anything familiar, and she was convinced that life was
just a series of painful things, blending into more pain. “And eventually you die,” she thought darkly
to herself.
She grabbed the pencil, and started
filling out the packet, tackling that ridiculous question first. “Who am I?” she thought to herself, half
angry and half hurting. With one stray
tear rolling down her cheek, she wrote the only words that brought her comfort,
“It doesn’t matter. “
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