After lunch, Claire and I have gym. It's our only common class, so we try to make the most of it. That's hard considering who our teacher is. It's someone as vile as Mallory Pike is crazy -
Cokie Mason.
Color me eight shades of surprise that Cokie even got into college! Yale must be one of those schools that'll let anyone in. Cokie Mason has been the mortal enemy of the BSC for as long as the club has existed. She's played nasty trick after nasty trick on us. Once, she sent Mary Anne a bad-luck charm! Another time, she sent Kristy fake love letters! I don't care if Cokie is my teacher. Nor do I care that she has a college degree (whoop-de-do!) or that she's engaged to a Youth Minister. That girl's just bad news. Plus, she's petty, spiteful, deceitful, and truthfully, not too bright. That I have to take orders from her is really quite -
Fweet! Fweet!
"Kishi! Quit standing there with your mouth hanging open! Get out on the court!"
Can you believe how bossy she is?
"And take off that ridiculous tail!"
Oh, my tail. Cokie has a major problem with how I've modified my gym uniform. I glance around at all the other kids in their baggy yellow and blue shorts and sweat stained t-shirts. They all just blend together. Me, I like to stand out in the crowd. No one would mistake me for an ordinary SMS student in the uniform I created! In it, everyone can tell I'm special.
Here's how I created my unique uniform: first, I sewed together half a pair of navy-colored sweatshorts and half a pair of goldenrod-colored sweatshorts. I hemmed them to just below my bikini line, for style and comfort. I can move freely in those shorts! Now - get this - I made a tail out of felt and sewed it on the back of my shorts. Then, I glued felt ears onto a headband. Get it? I'm a jaguar! Our school mascot!
For awhile, I had papier mache jaguar heads fastened over my breasts, but they were ripped off during a particularly rowdy game of volleyball. Boy, was Cokie mad when my tube top came off. She acted like Marc Bressler meant to pull it down around my knees.
Cokie tried to get my uniform banned from gym. However, Mr. Kingbridge, the assistant principal, really stood up for me. He thinks my uniform is cute (he loved the jaguar heads). Mr. Kingbridge pops into the gym two or three times a week to make sure Cokie doesn't give me a bad time. He came everyday during the track and basketball units. He says he really likes my jump shot!
Cokie still insists my uniform is "inappropriate" and "distracting". She's so spiteful! She needs to get over the time we scared her at Old Hickory's grave and -
"Kishi! Do you see the tennis balls flying at you head?"
Someone's power tripping!
"Excuse me, Cokie," I reply sweetly,"I have a lot on my mind."
"Oh no. I'm sorry, Miss Kishi. I should have recognized your brain working overtime." Cokie smiles, then blows her whistle. Fweet! Fweet! "Now, get on the court, pay attention, and swing that racket. Can you manage that? After taking eighth grade gym ten times I would hope so."
Gee, embarrassing me is just uncalled for! Must everyone be reminded of how many times I've repeated eighth grade? Besides, I've passed gym four of those times.
When Cokie turns her back, I stick out my tongue. Then, I set down my racket and walk over to the drinking fountain where Claire's talking to Anthony Zmeggler. She better be saying nice things about me!
"Hey, guys!" I greet them.
Claire scowls and doesn't say anything. I must have interrupted her telling Anthony something fabutastic about me. Anthony winks. I was right!
I lean over to get a sip of water. As I'm straightening up, Anthony splashes water all over the front of my tube top!
Anthony laughs. "Hey, Claud, you look cold," he says, glancing down at my chest.
I laugh, too. I can't believe Anthony Zmeggler's flirting with me! Claire snorts and walks away to give us some privacy.
"So, Claud, do you have any plans on Saturday?" Anthony asks.
"I have a sitting job in the afternoon, but I'm free all evening,"
"That's cool. I was thinking, maybe we could take your car-"
"That's perfect! I get my car back on Saturday!"
"Cool, that's cool," Anthony pats the top of his beautifully gelled hair. He gives me another green-eyed wink. I'm dying. "So, on the outskirts of Stoneybrook, there's this place called Kozy Kabins - "
"Oh, for the love of Grandma Mildred!"
Argh! Just when I'm scoring a date!
"You!" Cokie points at Anthony, "Fifteen laps - now!" Cokie grabs my arm and drags me back to the tennis courts.
"Your timing totally Hoovers, Cokie!"
"It...huh? Nevermind. You were making a date with an eighth grader!"
Duh. I roll my eyes. "I am an eighth grader."
"He's a real eighth grader. Not a repeat offender. In all your years of eighth grade English, have you ever had 'statutory' as a vocabulary word?"
I can't believe Cokie's wasting my time with pop quizzes! And, for her to give a lecture on English. Cokie once used a book flap for a book report!
"You're ruining my chances with Anthony! Just because you're jealous! Just like you've always been jealous of the Baby-Sitters Club!"
Cokie becomes flustered, sputtering a few incoherent words. Her eyes cross and her face turns purple. Ha! I've rendered her speechless with my wit and keen observationistic skills. A person doesn't take the Public Speaking Short Takes class six times (passing twice!) without picking up a few debating techniques.
Cokie tears off her sweatshirt (still speechless!), shoves it into my arms, and pushes me onto a tennis court."Sweatshirt! On! Racket! Pick up! Play! Now!"
Someone who crumbles under the power of debate really shouldn't be teaching. But, I zip up the sweatshirt and swing at a few balls. Lucky for me, passing gym is not a requirement for passing eighth grade. Cokie watches for about five or ten minutes, arms folded across her chest, brooding and jealous (same old Cokie!) Finally, a fight breaks out three courts down and Cokie rushes away to break it up, waving her arms and blowing her whistle. Really, Cokie has no control over this class.
I set my racket down and walk off in search of Claire. I haven't seen her since the drinking fountain. I need to tell her about my big date with Anthony!
"Have you seen Claire?" I ask Marnie Barrett, this totally skanky seventh grader.
Marnie snaps her gum. "Yeah, she was walking toward the locker room, like, three minutes ago."
"Thanks,"
I start toward the girls' locker room almost bursting with the excitement of my news. Me and Anthony Zmeggler! Me and Anthony Zmeggler! I skip a few steps as I near the locker room. I push open the door and -
See Claire.
On her knees. In front of Anthony Zmeggler. With his shorts around his ankles.
"Claire! How could you!" I shriek.
Claire's head whips around, the color draining from her face. Tears well in the corners of my eyes. And I run.
I run out of the locker room. Out of the gym. Out of Stoneybrook Middle School. I run all the way to Bradford Court. I realize, I don't have my house key. So, I throw myself into the hydrangeas and cry.