back. There is nothing wrong with me. These are really sick people, sick that you can see. I head for the ele- vator. The bus is on its way. CLASH OF THE TITANS We have a meeting with Principal Principal. Someone has no- ticed that I've been absent. And that I don't talk. They figure I'm more a head case than a criminal, so they call in the guid- ance counselor, too. Mother's mouth twitches with words she doesn't want to say in front of strangers. Dad keeps checking his beeper, hoping someone will call. I sip water from a paper cup. If the cup were lead crystal, I would open my mouth and take a bite. Crunch, crunch, swal- low. They want me to speak. 113 "Why won't you say anything?" "For the love of God, open your mouth!" "This is childish, Melinda." "Say something." "You are only hurting yourself by refusing to cooperate." "I don't know why she's doing this to us." The Principal ha-hums loudly and gets in the middle. Principal Principal: "We all agree we are here to help. Let's start with these grades. They are not what we expected from you, Melissa." Dad: "Melinda." Principal Principal: "Melinda. Last year you were a straight-B student, no behavioral problem, few absences. But the reports I've been getting . . . well, what can we say?" Mother: "That's the point, she won't say anything! I can't get a word out of her. She's mute." Guidance Counselor: "I think we need to explore the family dynamics at play here." Mother: "She's jerking us around to get attention." Me: [inside my head] Would you listen? Would you believe me? Fat chance. Dad: "Well, something is wrong. What have you done to her? I had a sweet, loving little girl last year, but as soon as she comes up here, she clams up, skips school, and flushes her 114 grades down the toilet. I golf with the school board president, you know." Mother: "We don't care who you know, Jack. We have to get Melinda to talk." Guidance Counselor: [leaning forward, looking at Mom and Dad] "Do the two of you have marriage issues?" Mother responds with unladylike language. Father suggests that the guidance counselor visit that hot, scary underground world. The guidance counselor grows quiet. Maybe she un- derstands why I keep it zipped. Principal Principal sits back in his chair and doodles a hornet. Tickticktick. I'm missing study hall for this. Nap time. How many days until graduation? I lost track. Have to find a calendar. Mother and Father apologize. They sing a show tune: "What are we to do? What are we to do? She's so blue, we're just two. What, oh what, are we supposed to do?" In my headworld, they jump on Principal Principal's desk and perform a tap-dance routine. A spotlight flashes on them. A chorus line joins in, and the guidance counselor dances around a spangled cane. I giggle. Zap. Back in their world. Mother: "You think this is funny? We are talking about your future, your life, Melinda!" 115 Father: "I don't know where you picked up that slacker atti- tude, but you certainly didn't learn it at home. Probably from the bad influences up here." G.C.: "Actually, Melinda has some very nice friends. I've seen her helping that group of girls who volunteer so much. Meg Harcutt, Emily Briggs, Siobhan Falon ..." Principal Principal: [Stops doodling] "Very nice girls. They all come from good families." He looks at me for the first time and tilts his head to one side. "Those are your friends?" Do they choose to be so dense? Were they born that way? I have no friends. I have nothing. I say nothing. I am nothing. I wonder how long it takes to ride a bus to Arizona. MISS Merryweather In-School Suspension. This is my Consequence. It is in my contract. It's true what they tell you about not sign- ing anything without reading it carefully. Even better, pay a lawyer to read it carefully. The guidance counselor dreamed up the contract after our cozy get-together in the principal's office. It lists a million things I'm not supposed to do and the consequences I'll suffer if I do them. The
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