9

We met on the first day of second grade in Mrs. Slater’s class where we went after lunch recess – a class geared to English-related subjects like reading, writing, and the dramatic arts. It was my favorite class at Hill Creek. Perhaps a lot of that sentiment was because I ended up sitting at the same group table as Evelyn.

It all started that first day when, after introducing herself and having us say our names out loud, Mrs. Slater allowed us to talk among each other at our round tables, six students to a table. I’d never had a class with Evelyn, though I’d seen her at lunch during first grade and was excited that she was sitting at my table. But I was disappointed to see at our table Jimmy Preston, a bully who had tormented me for two years. And he wasn’t wasting any time.

“Hey, we’ve got the first human clone here!”

Everyone at our table, and most of the kids at the tables nearby, turned to stare at me. I purposely avoided looking at Evelyn. I’d been preparing to say something nice to her, and already I was blown out of the water. I focused my attention on a fly crawling along the edge of the table. I was ashamed at being goggled at like an exhibit and not having the courage or cleverness to shoot Jimmy down.

“Isn’t that weird being a clone?” he prodded, as he always did when introducing me to someone new.

I felt tears welling up and prayed that something would prevent them from spilling over. I considered jumping up and running out of the classroom. Better that than let them see me cry like a baby over such a ridiculous question.

And then I heard her voice. The words I least expected to hear.

“But I like weird.”

I stole a quick glance up from the fly to see if she was teasing or being sincere. She seemed to be waiting for my sad blue eyes to meet her deep brown ones that curled up when she smiled, which she was now doing. I went back to the fly, but the tears were gone, replaced by tummy-dwelling butterflies.

“Why?” Jimmy asked. That wasn’t the response he’d been expecting, and he was at a loss for words. Except that one.

“Being weird takes special people,” she said. “Anyone can be normal.”

“Then you’re weird, too.”

“I hope so,” she responded, and smiled at me again when I glanced up. I smiled back.

After that she was my hero, and as the weeks went by I could scarcely take my eyes off her. Her maturity and intelligence dwarfed mine, despite me being nine days her senior – an age difference for which she’d find ample opportunities to razz me. And she was beautiful to boot. My heart fluttered whenever stray strands of her long, dark hair ran across her creamy olive complexion, which was dotted with a handful of freckles that seemed randomly but perfectly placed.

I had no experience liking a girl who liked me back, but I began following what I understood to be standard courtship rituals. I teased her incessantly and pestered her at lunch nearly every day, sometimes chasing her around the playground until she would suddenly turn and challenge me. She claimed she had a green belt in karate, and I always backed down, but with a grin. Sometimes she’d grin back.

Her friends thought I was obnoxious. And I guess I sort of was.

“Why do you like him?” her best friend Dawn asked once as I was walking away following the most recent karate threat. I slowed down, straining my ear closest to her, but couldn’t make out her answer. Still, I was glad her friends thought she liked me.

Our relationship wasn’t all about me pestering her. We talked both seriously and kindly in the classroom. I think I annoyed her a bit with the pestering at lunch, but she liked me anyway, especially when others were mean to me. Oddballs like me were like friendship beacons to people like Evelyn, people who know normal is boring. 

* 

Near the end of October our relationship reached a new level. We had to write a story for Halloween. Drawing on inspiration from my past, I began spewing out words as quickly as I could write them. Stuff about haunted castles, witches with long fingernails, a silver knife, and a phantom father who saves our entire class from a bubbly end in an enormous black cauldron. Only one page was required, but I churned out three pages and found myself frothing at the mouth for more.

Mrs. Slater was impressed. So much so, that she passed around copies of my story to all my classmates – an act that had several of my peers glancing at me in disgust, but also earned me a couple of compliments from people who had never spoken to me.

But my biggest fear was Evelyn’s reaction. Never imagining that anyone but Mrs. Slater would read it, I had named some roles after people in the class. Jimmy Preston was the guy who stupidly got us caught by the witch, Jack Lewis slipped away to find help, and Evelyn joined me and my c-father’s hologram in laying a trap for the witch.

The next day I overheard Jimmy making fun of me louder than usual, I saw Jack flash me a quick smile as he passed by me after school, and Evelyn walked up to me on the playground, her friends in tow. I held my breath.

She was working on a lollipop, but took it out to say, “I liked your story.”

“Really?” I asked. Still not breathing.

She nodded. And after a few moments, when it was clear that I could think of nothing else to say, she smiled, popped her lollipop back in her mouth, gave a little laugh, and led her friends to the tetherball poles.

Someone had just flirted with me. No, not just someone. Evelyn Green.

* 

I didn’t have a ready response when it happened, but only a couple days went by before an opportunity arose. The last Friday of every month was movie day, and Mrs. Slater walked the class to a small, dark classroom at the end of the hallway that was used for that purpose. It was the Friday before Halloween, and Mrs. Slater had us watch Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. My mom had raised me on the movie, but it was Evelyn’s first time seeing it. I managed to sit on the floor next to her.

Already familiar with each moment of the film, I spent most of it taking in Evelyn’s reactions from the side of my vision. I knew if I paid too much attention to the movie, I’d end up embarrassing myself by tearing up. Which is what Evelyn did when Scout saved her father and Tom Robinson by talking friendly-like with would-be lyncher Mr. Cunningham. I handed her a tissue from my pocket, and she gratefully took it and dabbed her eyes. She used it again when Tom Robinson died.

Despite my best efforts, I still got caught up in Scout and Jem’s longest journey together on Halloween night. I had to wipe my eyes when Jem tried but failed to save his sister from the bigoted Mr. Ewell (a name spelled far too similarly to my own, but an opportunity for Mom to explain that there was really nothing in a name). Evelyn handed the tissue back to me. Was she watching my reactions too? I reverently took it from her and touched my own eyes, marveling that our tears were now joined. I returned the increasingly damp Kleenex to her for the final scene.

Before we got up, Mrs. Slater explained our assignment – we were to write our thoughts on what Scout’s father Atticus meant when he said that you can’t really know a person until you try to see things from their perspective.

She was careful not to focus too long on me while she said it, but several kids did. It was the one time I didn’t mind being the center of attention.

“Thank you, Adam,” Evelyn said, holding out the tear-filled tissue with a broad smile. I carefully took it from her and put it back in my pocket. She made a face like that was kind of gross, but kept smiling anyway. I was glad Mom made sure I always had a Kleenex on me. 

* 

“Did ya have fun today?” Mom asked as I climbed into her Honda.

I nodded. “We watched To Kill a Mockingbird.”

“I know,” she said, and then laughed at my stunned expression.

“How did you know that?”

“Moms know everything,” she answered mysteriously.

“Yeah, okay,” I said in disbelief, wondering if it was true. “Do you also know where we’re going?” I asked as we passed the street we took home.

“To buy some Halloween candy so we don’t get egged.”

“Reese’s?”

Mom didn’t answer, and then I saw why. We were passing Standley Memorial where Gabrielle Burns was locked up. Mom was always quiet when we drove by it. I noticed the extra lines that now sprouted from the side of her forty-one-year-old eyes, and the gray hairs intermixed with blond. She looked older and tired, but I still thought she was beautiful. I didn’t want her to be scared by the hospital. I wanted to say something that would reassure her, as she always did for me. But I couldn’t think of anything.

“Are you going to be in the talent show?” she asked when the hospital was out of sight.

I was impressed by her omniscience and relieved she was talking again. “You know about that, too?”

She nodded wisely. “Of course.”

“Well, no way. I’m not getting up on stage.”

“You know what else I know?” she asked.

“Yeah, everything.”

Mom laughed, ruffled my hair. “That’s right. And I also know that Evelyn Green is going to be in the talent show.”

My mouth hung open. How did she know I liked Evelyn? Moms were spooky.

“If you did something,” she continued, “then maybe you guys could rehearse together.”

Moms were spooky, but they were smart too. The following Monday I got up the nerve to ask Evelyn if she would rehearse with me. She said yes.

Mrs. Slater: Also the name of Robert M. Hopper’s second grade teacher at Hill Creek School.






























Karate
















































Halloween

To Kill a Mockingbird

iTunes Soundtrack
 
iTunes Movie

Amazon

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view — until you climb around in his skin and walk around in it.”
-- Harper Lee