Meg Medina - Merci Suárez Cant Dance

IT WAS MISS M C DANIELSS IDEA for me and Wilson Bellevue to work together in the Ram Depot, a job that nobody wants. For the record, I applied for an anchor spot on the morning announcements with my best friend Lena. But wouldnt you know it? Darius Ulmers parents decided it was time he addressed his shyness issues, so he got the job instead.

Anyway, when Miss McDaniels called Wilson and me to her office, neither one of us had any idea what she wanted, which should have been a big warning right there. We sat on the wooden bench near her desk at 8:15 sharp, just like her note said, since being late is the quickest way to get on her bad side. Its why some kids call her Stopwatch behind her back.

Talk about awkward: Wilson and I had nothing much to say as we waited. I only knew him from PE and earth science, the quiet kid with freckles across his nose and reddish hair he wears natural. I had noticed his walk, too. He swings one hip forward so his right leg can clear the ground. He says it doesnt hurt or anything. He was born that way, he told us last year during one of those annoying icebreaker activities were all subjected to on the first day of school. Anyway, we hadnt really talked much this year. The only other intel I had was that his family is Cajun and Creole from Louisiana. He told us that when he brought gumbo to the One World food festival when we were in the sixth grade, and it was pretty good, if you didnt mind breaking into a full-body sweat from the spices.

Miss McDaniels grabbed her key ring and made us follow her down the hall toward the cafeteria, our loafers squeaking in the quiet halls.

A few minutes later, we stood in front of the Ram Depot, formerly known as the custodial supply closet before Mr. Vong and his equipment got upgraded to a bigger room near the gym. Thats where she told us the lousy news.

Wed been drafted.

I think you two would make a fine management team at the school store, she said as she unlocked the door to the tiny space. A box of pencils labeled INVENTORY was stacked against one wall near the dust bunnies. A metal cashbox and calculator sat on a cast-off desk with uneven legs. You can hone your business and math skills right here and get real-world experience.

I tried to keep my glare of death to a minimum level. First of all, if my business skills were any sharper, Id have to register them as weapons, thank you very much. Who does she think helps Papi figure out job bids and write ad copy? Sol Painting, Inc., doesnt have five stars on Yelp for nothing. As for Wilson, he was already a math whiz. I hear he computes circles around the other kids in the algebra class he takes with ninth-graders.

But the bigger thing is how unfair this all was. Lena had morning announcements. Hannah was assigned to be the supply aide in the cool makerspace thats new this year. Me? I was facing a dungeon where fun goes to dieand with a boy as my only company no less.

Wilson seemed just as appalled. Isnt there anything else? he asked. Maybe the Earth Club? I wouldnt mind rinsing out recyclables.

I sneaked a glance at him, secretly agreeing. Even washing out juice boxes and plastic Snackables trays seemed better. What was there to do at the Ram Depot except sell pens and pencils to kids who forgot theirs at home?

She pursed her lips. Im afraid not. Dr. Newman is very interested in improving the school store this year, and I need especially strong student helpers for the task.

She was buttering us up like biscuits. The question was, Why?

Then she handed over a brochure from the Poxel School in North Palm Beach. The Pox, as we call them around here, is our archrival in everything from soccer to landscaping. You want to drive a stake through our headmasters heart? Tell Dr. Newman that the Poxel School is better than Seaward Pines at anything. The brochure showed photos of their recently finished building project. Smack in the middle was a picture of their new school store, looking like it belonged in the Gardens Mall. Clothes, electronics, coffee bar, beanbag chairs, you name it. There was even a web link for online orders.

I gave her a grim look. Youd need miracle workers, miss, not us.

Wilson nodded, backing me up. Shes right, Miss McDaniels.

I could practically feel the air around us grow colder as she narrowed her eyes, digging in.

Perhaps I can persuade you another way. I have been authorized to offer you a significant perk if you will both agree to take the job, she said.

Perk? Wilson said.

Let me guess, I said, my soul already on life support. Free pencils for life.

Wilson started to chuckle, but her sharp look turned my joke into ash. Being churlish, as she says, is at the top of her list of no-nos, especially for seventh-graders.

Not that pencils arent useful, I mumbled.

Better than pencils. She lowered her voice, her eyes steady on ours. What would you say to eating free dessert from the cafeteria every day. Mrs. Maltas key lime pie, in fact.

My mouth watered.

Graham cracker crust. Tart filling and whipped cream. Thats my lunchroom Kryptonite, and she knew it. From the look on Wilsons face, it was his, too.

Maybe we could be business partners after all.

Free? I always bring a bag lunch thanks to Mami. No sugary treats are ever part of it.

She nodded slowly to let it sink in. Every. Single. Day.

Wilson and I exchanged looks.

Its settled, then, Miss McDaniels said, victorious.

Sometimes you have bad options, but you still have to pick, like, do you eat the yucca or the quimbomb at Lolo and Abuelas house for dinner? You just make the best of it. So thats what I did.

Im in, I said. If I was going to die of boredom with a kid I barely knew, at least there would be pie. And Wilson, shrugging, said he was in, too.

HEY, WHERE YAT? WILSON SAYS . Thats hello. He doesnt know, but I kind of like how he talks. He puts no rs on the ends of words, which makes him sound like Mr. Finley, whos from Boston and teaches American history. Cah. Bah. Fah, instead of car, bar, far. Wilson isnt from Massachusetts, though. Hes from New Orleans, which is hot and steamy just like here in South Florida. He says its not evah pronounced New Or-leenz. If you say it that way, he corrects youeven if youre Miss McDaniels. Ive heard him do it with my own ears.

Ill be honest. At first, I wasnt crazy about working with a seventh-grade boy in close quarters, especially because of their annoying jokes about farting and body parts. In sixth grade, most of the boys were relatively normal, but not anymore. Now the lunch menu cant list chicken breast sandwiches without them elbowing one another and convulsing. Some of them punch other boys in the privates to be funny, like that guy on YouTube. Michael Clark went down like a tree and had to go to the nurse when Jason Aldrich got him after hiding under his desk. And God forbid if one of the boys likes you. Hell spend a whole class saying obnoxious things so that youll look at him, even if its with murder in your eyes. More than one girl has had to tell the teacher or scream I hate you! to get them to stop. Its so confusing. I mean, if you want someone to like you, shouldnt you act nice? But no. They act so badly that the kids they have crushes on dream of beating them to death with a shovel.