Noteworthy

Noteworthy

“Not all teachers are mean,” he said.

“I dunno about that,” I answered. “I’ve never met one that liked me.” That sinking hollow in the pit of my stomach pervaded any positivity I may have had.

“It’ll be a good year; I just know it.” Ellis, my older brother, ignited my hope from the twinkle in his eyes and the warmth in his smile. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with hope, and a glimmer sparked the beat of my heart for just a second.

I remember that conversation oh so well. I started my ninth-grade year with trepidation. The summer had changed me in many ways. I grew three inches taller, and my body went from that of a little girl to a woman. Still childlike in many ways, my favorite thing was swim practice and playing Sharks and Minnows. In the water, I had confidence. The sun bleached my blonde hair and gave my skin a glow-kissed appearance.

Waiting for the school bus, I felt the jitters in my stomach; bubbles popped and rumbled. There would be new kids everywhere; that’s how it was in ninth grade. Would I fit in? Some of the nerdier kids had special relationships with the teachers, and the popular kids, well, everyone loved them, and then there was me, the invisible kid. I felt the corners of my mouth turn downward, and the twinkle in my eyes flew away like Tinker Bell in Peter Pan.

The bus barreled down the boulevard. I saw it rocking to and fro, getting closer and closer. What I wouldn’t have given for a ride from my parents, but they thought I was old enough to strike out into the world of high school on my own, and it was true. I had been molly-coddled way too much. In hindsight, it was a wise move. I couldn’t help but notice as I made my way onto the bus and down the aisle; many of the students from the previous year smiled and told me hello. Most curious, I thought.

Once at school, meandering through the hallway to my locker, the popular girls said hi with glowing compliments about my sun-bleached hair and enviously tanned skin. My figure was a schoolyard topic, but I was still that awkward kid, lost and alone. With a vice-like grip, my heart felt crushed with apprehension.

The class following lunch had a new English teacher, and I’d heard talk about his strangeness. “Great,” I thought, another person to ignore me. My heart fluttered when I walked into the classroom. The teacher was cute, like a boy, with a warm smile punctuated by matching deep dimples. My heart almost stopped, and I knew my face had turned a cherry red; I could feel the heat radiating.

“So, Miss Selby, you have been the talk of the ninth grade, and what a privilege it is to have you brighten my doorway.” Was he being flippant and rude, making fun of me? His smile seemed genuine. I shyly waved and took my seat as the classroom filled. Mr. Gatsby was fantastic, with animated gestures and a sense of humor that made me laugh aloud; how embarrassing. “I want to get to know each of you. As your first assignment, pull out a sheet of loose-leaf and write a few paragraphs about your summer.” Was I in love? My heart raced, and I could feel I had goo-goo eyes as I watched him.

An assignment such as that was a piece of cake for me. I loved my summer days hanging around my teammates. I was respected and admired for my speed in the water. I had earned more blue ribbons than most of the kids on the team, and the coach was great, always with an encouraging word. Just remembering made my heart flutter and created a smile across my face. Post-haste, I wrote about the wonderful summer, my friends, my coach, and the blue ribbons. I sparsely mentioned my family’s summer vacation to the mountains. In truth, I had fun, even though I complained a tad to my parents about being away from the swim team. The teacher collected our writing as we exited the classroom at the end of the period. “Thank you, Miss Selby; I look forward to reading your paper.” He had said that to a few other people, so I gave it no thought other than it was nice to have a teacher smile at me instead of scowl. As though air flowed beneath my feet, my steps felt cushioned.

My brother had already gotten home when the bus returned to my stop. He was waiting on the boulevard. Everyone always loved Ellis. He was handsome, strong, smart, and athletic. He was the only reason people would talk to me before; a means to get close to him. He smiled as I trod down the steps of the bus.

“Well, so, how’d it go?” he asked with a chipper inflection in his voice.

“You were right.” I babbled the whole distance home about my English teacher. “Ellis, he is so nice and funny. For some reason, the kids at school acted differently to me than ever before—like they saw me instead of being ghost girl. Did you have anything to do with that?” My nose scrunched as I looked at him in question. It would’ve been okay; he was protective and loved me. I giggled.

“Nope,” he smiled. “Summer was good to you and polished your shine. I knew that would be the case. I’m happy that you like your English teacher; what about the others?” he inquired as I tried to keep up with his long strides, causing my breaths to increase and drying out my mouth.

“They were decent” My words crackled as I spoke, my teeth stuck to my lips. “Nobody scowled or criticized me. It was different this year, but Ellis, it’s only the first day.” The smile glued on my face accompanied a giggle on the verge of bursting out my mouth.

The next morning, I was eager to go to school. I picked out a favorite outfit my Dad had purchased for me. I didn’t have much because I’d outgrown most of my clothes over the summer except for some shorts and swim team tee shirts, but I couldn’t wear those to school—nothing more than an inch above the knee.

My heart wasn’t as heavy waiting for the bus. The breeze blew my blonde locks in all crazy directions, and I was sure I looked a mess, all wind-blown. Mom had allowed me to wear a little mascara and pale pink lipstick. I felt so grown up.

I watched as the big yellow box rolled over the humps in the boulevard bouncing the passengers around. “Good morning,” the bus driver offered. How odd, I thought. I couldn’t remember him speaking to me all the years since fourth grade when we moved to the new school district. I returned a hi and smiled. One of the popular girls, Janie Morse, patted her seat and pushed over, telling me to sit next to her. Okay, what’s the deal? I puzzled. She probably wants an introduction to Ellis.

“I love your outfit. You look so pretty today, like a model or something.” I felt like I had entered the Twilight Zone.

“Thanks. It’s new.” The world felt strange like I was in some dream. Time passed, and like the day before, there was a constant ringing of ‘hi’ all down the hall. I went to my locker. Suddenly I was surrounded by girls who had never spoken to me before. I was confused but took it in stride. The morning classes moved quickly.

Lunch rolled around; I scarfed my food, the bell rang, and it was time for English. When I walked to my seat, a few girls followed, talking about a new boy, and asked if I had seen him. They thought we’d make a perfect couple. It was getting weirder by the minute. I had been looking forward to Mr. Gatsby. I liked him.

Everyone took their seats. The teacher greeted each student and made time to not only welcome me but compliment my attire. I waited for the other shoe to drop, not understanding what could possibly be going on. He cleared his throat and sat on the corner of his desk, not at all like any of the other teachers. “What a fun time I had last night reading about all the grand adventures you kiddos went on this summer. I have three papers I’m going to read aloud. Each one has a distinct style. All the papers were fascinating; I’m using these to illustrate different voices, and we will discuss them. Our mission this school year is to explore some of the great classics, looking for different styles, voices, use of plot lines, you get the idea. At the end of each book, you will have a brief test to ensure you actually read the assignments.” He laughed, “Just joking; I know you will, but the main grade will come from your written book review. This challenge will help expand your knowledge as readers and writers.” His facial expressions and animation utterly entranced me. He was crazy different, then he clapped loudly, making me nearly jump out of my skin. I felt my heart race, and my senses triggered to high alert, with my heart pounding and blood coursing at a racing speed.

He started with Jimmy Taylor’s paper, Big Bear on the Mountain. I loved Jimmy’s story. His family was hiking and came upon a bear. I felt the fear he described as my stomach did somersaults. I could visualize the bear and was as curious as could be as to what happened next. I literally held my breath until I heard the bear found interest elsewhere and they returned on their hike. I understood what Mr. Gatsby spoke about, and Jimmy’s description was exciting and illustrated different ways to express an action or feeling.

Next was Stephanie Schultz, The Lake Accident That Didn’t Happen. She described how the lake looked as the boat flew along, creating a wake of ripples and white caps. I could almost feel the bounce as the boat’s bow slammed on top of the water. Then, I heard the panic in the tone of her story as a sandbar appeared out of nowhere, and the boat came inches from running into it. I was on the edge of my seat. But, while that was frightening, I could almost feel the wind blowing against my face as she described flying across the surface. What an adventure. Mine was so lame compared to the two stories I’d heard. Next time, I’d know better and would write with umph. Let people know what I felt and how things smelled and tasted, using all senses.

Oh my gosh, he announced, Right in My Lap. Mine! No, no, no, he couldn’t embarrass me like that. Everyone would be making fun of me. I hadn’t had any brilliant adventure; mine was just life, plain and simple. Yes, I had been excited, even pensive, waiting for the starter pistol to pop. I felt my chest swell as the race coordinator awarded the ribbons. True, I was heartbroken and sad when we took the family trip, but my tummy tickled when I thought about the epic pillow fight Ellis and I had. He was a great big brother. My heart overflowed. As he read, I felt a lump in my throat as I held back tears; I loved my life, even with its mundane boredom others might find pitiful; it was fun, and it was mine.

 After each reading, he’d comment, and what he said were all the things I had thought while hearing him read. Now, what would he say about mine? “Class, we have heard of exciting and frightening adventures, but Selby took the every day and made it extraordinary. There is emotion in almost everything we encounter, as demonstrated in her summer story; well done, you three! Class, I enjoyed all your memories from the summer. What I pointed out here was the importance of sensory experiences, and it doesn’t have to be by encountering a bear, but I must say, I might have left a deposit had it been me meeting a bear.” The class laughed. “The adventure on the lake, I could feel the wind dancing across my face. There’s a difference between telling and showing or, as I like, experiencing the moment. Life is full of them; every person and every task has a story. Thank you for sharing; it was eye-opening and special.”

I felt my chest puff out, and I had to control the smile that would have burst from ear to ear. Yes, everything in life was noteworthy. I needed to feel the day with its subtle nuances. Mr. Gatsby taught me more in that one class than I had learned in years of English class. My world opened up, and I knew, at that moment, I wanted to be a teacher, one like the great Mr. Gatsby.

“Class, we start, The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. Read chapters One and Two. Feel the read, y’all! Have a good evening, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Be ready to talk about the style of author Daniel Defoe.”