The only reason I knew Eddie Munson was because Mrs. Lydecker paired us up in class. I already was linked to him because my last name is Myers. MU always comes before MY when we're in alphabetical order so any class we were in, Eddie was somewhere near me on the seating chart.
In Mrs. Lydecker's French class, third period he and I would quiz each other on verbs and vocabulary –at least *I* would. Most of the time Eddie would be writing stuff in one of his tattered spiral notebooks, or trying to talk to Frank Woodsinger, one seat over.
Mrs. Lydecker's room had the desks in two sets of rows, facing each other so we could 'converse naturally' as she would say. In any other class that would be crazy, but because she had us in alphabetical order, I wasn't able to sit with Robin and Cassie the way I normally would. No, I was paired off with Munson for an hour every day.
He was okay, though. Fidgety, but not mean or anything. Sometimes he could be really funny, and I know he liked to make people laugh. A couple of the girls thought he was cute, but ultimately a loser.
"D and D," Cassie sighed. "What a waste."
"Not everyone is cut out for sports," I pointed out. "Or music."
"Or languages," Robin added, but she was grinning as she said it.
I rolled my eyes. "Hey, irregular verbs are a pain in the ass," I reminded her. "We should be learning Esperanto, where everything is uniform."
"Where would the challenge be in that?" Robin shot back and sailed off in her last-word victory.
I sighed.
-oo00oo-
Things were starting to get better for Mom, but she still wasn't eating because of the chemo, and even making her favorite dishes didn't seem to make a difference. I tried not to brood about it—she was definitely on the mend—but it was slow going. Robin knew my mom was sick, but not that it was cancer. Even my coach didn't know it was cancer and I planned on keeping it that way. Neither Mom nor I wanted the pity, especially after Dad's death.
So I was kind of distracted and not always paying attention, which wasn't good. My grades were sliding a little, and I realized I needed some extra credit if I wanted to keep playing Lacrosse. I went to Mr. Charles about Algebra, and Mrs. Lydecker about French.
Mr. Charles told me if I passed the daily quiz for a month, he'd bring my grade up by one letter, which was terrific news. Mrs. Lydecker though, wasn't so easy. She hemmed and hawed about extra credit, and finally told me that if Munson, who was also dropping behind did a five-minute skit for the class entirely in French, she'd give us both a boost.
"That means my grade is contingent on his participation!" I protested.
Mrs. Lydecker nodded. "Oui, cooperation will be necessary. But Mr. Munson is quite the ham, and I predict he will rise to the occasion, n'est pas?"
I sighed again.
By the time I got home after practice, the living room lights were on, which was a good sign. I came in with the pizza and set it on the kitchen counter before going to check on Mom.
She was curled up in the recliner, watching a rerun of The Love Boat, and gave me a smile when I moved to hug her.
"Any famous guests?" I asked, looking over my shoulder at the screen.
"Ruth Buzzi. She was before your time, though. Funny lady," Mom told me.
"So how many slices? Two? Or three?"
"One, for now," Mom sighed, settling back.
We ate in front of the TV, and I noticed she only finished half of hers. She tried to hide it under her napkin, but I shook my head.
"I'm sorry Fi, but I just don't have much of an appetite," Mom mumbled. "I do drink a lot of milk though."
"You need to eat," I persisted and then laughed. "God, I sound like YOU, don't I?"
She grinned at me. "And I sound like YOU. I'll try, sweetie, but I can't push it or I'll throw up."
Mom was a nurse, so she knows what's going on with her body. I try to be patient but it's not easy.
"So, How was practice? How was school?" she asked me, reaching for my hand.
"Same same," I told her. "I have to do a skit for French class though, ugh."
"What about?"
"We haven't decided," I told her. Considering I hadn't even talked to Eddie, that was the truth. "But it has to be five minutes long."
"Sing 'La Marseillaise'" Mom teased. "But keep your shirt on."
"Mom!" I cracked up. She and I had seen the famous Delacroix painting with the topless patriot woman ages ago on some educational program. She'd told me back then that it was no surprise that men would follow a woman with her rack out, especially in France.
"You could have a big French flag, and storm down the hall, recruiting students for your revolution—" she started to cough even as she laughed. I went and rubbed her back as Mom worked to get her breath back.
"Eddie would have already been in the Bastille," I muttered through a grin. "For crimes against the establishment."
"Pffft, Eddie Munson is an angel compared to his old man," Mom replied. "Richie Munson was in the ER at least once a month for years, usually because of a bar fight, or some scuffle with Hawkins PD. I'm just glad that boy's got his uncle Wayne keeping an eye on him. Richie was the wild one, Wayne was the steady one."
"I didn't know you knew them."
"I was a year behind Richie, two behind Wayne," Mom nodded. "By the time I came back from nursing school and met your dad, Richie was just getting out from his first stretch at Pendleton Correctional. We had a list in the OR of frequent visitors and his name was on it. Still."
I shook my head. "Wow. Eddie's a little wild, but I don't think he's like his dad. He got in a fight last year, but from what I heard it was because some of the jocks came after him, not like HE started it."
"Way of the world," Mom sighed. "Those on top tend to peck at those on the bottom. You remember that the next time you're on top."
"Should I remember it when I'm on the bottom too?" I asked, trying to make her laugh.
She didn't. She just looked at me for a minute and murmured, "Fi, when you're on the bottom it's ALL you remember. I just hope Eddie takes more after his uncle than his father."
-oo00oo—
When I got to French class, Eddie was already there, deep in one of his notebooks, scribbling something in that atrocious printing of his—he made all the letter S into lightning bolts for some reason. He glanced up at me and went back to whatever he was writing as Mrs. Lydecker took role. I tried to catch Robin's eye down the row but she was digging in her backpack so I dropped my stuff down and answered when my name was called.
"So, I heard you roped me into performing for cette class ici," Eddie muttered, his tone annoyed.
"Not on purpose. I needed something for extra credit, and this is what she told me would get it," I replied. "Don't know about you, Munson, but I want to graduate."
"Me too," he glanced up, those brown eyes of his boring into me. "You don't know HOW much I want to get out of here but a little heads-up would have been nice."
"Sorry, I had practice and . . . stuff. At home," I trailed off. Mrs. Lydecker was passing back papers and I got mine. I hoped but got crushed when I saw the C on it. "We can plan it later. Damned irregular verbs."
"It's all memorization," Eddie assured me. "Like phone numbers and combinations and lyrics." As he said the last part, he dropped a heavily ringed hand on his spiral notebook.
"Are you . . . writing lyrics?"
He didn't answer, but he didn't deny it either, so I nodded.
When the bell rang at the end of the period, he shoved a note my way. "Number?"
"What?"
"My number. Need yours if we're going to collaborate," Eddie pointed out. I gave him my number, watching him scribble it inside the back cover of his notebook just as Robin came barreling our way.
"Fi! Fi! Do you have any highlighters?" She demanded. "We are doing an analysis of that stupid anthology in Mr. Kolnick's class and my last one just dried out. Save my life here, please?"
Eddie took off while I gave Robin the last of my Day Glos. She uncapped it, ran it down the back of her hand to test it and nodded at the pink streak. "Good. So what's up with you and Munson?"
"Extra credit," I explained. "We have to do a sketch."
She laughed. "Oh, this ought to be good! What about?"
"At this point I have no idea," I told her. "But it's NOT going to be about D and D, or heavy metal."
"Have you told Eddie that?" Robin asked impishly.
"Not yet, but I will," I replied.
Robin shook her head. "Good luck."
-oo00oo—