Reality is way overrated.
Chapter 45
HOW LOW CAN WE GO?
Oh, no,” Brainzilla breathes an hour later. Her face is pale, and her feet are doing their crazy stress dance beneath her desk.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, reaching out to touch her shoulder.
“I didn’t study,” she whispers. “I’m a little behind in the reading.” We’re in English class, and Ms. Olsson is handing out pop quizzes.
Ms. Olsson just looooooooves pop quizzes.
“How far behind?”
Brainzilla’s eyes flash at me. “I had to prep for my interview, Kooks.” Her voice is brittle, like a word might break off and land on her foot.
“It’s okay,” I say to Brainzilla. “It’s just one test.”
“You don’t understand,” she hisses, shaking her head at me. “You don’t know what it takes to get into a school like Yale.” Brainzilla mashes her lips together, and her breathing comes fast and shallow from her nose.
“You’ll do fine,” I say, trying to sound encouraging. “At least you haven’t fallen asleep, like Tebow. Wake up!” I lean forward to whisper in his ear. Tebow’s head is bowed, his eyes closed.
“Shh!” He opens one eye and glares at me with it, then snaps it closed again. His lips start to move, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.
“Stop that!” I hiss. “What are you doing? Silas Marner is coming to get you!” Ugh. Sorry to be a mini Hater, but I despise Silas Marner. If you’re a fan, please contact me via my Twitter handle @silassux and explain why this is great literature. Warning: I may use your answer on a pop quiz.
Tebow’s lips stop moving, and he opens his eyes just as Sheila McGuinness hands back the pile of quizzes. “As long as there are tests, there will be prayer in public schools,” he explains.
“Pray for me, too,” Brainzilla says. She doesn’t sound like she’s kidding.
“Done,” Tebow says, snapping his eyes shut and muttering to himself.
“Mr. Jemowicz!” Ms. Olsson shrieks. It takes me a minute to remember that Jemowicz is Tebow’s real last name. “This will be your first and last warning! I expect SILENCE!”
There’s something funny about hearing the word silence screamed at top volume, but I don’t dare laugh, because Ms. Olsson’s got her Crazy Teacher face on. I swear, that woman needs a ten-day observation period at St. Auggie’s way more than I ever did.
Here is the difference between Mrs. Rosewater and Ms. Olsson, which I didn’t even realize until Mrs. R. revealed that she’s an actual human being:
Mrs. Rosewater is strict.
Ms. Olsson is mean. She loves giving pop quizzes because she likes to see us squirm—and fail.
You know what they say: Misery loves company. I guess Ms. Olsson is as miserable as they come, because she loves to make us suffer.
Chapter 46
MY BRILLIANT IDEA
I blew it,” Brainzilla says when we reach gym class. “I totally blew that test.” She inhales slowly, then nearly gags. The gym smells like an old sneaker dipped in swamp juice, so it’s not exactly ideal for deep, relaxing breaths.
“It was just a quiz,” I point out. “She gives us, like, two a week—so it’s only worth about one-fiftieth of our grade.”
“Still—a zero could bring my grade down to a B.” My best friend tucks her hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture that I know well. “And a B isn’t getting me a scholarship to Yale. And now we have dodgeball.” She shudders and refrains from taking in another relaxing meditation inhale.
Dodgeball is the moment when the Haters get to slam rubber balls at us with impunity. It’s Freakshow torture.
“Sloane! Clarke!” Mrs. McGrath—the gym teacher—points to the far wall. “Line up!”
“Um, Mrs. McGrath—could Brainzilla and I just run laps?” I ask.
“This is a dodgeball unit,” Mrs. McGrath snarls. “Line up.”
“But—” I glance over at Brainzilla, who doesn’t look like she can handle a battle. “Look—running is better exercise than dodgeball,” I protest.
“This is a dodgeball unit,” Mrs. McGrath repeats.
Brainzilla just shakes her head and starts for the wall. “Forget trying to reason with her,” she mutters.
I consider telling Mrs. McGrath that dodgeball is against my religion.
But I know she’ll probably just send me to see Mr. Tool—or worse, Ms. Kellerman. In the end, it just seems easier to get whacked by a bunch of balls.
We get clobbered a couple hundred times, and I spend the next fifty minutes fuming about how completely unreasonable it is to make people play dodgeball against their will. It isn’t even a sport in the Olympics! (Is it? I’d better Google that.)
(Googled it—it isn’t!)
Also, it’s unreasonable to make students take pop quizzes twice a week.
Also, it’s unreasonable to demand to see someone’s diary!
And at the end of class, while I’m changing back into my jeans, I realize something: This school is completely unreasonable, and that’s why everyone is so miserable!
Which leads me straight to my next thought: Let’s get reasonable!
I can’t wait to share that idea with the Freakshow—just as soon as I change out of my gross gym clothes and exit the swamp-juice-smell area.
Brainzilla jumps on the idea. Maybe she wants to make up for her blown quiz, or maybe she sees an opportunity for a few cool Facebook pics to impress her Yale friend with. Either way, she’s all over the Rally for Reason. “Yes! Stop the hate!” Brainzilla announces. She whips out a notebook and starts to jot down a few calculations. “Okay, there are fifteen hundred students at the school, and a good participation rate would be about eighty percent.…”
“Should we charge an entrance fee?” Eggy asks. “We could raise money for a good cause.”
Tebow tugs on his lower lip. “No—we want everyone to be able to participate. Not just people who can afford it.”
“We’ll talk about how ridiculous this school is!” I say, and I can feel myself glowing with this idea. I imagine all the Nations coming together, sharing our ideas about how to make the teachers and administration more reasonable. Then I imagine everyone feeling better—whether or not the teachers change anything.
“We could rewrite the school regulations,” Flatso suggests. “And get rid of that ridiculous rule saying we can’t wear glitter nail polish.”
“Let people opt out of dodgeball!” I cry. “And pop quizzes should only be given in cases of emergency!”
“What about that ban on hugging?” Zitsy puts in. Wow—I’d forgotten about that, but he’s right. Hugs are technically forbidden on campus. That was Mr. Tool’s brilliant brainstorm our freshman year.
“Jeez, no wonder everyone’s stressed out,” Tebow says. “Maybe we could suggest a few moments for prayer—or, like, meditation or whatever—during homeroom. Optional, of course.”
“I’ll do a flyer,” Eggy volunteers.
“I’ll organize the water and snacks for everyone,” Zitsy puts in.
And just like that, we finally have an Operation Happiness idea that might actually work.
Chapter 47
WE GO LOWER
By the end of the next day, the Freakshow has papered the entire school with rally flyers. Eggy did such a great job designing them that we (okay, I) got really excited and may have gone a little overboard.