The Cat Ate My Gymsuit (3 page)

She really was bad. When someone hit the ball to her, she ducked. When she served, she didn’t always get it over the net. But she looked as if she were having fun, making up her own rules as she went along.

“It’s a do-over. I forgot to call out the score.”

“English teachers get an extra serve.”

“People named Barbara get two extra serves.”

Someone yelled across the net, “Hey, Ms. Finney. Just pretend that the ball is a direct object and our team is the indirect object.”

Ms. Finney smiled and volleyed. The ball just missed hitting Nancy on the head. Nancy turned around, laughed, and yelled, “She said a direct object, not a dangling participle.”

Schmidt blew her whistle and said, “Everyone hurry up. Into the showers and then get dressed.”

Ms. Finney yelled, “Thanks, everyone, for letting
me play.” Then she came over and said, “That was fun.”

I just smiled at her and followed the rest of the kids into the locker room.

One day in class, Nancy raised her hand and asked Ms. Finney if we could do more about how we felt inside. Ms. Finney thought about it and said that we had to use the class time to do what was in the syllabus, the guide that schools give teachers. She said that she felt a responsibility to go over the assigned material. After thinking awhile, she smiled and said, “Why don’t we start a club after school? That’ll work. I’ll tell my other classes and you all tell other friends. We’ll start Monday after school.”

That’s how Smedley got started.

S
medley wasn’t a person. It was the club. What happened was that twenty-five kids came, which was really good because a lot of the kids had to take buses to school and staying after meant a long walk or having someone pick you up. We figured that the club should have a name. Nancy suggested “The Self Club.” Joel wanted it to be called “Interpersonal Persons.” Alan Smith said that we should be named “The Sherlock Holmes Crew,” because we all would be searching to find ourselves. That kid is probably
going to be a detective some day, or a peeping tom. A kid from another class said, “Why don’t we just call ourselves Smedley, after that dopey guy in our grammar book who is always looking for the right way to say things?” Everyone liked that.

Ms. Finney said that we should begin by examining what had just happened, that each of us should look at how we acted in the group and how we all finally agreed. This, she said, was group dynamics in action. She said that she had taken college courses involving that sort of thing, and that she had had a minor in something called Human Organizational something or other. I don’t remember exactly, but it sounded good.

So we talked about it and saw that some people have different roles in a group. Some are leaders. Some are reactors. (Alan thought that meant that he was like an atomic reactor.) Joel said that Alan and Robert Alexander always acted like clowns when they wanted attention or were afraid of something. They both got mad at him and called him a brainy creep. He called them cretins, and finally Ms. Finney had to tell them to stop.

“O.K. That’s enough. If you want me to be advisor
to this club, you all have to try to work things out. Let’s begin with an exercise to get acquainted.”

Nancy raised her hand and said, “Ms. Finney. That’s silly. We’ve known each other since kindergarten.”

Ms. Finney looked around the room. “You may have known each other since kindergarten, but do you really know each other? I bet you don’t. I’ve noticed that some of you don’t even talk to people who aren’t in your classes.”

She split us up into pairs and told us to spend fifteen minutes getting to know the other person. I thought I was going to die. She had put Joel and me together.

Joel pulled his desk near mine and said, “Hi. I’m Joel Anderson.”

I just nodded my head.

“You should tell me your name now.”

How could I tell him? I was so nervous, I couldn’t remember anything. Finally, it came to me.

“Hi. I’m Marcy Lewis.”

Joel asked, “Have you always lived here?”

Again I nodded my head. I couldn’t stand it. I felt like such a blob, a real idiot.

Joel tried again. “What would you like to tell me about yourself?”

I didn’t know. Was I supposed to tell him I was a blimp trying to disguise myself as a real person; or that I probably had a horrible case of contagious impending pimples; or that I had this weird brother with a teddy bear filled with orange pits; or that I thought that he was cute and brave and probably thinking about how suicide would be better than talking to me?

I finally looked down at my desk and said, “I’m Marcy Lewis . . .thirteen . . .I hate dancing lessons . . .grammar tests . . .and questions.”

He said, “Don’t you like anything?”

I thought for a while and said, “Yeah. I like Ms. Finney, reading books . . .and felt-tip markers.”

Then I sat there, trying to think of something, anything, to ask him.

“Joel, do you like Ms. Finney?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Were you scared when you got mad at the class and told them to give her a chance?”

“Why should I be scared saying what I believe?”

“Aren’t you afraid that people won’t like you?”

Joel just looked at me. I decided that I’d better change the subject.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked.

“No.”

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“Joel Anderson.”

Ms. Finney told the class to pull the desks into a circle, and that each of us had to introduce our partner to the group. Everybody seemed to know new things about the others. When my turn came, I said, “This is Joel Anderson. He doesn’t have any brothers, sisters, or pets, and I think he’s smart.” Then I sat back and waited for Joel to introduce me.

“This is Marcy Lewis. She says that she doesn’t like lots of things, but I bet she really does . . .and she has a nice smile.”

I couldn’t believe it. I’d been sure he was going to say something like “This is Marcy Lewis. She’s a real creep and doesn’t know how to talk.” Or “This is Marcy. She might even look human if she didn’t look like a Mack truck.” I wasn’t used to anyone saying anything nice, except Nancy and my mother, because they had to.

Once we had finished with all the introductions,
Ms. Finney told us all to reach out to the people at the desks on either side of us, hold hands, close our eyes, and think about the group. Joel was on one side of me, Ms. Finney on the other. All I could think about was how scared I was that my hands were sweaty. I was also afraid that they would notice that my fingernails were all bitten down.

The group sat like that for a long time. Then everybody sort of let go, and Ms. Finney said that we should all go home and write a self-description to bring in for the next week, one that only she would read.

I was afraid to look at Joel. All of a sudden, I heard him say, “ ’Bye, Marcy. See you in class tomorrow.” He had talked to me in front of all those people! I was so excited, but I just smiled and said, “Yeah. See ya, Joel.”

Nancy and I walked home, Beauty and the Blimp, Wonderwoman and the Blob Who Ate Brooklyn. Nancy was really excited about Smedley. She kept saying how much fun it would be, how she liked to get to know people, and how she thought it would be good for me. I asked her why.

“Oh, Marcy. You know. You’re so hung up about
your weight . . .you and your family don’t talk to each other . . .and you’re so afraid of things . . .and you shouldn’t be.”

I just clumped along, biting my nails and thinking about what she had said.

S
chool went on as usual. I kept getting good grades in everything but gym. My anonymous letters to the Student Council suggestion box were ignored. Lunches continued to be lousy. We were only up to the Civil War in history class.

It was different in some ways, though. I didn’t sit alone at lunch anymore. I sat with some of the kids from Smedley. Ms. Finney’s classes were still great, but the rest of the classes seemed even more boring
than they were before she came. We kept asking the teachers to be more like her, but they made faces and told us to keep quiet. We talked out in classes more and asked more questions, but they didn’t like that. We even asked some of them to join Smedley, but they said things like “What are you doing? Getting your heads shrunk?” and “My contract doesn’t say I have to stay after school past last period.”

What changed a lot was my home. It got even worse. My father has a horrible temper. He doesn’t hit, but he yells. Even worse, he says awful things to me, like “I don’t care if you get good grades. You do stupid things. Why do I have to have a daughter who is stupid and so fat? I’ll never get you married off.”

My mother would try to tell him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. They’d get into a fight and she’d start to cry and then go get a tranquilizer.

Then my little brother, Stuart, would cry and run for his teddy bear. While all this was happening, my father would scream at me. “Look at what you’ve done. We’d never fight if it weren’t for you. Apologize.” By that time, I’m crying. It usually ended with me running upstairs, slamming my door, throwing myself on my bed, and rocking back and forth. My
mother would come in and hug me and tell me everything would be O.K., but that I really should lose some weight and look like everyone else.

I hated it. That’s what usually went on in my house but, as I said, things got much worse.

In a way, it was because of Smedley. We did lots of neat stuff in there, and I wanted to try some of it at home.

One day in Smedley we broke up into small groups and told each other how we saw each other and felt about each other. I was really excited. Nobody said that they hated me. They said I was smart and nice, but too quiet and shy. No one made fun of me. They didn’t say I was skinny and beautiful, but they didn’t tell me I was ugly and fat either. So I thought that maybe it would be good to try it at home.

My mother was all for it. I had told her about what we were doing in Smedley, and she really dug it, because she said it was making me different. I didn’t tell her how scared I still was, though. I wanted her to be proud of me.

So one night at dinner, she explained that she wanted us all to sit around and talk like a family.

My father said, “I’ve worked hard all day for this
family, Lily. Isn’t that enough? I don’t have to talk to all of you too, do I?”

Mom very quietly said, “Martin, I think it’s important. Please.”

So he said, “O.K. . . .for a little while.”

Mom and I cleared off the dishes, and then we went into the living room, where my father was watching television. Stuart was sitting on the floor, stuffing pits into the hole in Wolf, his teddy bear. Stuart watches a lot of commercials, and he once saw that oranges are supposed to keep you healthy. He used to try to put whole oranges in Wolf, but things got pretty sticky, so we convinced him that pits are best for bears.

My father frowned and said, “No, let the kid stay here. He’s part of the family too. And anyway, I want to talk to him about his stupid thumbsucking and that idiot teddy bear.”

Stuart held Wolf in his arms and started to suck his thumb. “I love Wolf. He’s my friend. He never yells at me.”

“Look, kid. You’re four years old . . .What are you going to be? Forty, hugging that bear and sucking your thumb? You’ll never get a job that way.”

Stuart started to cry.

I was scared, but I said, “Daddy. Please don’t yell at him. He’s just a little kid.”

He started to yell. “Don’t you start. First I have problems at work. And then I have to come home to all this. All I want is a little peace and quiet. I was an only child. I’m not used to all the noise in the house. Your mother is always busy with you two. She never has enough time for me.”

My mother said, “Martin. Please calm down.” He kept it up. Stuart started to cough really hard. I started to shake. I didn’t want to show him that I was upset, but then I yelled, “You don’t want to talk because you think I’ll say that I hate you.”

“I don’t care if you hate me. Don’t you ever talk to me that way, young lady. Go up to your room.”

“Martin. Give her a chance to talk. You don’t give anyone a chance to say anything.”

“You just keep quiet. What do you mean, I don’t give anyone a chance to talk?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

My father stood up and yelled, “Marcy! This is all your fault. You and that stupid group-dynamics crap. Why can’t you leave well enough alone.”

I screamed, “I hate you! Just leave me alone,” and ran up to my room. I could still hear them fighting. Crying, I heard the door open. It was Stuart, with Wolf.

“Can I come in?”

“O.K.” I tried to stop crying.

He sat on the bed. “Marcy. I love you. Wolf loves you. Don’t cry. Please.”

“Stuart. I love you too.”

“Why is everybody always yelling? Why can’t we be happy?”

“Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.”

“I don’t like yelling.”

We just held on to each other. My mother came in and said, “Daddy doesn’t mean anything when he yells. That’s just his way. Don’t be frightened. He loves you very much. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

I could see that she had been crying. I felt so bad. Nothing that I ever did turned out right.

“Your father says that he’s sorry and that we should go shopping Saturday and buy you some new clothes. He thought you’d like that.”

“I don’t want his dumb money for clothes.”

“Please, Marcy. Be reasonable. He’s sorry.”

“I hate him.”

“Please don’t say that. You’re upsetting me.”

So we stopped talking about it. Stuart and I went downstairs, and Mom gave us large bowls of ice cream. My father walked into the kitchen. Stuart started sucking his thumb. I finished up my ice cream and asked for more.

“Marcy. Did your mother tell you that you are both going shopping?”

“Yes.”

“Buy anything you want.” Then he walked out of the room.

When I went to bed that night, I thought about how bad it was in my house, how much I loved Stuart, and how glad I was that Smedley and Ms. Finney were at school.