Kathy and the Wonderful, Beautiful, Happy, Very Good Day by Kathy Luder
olly was supposed to pick me up for school this morning. Last night she changed her plans. But she didn’t tell me. I was twenty minutes late for first period. I had to inconvenience my dad, which made him grumpy. It wasn’t my fault, but when he mumbled something about responsibility, I knew he thought it was.
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I brought the bibliography for my group report in English, but Jason didn’t write the conclusion. So all six of us got a D, even those of us who had done what we were supposed to. It is 25 percent of our grade. It wasn’t my fault. It was Jason’s. But Mr. Warner wouldn’t listen. At lunch, I was just telling Molly she forgot me this morning when Susan tripped and spilled chocolate milk on me in the cafeteria. It wasn’t my fault. But Molly still laughed. My sweater is probably ruined. I had to wear it the rest of the day and to the speech team meeting after school. I could smell it on me, and it was sticky. It made me a bit nauseous. I felt dumpier than usual. Mrs. French told me I have to try improv this year. We’re already strong in debate. I don’t like improv. I like to be prepared.You can’t prepare for improv.To get us warmed up she had us play charades. I hate charades. She made me go first. I hate going first. She announced to the group that the theme was music and then whispered in my ear the impossible word wrap. How could I get that across? Nothing was working today. I took a deep breath and pictured the scene. Mrs. French started the egg timer. I forgot about looking stupid. I focused and threw myself into communicating without words. I played air guitar and mouthed singing into an air microphone. All the kids were yelling out “band” and “rock.” Somebody yelled “Brittany Spears” but I kept going. I acted like I was turning dials on a control panel. I pretended to be holding headphones to my head, bobbed my head, stood up, gave a thumbs up to the imaginary musicians and starting packing up.They caught right on.They yelled out “recording session,”“radio,” and “studio.” I gestured for them to keep guessing.
Someone yelled,“It is a wrap.” I jumped up and said,“Yes!” just as the buzzer went off. Then Mrs. French forever confirmed my geekiness. She said,“It was supposed to be rap music. Like hip hop and stuff.” The room burst into laughter. I was so nervous that I had made it harder than it was. Rap music would have been easy, but I was mad to have play charades and for some reason I was thinking “It’s a wrap.” So I made a fool of myself. Again. In typical Kathy fashion, I stood there in my brown-stained sweater, pantomiming my heart out, with no clue as to what was happening around me. The entire speech team thinks I am an idiot. It wasn’t my fault. But I have to agree, I am an idiot. I got home just as they were clearing the dishes from the table after dinner. “Hi, Kathy,” Mom said. “Dad and I have a dance lesson tonight so we had to eat early. I saved you a plate.” “What is it?” I asked as I dropped my book bag to the floor. “Beef stroganoff,” “I hate beef stroganoff.” I said, falling into the chair. Dad came into the kitchen, tying his tie. “Too bad,” he said. “Your mother made it, and you’re going to eat it. What do you think this is? A restaurant?” I sat down in front of the stroganoff and twirled it around on my fork, angry at everything.“There’s a frozen pizza in the freezer,” Mom said as she walked out. I stuck with the stroganoff. It was
