Mount Rushmore, A Newspaper Article, and a 100 lbs of Butter

      “Butterball!” Kenzie sneers at me as I pass her in the crowded hallway. I hold my breath and walk quicker. I hear snickering from around me and do everything in my power not to start crying.

           When I reach my locker, my best friend Adelyn is waiting for me. She looks me up and down, from my sweatshirt to my combat boots.

           “What?” I say.

           “Oh um,” she points down at the leg of my pants. Oh, come on! There is a margarine stick wrapper on the cuff! Someone must have done this on purpose! Adelyn leans down, peels it off, and flings it into a nearby trash can.  

           “Sorry, Bex.” She says, with sympathy in her voice.

           “It’s okay.” I mutter, slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder. “I need to get to language arts-last class today.” Walking quickly, head down, I go to Mrs. King’s LA classroom. I slide into my seat in the back, where I can finally fade into the background.

           After a quick role call, Mrs. King pulls up an article on the projector. Laughter erupts from my classmates, and my face turns as red as a stoplight. I guess it is time I clear the air on my embarrassing past. My great-grandmother, Loretta Davis, won first at the state fair’s butter carving contest-with 100 lbs of butter! She carved a Mount Rushmore replica in great detail, even chipping away at it with firecrackers to recreate the dynamite the builders used on Rushmore.  The paper and all its social media accounts published a story on the fiftieth anniversary of the contest, and now everybody at school knows. So I know that story on the screen all too well. I don’t know why Mrs. King is doing this! After an embarrassing 45 minute “dissection on the meaning behind the article,” I hurry out of the classroom and into the bathroom.

           I slam the door on the stall and put my bag in my lap, resting my head on it as tears begin flowing from my eyes. Then I hear a quiet knock on the door. I brush the tears off my cheek and mutter a quick “occupied” when I hear whoever it is say, “Bex? It’s okay.” I knew who it was-only Adelyn calls me Bex. I stand up and open the door. “Oh, Addy! It was the worst.”

           “I heard all about it from Sammi. Bex, I’m so sorry.” Adelyn says. “Comd on. Here’s a paper towel-dry your face. I know how you can get over this.”

           I look up, confused. Instead of a paper towel, she handed me a talent show flyer.

           “You know, Bex.” Then it hits me.

           “No way!” I yell. “That won’ t do anything but make it worse.”

           “Too late,” she says. “I signed you up and everything. Rebecca Davis-Butter Carving!” Adelyn is my best friend, but she drives me nuts!

           “Addy, I don’t even know how!”

           “I’m sure Loretta does.”

           “Yeah, but she died two years ago!”

           “Look it up. I’m sure there’s a video online somewhere.” She got me there. You can listen to someone eating raw squid for ten minutes-there’s gotta be some kind of butter carving video.

           “I need to go.” I say, walking out of the bathroom after peeking out to make sure no one was left in the hallway.  

           After I got home curiosity got the better of me, and I looked up how to carve butter. I grabbed a tub from the fridge as well as a butterknife and crept back to my room. After several messy attempts, I think I got it down.  The talent show was in two days, so I was cutting it close. I have a nice outfit I could wear, but I don’t want it all buttery. I can probably steal my sister, Sophie’s dress with the pretty butterflies on them. I think I’ll tell my mom tomorrow. Oh gosh-already 10:09 pm! I need to go to bed.

           I wake up to Broadway songs on my alarm, thinking it will be a good day until I remember what Adelyn did. Great. Lucky it’s a teacher institute day so I can sleep all day after I call Adelyn and tell my mom. I guess I better get that over with now. I go downstairs and find my mom doing dishes.

           “Mom? Mom? MOM?!”

           “Oh, sorry honey. What’s up?”

           “Um, I need 10 pounds of butter and a ride home from school at 5.”

           “Why?” Mom asked, turning off the water.

           “Talent show. I-uh-lost a bet. I need to carve butter.”

           “Oh honey, that’s so cute! I’ll be there, but Sophie has volleyball.”

           “You don’t have to come.” I say, silently praying for her to agree.

           “Oh, don’t be silly! Of course I’m coming!”

           Ugh, of course. Mom loves me of course, but she can be a bit overbearing.

           All of a sudden, my phone goes off. Adelyn wants to video chat! “Hey girl!” she says.

           “Hi…” I reply.

           “You ready?”

           “No. Listen, I don’t really feel like talking. I want to go to sleep.”

           “Oh, ok Bex. See you!” Adelyn hangs up and I sigh. I trudge back upstairs and flop into bed. I fall asleep fast, and the morning comes too fast. Mom comes in as fast as she can.

           “Good morning sweetheart!” she yells.

           I groan. “Hi…”

           “Up and at em, Rebecca!” she insists, pulling off my sheets. I pull into fetal position and look up at her.                     

 “Get up!” Mom says, pretending to be stern but stifling a giggle. She holds up Sophie’s butterfly dress and hands it to me. I’ll braid your hair if you hurry up.”

I get up, dressed, and use some lip gloss. I rush into the living room with my brush and Mom Dutch braids my long blonde hair.

           After a school day full of rumors (“did you hear about butter girl?” “Rebecca’s doing butter!”) I go to the auditorium. I asked to go first in the show so I can hide right after. All too soon the principal calls us backstage to line up.

           “First, Rebecca Davis! She is carving butter to carry on her great-grandmother’s tradition!”

I walk out onto the stage, trembling. I put the five pound block of butter on the card table in the middle of the platform. The knife comes out, and I take four minutes to carve a penguin. It’s not perfect, but it looks like a penguin. Then, the unthinkable. Nobody claps when I finish. No one but my mom. Then everyone rises and gives me a standing ovation and roses are thrust upon me!

           Just kidding. Everyone clapped politely, but when I leave I feel much better. I can take any teasing. But I will never, ever, use butter on anything again.