Read Online The Rites and Wrongs of Janice Wills by Joanna Pearson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joanna Pearson
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he said lightly. “There’s probably more for a young anthropologist to behold at Jimmy’s party anyway.”
I nodded, cradling my arm awkwardly on my lap so as to hide The Mutant Hair, silently vowing to retreat into hermitude as soon as possible: Janice Wills, the secular anthropologist-nun.
We parked outside the Melva Bagel Shop, but before we could get out of the car, he looked at me, a little shyly.
“I’ve missed seeing you,” he said. “I’ve missed talking to you. I realized that after we ran into each other during lunch the other day.”
I swallowed and simply nodded.
Paul looked even more embarrassed. This, for some reason, made me feel slightly better.
“Did you make a decision about the Miss Livermush Pageant?” He forced a little laugh. “And the lucky gentleman who will be your escort?”
When he asked this, I imagined Susannah, The Lovely Victorian, winning Melva’s Miss Livermush. I saw her being escorted by a Victorian Paul in a top hat. This image made me want to vomit — and I am ordinarily a fan of top hats.
“Oh, I’m participating,” I said. “It’ll be my greatest research yet. But as for an escort, it’s been hard to decide. All thehandsomest gentlemen in the land have been vying for my affection. They fell in love with my beauty, charm, and Miss Livermush grace — just like they always do. I’ll have to pick my winning escort soon, but there may be a few duels first, with all these guys fighting over my favor.” I sighed. “Yeah, right.”
“Janice, you’re always so hard on people … yourself included,” Paul said, looking kindly but steadily into my eyes.
“It’s the way the world works,” I said, exasperated with him.
He shook his head. “Not for everybody. Here, I made you this. It’s just sort of a joke, but I thought you might enjoy it,” he said, handing me a typed sheet of paper. This is what it said:
I stopped reading, letting the paper drop from my hand.
“You think I don’t participate, I just watch. You think I’m hypercritical,” I said. My eyes were watering.
“Janice, I was just teasing. I thought you’d think it was funny — you know, a little anthropology report on you, I —”
“No, it’s not a big deal,” I said, feeling stupid and terrible. “I don’t even care.”
Susannah, the beautiful Victorian, was probably incapable of observing anyone’s flaws. To her, Stephen Shepherd’s breath probably smelled like damask roses.
He picked the sheet of paper up, eyeing it uncertainly.
“You’re not going to finish it?” he asked. “I think you’d like the rest more.”
“No,” I said, fearing that I might break into full tears, “another time. I’m sure it’s funny.”
“Well,” Paul said, frowning as he folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. “I also wanted to talk to you about your plans…. Susannah and I —”
“I don’t care what you and Susannah are doing. Y’all have fun being artistic and pure and kind. You and Susannah just have ablast.” Now I was definitely on the brink of crying, but I didn’t want to look any stupider in front of him. So I got out of the car and walked. I walked the rest of the way to school, and my stomach ached with either a very specific, gnawing hunger for bagels, or else just plain humiliation.
ANTHROPOLOGICAL
OBSERVATION #7:
Instead of cowrie shells, beauty and social prominence are the two most important forms of currency in high school hallways
.
When fourth period ended, I felt a burst of, if not joy, relief. I’d been thinking about my encounter with Paul all day and ways to escape school. It was Friday afternoon, after all. By Friday afternoons, everyone at Melva High School acted like they’d been popping caffeine pills. Not the teachers — the teachers observed us with tired manatee faces, having long ago given up the day. The students, however, were buzzing, jazzed, humming with energy — the only time the Melva Hummingbird mascot made any real
I nodded, cradling my arm awkwardly on my lap so as to hide The Mutant Hair, silently vowing to retreat into hermitude as soon as possible: Janice Wills, the secular anthropologist-nun.
We parked outside the Melva Bagel Shop, but before we could get out of the car, he looked at me, a little shyly.
“I’ve missed seeing you,” he said. “I’ve missed talking to you. I realized that after we ran into each other during lunch the other day.”
I swallowed and simply nodded.
Paul looked even more embarrassed. This, for some reason, made me feel slightly better.
“Did you make a decision about the Miss Livermush Pageant?” He forced a little laugh. “And the lucky gentleman who will be your escort?”
When he asked this, I imagined Susannah, The Lovely Victorian, winning Melva’s Miss Livermush. I saw her being escorted by a Victorian Paul in a top hat. This image made me want to vomit — and I am ordinarily a fan of top hats.
“Oh, I’m participating,” I said. “It’ll be my greatest research yet. But as for an escort, it’s been hard to decide. All thehandsomest gentlemen in the land have been vying for my affection. They fell in love with my beauty, charm, and Miss Livermush grace — just like they always do. I’ll have to pick my winning escort soon, but there may be a few duels first, with all these guys fighting over my favor.” I sighed. “Yeah, right.”
“Janice, you’re always so hard on people … yourself included,” Paul said, looking kindly but steadily into my eyes.
“It’s the way the world works,” I said, exasperated with him.
He shook his head. “Not for everybody. Here, I made you this. It’s just sort of a joke, but I thought you might enjoy it,” he said, handing me a typed sheet of paper. This is what it said:
I stopped reading, letting the paper drop from my hand.
“You think I don’t participate, I just watch. You think I’m hypercritical,” I said. My eyes were watering.
“Janice, I was just teasing. I thought you’d think it was funny — you know, a little anthropology report on you, I —”
“No, it’s not a big deal,” I said, feeling stupid and terrible. “I don’t even care.”
Susannah, the beautiful Victorian, was probably incapable of observing anyone’s flaws. To her, Stephen Shepherd’s breath probably smelled like damask roses.
He picked the sheet of paper up, eyeing it uncertainly.
“You’re not going to finish it?” he asked. “I think you’d like the rest more.”
“No,” I said, fearing that I might break into full tears, “another time. I’m sure it’s funny.”
“Well,” Paul said, frowning as he folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. “I also wanted to talk to you about your plans…. Susannah and I —”
“I don’t care what you and Susannah are doing. Y’all have fun being artistic and pure and kind. You and Susannah just have ablast.” Now I was definitely on the brink of crying, but I didn’t want to look any stupider in front of him. So I got out of the car and walked. I walked the rest of the way to school, and my stomach ached with either a very specific, gnawing hunger for bagels, or else just plain humiliation.
ANTHROPOLOGICAL
OBSERVATION #7:
Instead of cowrie shells, beauty and social prominence are the two most important forms of currency in high school hallways
.
When fourth period ended, I felt a burst of, if not joy, relief. I’d been thinking about my encounter with Paul all day and ways to escape school. It was Friday afternoon, after all. By Friday afternoons, everyone at Melva High School acted like they’d been popping caffeine pills. Not the teachers — the teachers observed us with tired manatee faces, having long ago given up the day. The students, however, were buzzing, jazzed, humming with energy — the only time the Melva Hummingbird mascot made any real
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