Gillian McDunn - The Queen Bee and Me

Also by Gillian McDunn

Caterpillar Summer

For Violet

CONTENTS

ANIMAL FIELDWORK PROJECT

MS. DUPART
EXPLORATORY SCIENCE
SECOND SEMESTER
SIXTH PERIOD

Describe your subject using words and pictures. What does the animal do all day? If the animal is social, show how it contributes to keeping the society organized and running smoothly.

15 points

As a worker bee grows, so do her activities. A young bees first job is cleaning the honeycomb. Then she is promoted, one job at a time. She feeds baby bees, makes food, builds the honeycomb, and guards the entrance to the hive. Finally, she is old enough to go outside the hive as a forager bee. She will fly for miles to collect nectar, pollen, and water.

How does the worker bee realize it is time to switch to something new? No one knows. The important thing is that the bee herself knows when it is time for a change.

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who want to look inside to see how stuff works and those who couldnt care less.

Ive always been the first kind of person.

My earliest memory is from when I was three years old, sitting on top of the kitchen table and taking apart our toaster. I was a nervous little kid, and somehow Mom figured out that learning about the insides of things would calm me. She says I have a jumpy kind of brain and need something to put that energy into, which is how she was as a kid, too.

So one day, she plopped me on the table and looked at me seriously.

These are the rules, Meg, she said. You have to ask first. You can never touch anything that is still plugged in. And most important: if you take it apart, you have to put it together again.

Then she placed the toaster on the table between us. She showed me how to use the screwdriver to loosen and tighten. She showed me that, sometimes, pieces need a little wiggle before they slide open. When the insides are revealed, all the mysteries are solved. Each piece has its place. Everything fits just right.

That morning in the kitchen, Mom explained the coiled springs and balanced levers. She showed me the wires that radiate heat to toast the bread. And after I was done looking, Mom let me put it back together again.

Since then, Ive taken apart clocks, radios, blenders, and once a microwave. When the world feels confusing, it helps to look at the pieces and see how they fit.

Putting them back together is harder. I do my best, but when springs uncoil and levers unbalance, it changes things. Theyre as good as newalmost.

When I was little, I thought that if I looked hard enough, I could understand the whole world that way. But lately, Im not so sure thats right. Some things cant handle being cracked open. If I look too closely, some things might make less sense. Or they may fall apart completely.

Hel- lo ? says Beatrix, interrupting my thoughts. Beatrix is my best friend, but right now she doesnt look very friendly.

Oops. I look at her blankly. My thoughts pinwheel backward, trying to remember the moment just before I stopped paying attention.

Earth to Meg? Beatrix crosses her arms tightly, like shes giving herself an angry hug. Are you even listening?

I wasnt , but I cant say that.

Heres something else I cant say:

Beatrix Bailey is my best friend. I love her, but I dont always like her.

The thought is sharp, like its made of broken glass. But it feels like the truth. Maybe thats why it hurts so much.

She stands still and looks at me, frowning. Shes waiting for me to answer.

My tangle of thoughts had me in outer space. Now Im zoomed all the way back to Earth, to North Carolina, to the Willow Pond Middle School soccer field, where we do slow laps with Bart and Lola every Tuesday, rain or shine. Theyre the last clients left from our fourth-grade dog-walking business, the one that was supposed to make us rich by middle school.

Sorry, I say. I wonder how much of the conversation I missed.

Beatrixs eyes are light blue, the color of a swimming pool. Right now they are narrowed in a frown. Seriously? You werent paying attention?

Um, I say. If I tell her the truth, she will be furious.

Beatrix rewraps her scarf against the January chill. I rub my hands against my cheeks, trying to warm them. Without even looking into a mirror, I can tell my face is red. My usually pale skin turns into a shade of lobster whenever it gets windy like this. Meanwhile, Beatrixs skin is golden from her familys recent tropical vacationnever chapped or rashy.

Lola, at her feet, sniffs the straw-colored grass, barely noticing when Bart flops into a sit beside her, panting. He gives me a slobbery smile, like hes proud of what a good dog he is.

Then I figure out what to say.

Dance, I say. You were talking about dance. This is a safe guess. For Beatrix, dancing is lifeshes always leaping and twirling randomly throughout the day to get her point across.

Beatrix starts walking again, and I hurry to follow.

Anyway, she says. I was talking about the spring recital. For our dance elective? I dont want a repeat of what happened last week.

Me neither, I say, thinking of how I stumbled through the performancetwo hours of my life Ill never get back.

I hate getting lost in those giant group dances, says Beatrix. Theyre so awkward, and the audience cant even see whos doing what.

Um, Beatrix? I say. Getting lost in those big group dances is the only way I survive those dance recitals!

She laughs like Im joking, but Im not. When I dance, its like my brain and my body are speaking different languages. The only reason Ive suffered through the last three semesters of dance is because of her. Last year, I tried to switch to art. But when I told her my plan, she got furious. Then she froze me out. She didnt speak to me for an entire week. I hated that feeling even more than I hate dance.

I mean it, I say. Im not like you. Im the worst one in the class.

Beatrix shakes her head. You would be better if you worked harder. Then you would like it more.

Im pretty sure Ive heard Mrs. Bailey say that exact same thing to Beatrix before. I doubt she realizes it.

Maybe, I say. I reach into my pocket and feel the folded piece of paper. Theres something I need to tell Beatrix. Maybe I should just do it now.

But when I think of last year and The Freeze, I stop myself. I may not always like her, but I dont want to lose her, either.

Why are you worried about dance elective anyway? I ask. Its months away, and its not anything like the fancy recitals you do for ballet.

Beatrix pulls Lolas leash to keep her on the path. My fancy ballet studio isnt all that great, she says. She uses her fingers to make air quotes when she says fancy.

I shrug. Its a whole lot better than the Willow Pond Middle auditorium, I say. For some reason, the auditorium always smells like feet.

Beatrix sniffs. They wouldnt even give me the part I wanted for Nutcracker . Ive been working for years to be Clara, and now Im suddenly too tall. I had to be a Russian dancer, which was ridiculous.

I frown. I knew Beatrix was disappointed when she didnt get Clara, but when it happened she acted like it didnt bother her. She said being a Russian dancer was technically difficult, maybe more challenging than Clara. But I guess that wasnt really the truth.