Lessons I Never Learned at Meadowbrook Academy by Liz Maccie Page B

didn’t respond. I’ve learned that silence sometimes can be much more infuriating than words.
    Twiggy shook her head and picked up the form sheet. “Now then, this is a standard disciplinary incident report. I will fill out the date, time, and detailed description of the incident that I feel needs disciplining. If you receive three of these reports, Headmaster Murphy has the implicit right to expel you from Meadowbrook. Your parents will also receive a copy of this report. You will attend detention today for cutting class. Detention takes place in the study hall room, which is located around the corner from the dining hall, at exactly 3:15 p.m. Do you have any questions?”
    I really couldn’t care less what this woman was saying. I was close to experiencing hypothermia, my butt crack was being uncomfortably wedged open by toilet paper, and maybe this was my perfect opportunity to get kicked out of Meadowbrook so that I could go back to West Orange.
    â€œMiss Romano, do you have any questions?”
    â€œNo.”
    It was obvious that my non-kiss-ass response took Twiggy a bit off guard. She was probably used to kids breaking down and crying, begging her to please… please not tell their parents. I could see right through Twiggy; she was a mean, shriveled up, lonely lady who got her jollies by throwing pathetic power trips over defenseless kids. Give me a break. I had grown up with an overbearing, obsessive, controlling Italian mother; Twiggy was no match for me. Which reminded me…why had my mother called in the first place?
    Twiggy began meticulously filling out the incident report.
    â€œOh, yeah, and when you’re finished filling out that thing, could you please tell me why my mother called?” I didn’t want Twiggy to know that I was even the slightest bit worried.
    Twiggy stopped writing and pulled off her glasses. “I do not appreciate your attitude, Miss Romano.”
    I scratched my neck. “Whatever.”
    Twiggy pursed her lips and put her glasses back on. She opened her top desk drawer and pulled out a fluorescent yellow piece of paper. She scribbled a few things on the paper and handed it to me. “This is a special needs pass for the Meadowbrook bus. Your mother called because your family’s car has broken down, and they are unable to pick you up today. I have informed your mother that you will be attending detention this afternoon and traveling on the first late bus home, which leaves promptly at 5 p.m. There is also a second late bus, which leaves promptly at 6:15 p.m., but you will have more than ample time to be on that first bus home. This pass is used when a student with financial hardship, who is unable to afford the bus on a regular schedule, is in need of transportation. It will expire the day after tomorrow in the event that you need further assistance.” Twiggy closed my file and crossed back over to the filing cabinet.
    I stared at the fluorescent yellow pass, which read: “SPECIAL NEEDS TRANSPORTATION.” Financial hardship…unable to afford…needs assistance. That pass was a branding that I didn’t belong here. I would be picked on, teased, and made fun of. I knewsomething like this was going to happen. I just knew it. I crinkled the paper hard in my hand. I wanted to run screaming out of her office. I could feel my eyes filling with tears.
    Twiggy sat back down and recapped her pen. “All right, Miss Rom—” She looked at me.
    Tears, real tears, not like the ones earlier, were streaming down my face. I just couldn’t help it.
    Twiggy sat there for a few moments, hands folded, just looking at me. I could feel her taking in every pathetic inch of me. Then she walked over to the silver straight-back chair next to me and said something surprising. “May I sit down?”
    I shrugged and she sat. I wiped my tears away, angry at myself for being weak. The bell rang, ending second period.
    She took the