The Meaning of Maggie: Chapters 14–18

Not only did that terrible B put me in a funk, it put my GPA in a funk too.

When I got home from school on Friday, I commandeered all of the bread from the kitchen.

There was no way I was going to deal with this, so I did what any rational human being would do: I lied.

When she got out the ice cream I politely declined.
"I don’t want any.”

But I couldn’t stay home because I had a feeling there was going to be a pop quiz in science and my pop quiz intuition was never wrong.

I put the air brakes on my heels. "I can’t, Coach! I conscientiously object!”

Every step was instantly excruciating and not just because my lungs were about to explode, but also because I wasn’t wearing any socks.

"You don’t look so good.”
I was so out of breath my brain couldn’t pull together a comeback or an insult or even a fact about how I was probably going to die.

"I know how to run. Every species does.”
"Oh. Well, it will be a lot easier if you suck in your diaphragm and breathe through your nose. That’s what my dad says anyway. He runs all the time.”

My mind wanted to tell her to go away. But my feet, legs, and spleen remembered the pain of trying to run by myself. Maybe it was okay to need someone’s help.

So we ran and we sang and I almost died once and then I recovered and then I dropped some knowledge about mitochondria and then I almost threw up and then I got a cramp and then I remembered the triangle on my lower back and then we only had three more laps to go.

No, I wanted to wear a tricorn hat like George Washington and they wouldn’t photograph me wearing it.

"Wow, there are a lot of signatures in here. From teachers.”
I tried to be modest. "Yeah, they really like me.”

I pressed the book close, hoping his words would transfer by osmosis directly into my heart.

I assumed they’d been kidnapped or had turned to a life of crime. This was exactly what my perfect summer didn’t need: a night of swapping antiwar stories with a bunch of degenerates.

"Look outside!” I hissed at Tiffany, who was still prone on the bed.

"Hey parents. We have a consensus. These people are terrifying and we don’t really think you should let them in.”

I’d never be president. Forget of the United States, I’d never be president of my class and I had a really good platform for the next election too: free pizza Fridays!

"You could crash and break a femur, tibia, fibula, patella, or any of the other two hundred and six bones.”

"You could crash and break a femur, tibia, fibula, patella, or any of the other two hundred and six bones.”

What was wrong with these people? I had the human decency to share probably the greatest news we were ever going to get as a family and they couldn’t have cared less.

"She already lobbied me for my vote and everything,” Donny said.
"It’s important to get to know your constituents,” I explained.

"I hate bows, you know,” I said as I grudgingly took the tie.

Dad had hired someone to come do the ceremony. I thought that would mean a priest. But Dad had hired an Elvis impersonator who just happened to also be an ordained minister.

Tiffany rummaged in her bag and brought out a mask and snorkel.

Every year, my birthday was rudely interrupted by something. Like Dad’s company picnic, which had happened on my tenth birthday. Or Layla’s dance camp recital that had happened on my ninth birthday. Or Dad’s first day of not working and subsequent time traveling that had happened on my last birthday.

On July 1st, we had a kickoff dinner of my choosing and I chose traditional American fare since I was a traditional American. Since Dad still wasn’t feeling 100%, I got to eat half his hamburger. And his potato salad. And his baked beans. And his ice cream.

Even Tiffany tried to contribute to the fun by letting me have the room to myself for a whole night. That was foiled when Mom found out she wasn’t really spending the night where she said she was spending the night.

I made my debut from the hallway with a big "good morning, family!"

I needed my scarf for more than writing, I needed it to protect me from hypothermia!

Margot talked about our class and our goals and our assignment, which was to write a piece of fiction inspired by a real event and some other stuff, but I didn’t hear any of it because my mind was racing at ludicrous speed.

I started hyperventilating. I tried to stand up but I fell back to my knees.

I nuzzled in close to Mom’s side again because it was warm there because her body functioned at a temperature higher than most adults because she had more to do than anyone else.

I couldn’t get comfortable in the waiting room because the chairs were made of rocks covered in ugly mauve fabric.

And I hadn’t even realized I’d been asleep. Metaphorically asleep. Figuratively in the dark about one huge thing: All that was happening wasn’t just happening to me. It was happening to all five of us.

Dad had gotten an infection that turned into a bigger infection that had caused a seizure.

Sure, his face was the same, just with more stubble.

I needed him to hear my speech as high school valedictorian where I planned on quoting Abraham Lincoln and Neil Young.

But I needed to change my thought trajectory to get closer to how I could help Dad. And Mom. And Layla. And maybe even Tiffany.

"Well, I think you’re supposed to write what you know. So what do you know?”
That sounded too daunting. I knew way too many things.