I Just Got a Letter from Allyson Pringle Read online

  Señor Alvarez wasn’t what I would call the world’s greatest actor. Neither am I. I wondered if it was obvious—and I was afraid it was—how thrilled I was feeling that Alysse and I had already interacted and that it had gone really well. This time I hadn’t choked and I hadn’t panicked. Maybe earlier I had wondered if all the confidence I’d gained in the past year or two was about to evaporate, but once I’d had the chance to visit with Alysse a little more, it had all worked out. Just like she’d said, it looked like we were going to get along fantastamously.

  During lunch, I had to force myself several times to stop grinning. But I couldn’t help letting it out a few hours later when Arnold rushed me at my locker, eager for a report on how my first time sitting right next to the comedy star of the school had gone. My grin reemerged, causing Arnold to begin panting anxiously again, his mouth wide. “So she was there today? She was in class?”

  “Oh yeah, she was there.”

  “And you talked to her?”

  “We talked in third period.”

  “And?”

  “We got along really well.”

  “Yeah?” Arnold nodded wildly. “So come on, come on, tell me more. Tell me everything!”

  Arnold really could be such a dweeb, but I honestly didn’t mind at that moment. I was more than glad to report what had happened in Alvarez’s. Soon I was sounding like my sister Lynette back in the days when she shared far too many details with her best friends.

  Arnold encouraged me by slurping it all up like a giant syringe. At one point he let out a loud war whoop: “Ha! A fake hand? A fake hand! I tell you, only Allyson Pringle would come up with something like that.”

  “You’re right—only Alysse gets away with stuff like that,” I said, looking around with concern. Lexie Baxter, who had a locker next to mine, was leaning in our direction.

  “So whad’ya say, whad’ya do?” asked Arnold.

  I lowered my voice and told him my response, glad he had asked, but wondering how much Lexie was hearing. Plenty, it seemed. “You have a class with Allyson Pringle?” she asked anxiously, allowing her front teeth to experience daylight for a change.

  “Two classes,” I answered, my chest swelling in self-importance once again.

  “Oh, wow! Lucky!” Lexie lifted her hand and I slapped it.

  “Alysse shook his hand with a fake hand,” Arnold told her. “Kendall here freaked.”

  After they’d both finished hooting, Arnold repeated to me, “Okay, now this is exactly the kind of stuff I was talking about. Every day I hope you’ll give me this kind of a full report with details. I mean, I need a good laugh as much as you. Memorize it like you’ll be memorizing material for your physics tests.”

  “Me too,” said Lexie, sniffing and moving closer. “I wanna hear too.”

  “Yeah, tell all of us,” bellowed Bernard, a mop-haired junior friend of Lexie’s who’d suddenly bounded into the picture as well.

  “Fine, I will. I will.” I said staring at them in amazement. Yup, Allyson had a following.

  Chapter Five

  I didn’t need to report to Arnold or anyone else what Allyson did the next day. By the time I saw Arnold, just about everybody in the school had already heard that she had come into history class wearing the oversized Dutch boy outfit she’d worn in the “Welcome to Hollenda High” assembly earlier in the day.

  “Sorry to be dressed like this, but somebody stole my regular clothes,” she explained to Mr. Thorndike before he had a chance to rail on her.

  “Oh, I see,” he replied in a sarcastic manner, his eyes narrowed, his chin thrust forward.

  “Really, I’m not kidding. If I were doing this just to be a troublemaker I would have worn the wooden shoes and the round hat. But you can see I just stuck to the basic pants and shirt,” she continued.

  As a few of the bolder kids snickered, I pressed my back against my seat with concern for my new friend. Maybe you could get away with going on like that with some teachers, but she had to know you couldn’t do it with Thorndike. Besides, the clothes were anything but basic. The pants were huge and puffy, and the doubled-breasted shirt-jacket thing, even without the shoulder pads, was gigantic. Although it was obvious she’d removed most of the stuffing, the enormous shoulder inserts were still attached, and the rest of the shirt hung down her arms. Danny Karlowski finally laughed outright, but even he didn’t dare really let it out like he would have in any other class. Next to him, Bret Nuswander, an off and on buddy of Ren Jensen’s, grinned arrogantly and let out a snort or two as well, but then even he pulled back slightly in his seat, his eyes on Thorndike. Molly Engright, who’d been in my geometry class the year before, shook in quiet laughter, her lips puckered together. His face as tight as the drum he played in orchestra, Jake Huong’s chest was vibrating.

  I glanced at Mr. Thorndike, then looked back at Alysse. There’d been something in her eyes and the tone of her voice that made me feel she was telling the truth—that her clothes really had been taken. It didn’t seem all that far-fetched that someone would pull that kind of prank on her, possibly a get-even-but-all-in-fun kind of stunt. My bigger concern was how Thorndike was going to react to all this. I could tell by the way her head was slightly tilted that Alysse might be worried about that herself.

  It was obvious by his expression that Thorndike, along with just about everyone else in the classroom, believed that Alysse had worn the Dutch boy costume just for effect. His mouth twitching, he attempted to flip his pen into his shirt pocket, but, possibly because his hand was shaking, he missed the opening several times. Only after three attempts, and a stop to check exactly where the pocket was, did he finally hit the mark. “I’m going to excuse you immediately to go change back into your regular school clothes, Miss Pringle,” he said, his teeth bared. “This is unacceptable attire and I think you know that.”

  “Well, then, I’ll have to go home because somebody really did steal my clothes.” Allyson was lifting her hand, palm side up, her voice a half octave or so higher than usual. Again I sensed her concern, which the other kids in the class—at least the ones who were still grinning into their textbooks—didn’t seem to be picking up on.

  ”So be it, young lady,” said Mr. Thorndike in a voice so cold it could have frozen lava.

  “Okay, but . . .”

  “And now would be an excellent time,” he continued.

  “Fine, I’ll leave, then.” Allyson gathered up her things and rose, alarming me even more by continuing to make comments. “The shirt was one of my favorites, too,” she muttered. “The jeans weren’t the best, but it was a really good shirt. If anyone finds out who took my clothes, tell them I really want that shirt back. At least they didn’t take my shoes.” Again I got the impression she wasn’t kidding. But did she need to keep talking about it?

  Once again, Mr. Thorndike wasn’t about to let that go. “Miss Pringle, did I somehow give you the false impression that it was all right for you to continue disrupting this class?”

  “No, sir, you didn’t, but—”

  “Then I suggest you say nothing further and exit this room immediately if not sooner, so that the rest of us can begin the history lesson for today.” He spoke slowly, spacing the words, enunciating them with venom. “That is, I believe, why we come here daily—to study history. And so far we’ve wasted approximately,” he looked at his watch, “seven minutes of time we already don’t have enough of, simply because you made the choice to wear inappropriate clothing to class. Now, if this were a comedy club, maybe that would be acceptable, Miss Pringle, but we’re not here for a comedy performance.” He looked around. “Are we, class?”

  A few barely audible no’s were mumbled.

  “What was that? Mr. Mallow, Miss Fern?”

  The no’s were clearer now.

  “I understand that, sir,” Alysse continued, “but like I said—”

  “Miss Pringle!” He was almost shouting. “Leave now!”

  “Yes, Mr. Thorndike, sir!” I was half
afraid Alysse would click her heels together and salute. Instead she pulled the wide pant legs around the corner to the back and continued moving down the aisle.

  My seat in Thorndike’s class was in the second row from the back and there was an empty seat behind me. As Allyson passed along the back of the room she muttered just loudly enough for those of us near the back to hear: “It could have been worse. I was a windmill in the assembly last year.”

  Okay, now she was being funny on purpose, and I tried my hardest to keep my mouth from quivering, but couldn’t help myself. I was mortified when a small snort escaped. Mr. Thorndike flipped his head in my direction. When he saw my concern and embarrassment, however, he bypassed the reprimand and just raised an eyebrow instead. Still, like a bull pawing at the ground, he needed someplace to direct his ire, and he narrowed his eyes at Danny Karlowski, who had laughed earlier without remorse afterward. But it was obvious that it was Allyson he was the most livid with. He turned back to her, his small eyes following this girl who’d had the audacity to joke in his classroom until she finally exited. “Maybe now we can get something accomplished!” he snapped.

  Jen Fern, whose timing was often off, wasn’t able to conceal a delayed giggle completely, and Mr. Thorndike paused for a few seconds, moved his eyes slowly in her direction, and glared at her over his glasses. Jen pulled back her shoulders and looked down at her desk, her full face flushed. A look from Thorndike could pierce you to the bone marrow.

  “I’m seeing several potential problems developing in this class that I would highly suggest we correct immediately,” he said as he continued staring down unlucky Jen. Then he scanned the room, stopping at the regulars, the guys in the back and Danny, but also Jake and Molly, and then, to my surprise, at me.

  Being distrusted by a teacher felt strange because it so rarely happened to me. In fact, it was almost laughable that any teacher would think I was a problem.

  After a few minutes, Thorndike seemed to calm down somewhat, but when Alysse reentered his classroom ten or fifteen minutes later, his eyes bulged over his glasses. “I believe I sent you to the office!”

  “I told Mrs. Carruber you wouldn’t like this, but she sent me back here anyway because she didn’t know what to do with me,” Alysse said as she moved toward his desk. “She gave me this note.” There was no arrogance in her tone, and she didn’t so much as blink at those in the room snickering. In fact, Alysse, possibly with Mrs. Carruber’s help, had pinned back the Dutch boy pants to ease away some of the fullness. Nevertheless, Mr. Thorndike’s face tightened even more, and his eyes narrowed once again as he surveyed the note. “Very well, be seated, please!” Smoke might as well have been billowing out of the top of his head. “I’ll have a little visit with Mrs. Carruber about this after class.”

  Now I even worried for Mrs. Carruber. But it was Alysse I was most worried about. We were barely into the semester and she was already on super lousy terms with the one teacher you really didn’t want to be on lousy terms with.

  Chapter Six

  Even though I honestly didn’t think Alysse had worn the Dutch boy outfit to history just for laughs, I totally got why everybody else thought she had. I mentioned earlier that she was big on costumes. Clowns are like that. Allyson had showed up for both cheer and drill tryouts in her father’s old army fatigues, for instance.

  Drill team members were chosen by adult judges, but had it been up to the students, Alysse would have made the team without any problem. When it came to the cheerleaders, the students did vote, but still the judges’ opinions counted 25 percent, and the adviser and her assistant had the final word. In other words, even though it appeared as if we were choosing, adults were actually making the final decision. Even at that, and considering the fact that it had all been a joke anyway because she had no gymnastic skills whatsoever, Alysse had barely lost. The next year, however, our junior year, when she ran for student body vice president (dressed this time in an oversized business suit and gigantic bow tie) and used portions of all the finalists’ talks for her own, she won by a landslide.

  The fact that she hadn’t made either cheer or the drill team didn’t stop Allyson from joining the teams anyway. While the cheerleaders did their flips and toe touches at the game sidelines, Alysse would hurry over to wave at the crowd and do a crooked cartwheel or a lopsided somersault or two, then raise both arms high. The students in the bleachers would stand on their toes and jump on one another’s backs to see her. For obvious reasons, the cheer adviser didn’t like it much when Allyson joined her squad uninvited. In fact, word got around that the teacher had complained to the second assistant principal that Alysse made her squad look bad. But the cheerleaders themselves never seemed to mind and would applaud and laugh at Alysse and with her. What else could they do when Alysse got more response than they did in their attempts to get the crowd charged up? And it wasn’t as if she barged in during their competitions or halftime performances. She knew when to butt out.

  Those of us in the stands loved the girl for being so willing to make a fool of herself and illustrate just how really bad a normal person can look doing cheer. Maybe it was because, like Alysse, most of us couldn’t come anywhere close to doing a flip or back handspring, not to mention a decent cartwheel. Maybe seeing how awkward Allyson was willing to look made the rest of us feel better about ourselves.

  In an effort to be a good sport, the drill team adviser invited Allyson to perform with the team in their at-home halftime novelty number. We held our sides laughing when Alysse came out as one of the giant marshmallows, and we all knew within seconds which marshmallow she was. The team got a standing ovation for that performance. Or, I should say, Allyson got a standing ovation.

  Alysse was in her best form, however, when she performed in our school plays. In Li’l Abner she brought down the house as tough, old, weather-beaten Granny. “Doggone it,” she’d said ever since.

  The next year, when we put on The Music Man, Mrs. Dallask, the drama teacher (one of the few adults in Allyson’s fan club) begged Allyson to consider the part of Marian, the librarian. But Alysse chose to play Eulalie Shinn, the pompous mayor’s wife. “I’m more of a character actress,” she claimed.

  I went to the musical that year for the same reason almost everyone else did: to see Alysse in the Grecian urn dance. Nobody left disappointed. Not only did she ham it up to the max, but she inspired the school’s star dancers to immerse themselves in the role of middle-aged, uptight matrons with such enthusiasm that I laughed till I cried. We all did.

  Even with all that, the incident in Mr. Thorndike’s class would, I’m guessing, have toned down even the most costume-loving of clowns, but not Alysse. Oh, no. That very next Friday, at the first football game of our senior year, she was at it again. Allyson had talked some of her girlfriends into putting on oversized football jerseys and giant helmets, and they welcomed the team by running out onto the field with them.

  Arnold had had to come early to help the band set up, and I’d taken Abe Stanley, someone I knew from Little League baseball days, up on his offer to drive me and a few others to the game. Next thing we knew, Alysse and her friends were tossing a two-foot stuffed football back and forth out on the field.

  “Go, Alysse!” I shouted. Then, with a happy chortle, I looked around proudly at the cheering students who were once again climbing over each other to get a better look at what Alysse and the rest were up to. Even our official school mascot stood there flat-footed in his wooden shoes laughing in Allyson’s direction. When Alysse somehow managed to kick the huge ball between the posts, the fans and the players on both teams erupted into cheers. “She’s crazy,” I kept saying to Abe as I laughed along with everybody else.

  I wondered that night—and I’ve wondered since—how she got away with what she did: the marshmallow solos, the impromptu cheerleading stunts, things no one else would dare do. Me, for instance. I would no more have dared to run out onto a football field in funny clothes than fly to Havana for lunch. I think
that afternoon I decided that we were in completely different spheres, Allyson Pringle and I. That’s why I never in the world would have guessed that we would continue to get along as well as we did.

  Chapter Seven

  Unlike Thorndike, Señor Alvarez, just as Alysse had predicted, shed his gotta-be-tough image within days. Our Spanish teacher was proving to be a kick, and he let us know by his responses that as long as things didn’t get completely out of control, he didn’t mind having a good time with us. I have to say he was cool enough to help us recognize where to draw the line, however, and we cooperated by staying pretty much within reasonable boundaries.

  It didn’t take Señor Alvarez long at all to plug into our class’s dynamics, and he soon began taking Allyson’s antics in stride. I imagine the man realized he was never going to get this free spirit to comply completely with class rules. Sure, he probably would have preferred that she tone it down more, but I think he could see that if the class was going to get anything done, he would need to work with this girl. Go with the flow, as they say. So that was what he did. As long as Alysse didn’t get completely carried away, he seemed to be okay with her behavior and even interacted with a punch line of his own once in a while.

  What can I say? You had to like his style. I’m guessing the fact that Alysse seemed to pick up Spanish quickly, got her assignments in, and did well on tests could have had a little to do with his attitude toward her as well. Not that her good grades were something she flaunted. It didn’t surprise me that she did her best to underrate herself in that department. When Señor Alvarez complimented her on an A on our first full test, she had a ready explanation: “I think there’s a toreador somewhere back in my bloodline whose genes pop up now and then.”