onlookers, other students about my age, dressed like me, who wandered over amused and curious, wanting in on the fun.
“What’s so funny?” they asked.
“I’m not sure,” I explained. “We came from the Prime Minister’s house and Bing seems to think that was hilarious.”
“The Prime Minister’s house?” asked Poppy, the girl who’d been carrying the book on her head. Three or four other kids pointed their fingers at me and joined in the screaming.
“OUT! OUT! OUT!”
They too dropped to the ground and rolled around laughing. I started to wonder what kind of a cuckoo world I had stumbled into. That Violet and Zooey from the day before had seemed nice, but where were they? I was stuck with lunatics. I flirted with the idea of wandering away from Bing and the group. It wasn’t that funny and apparently I was not in on the joke. Or I was the joke. It was hard to tell.
I shouted to make myself heard over the laughing. “Hey! It isn’t funny to be an inch away from a big angry man who looks like he’s going to kill you.”
It didn’t make any difference. No one paid attention; they were all busy laughing.
“Hey!” I shouted again, lightly kicking Bing with my flat to get his attention, but it was no use. He just kept rolling around in his own little world. I stood there, getting madder and feeling more and more embarrassed.
“Okay, stop kicking me,” Bing finally said. He stood up and composed himself, drawing his hand across his mouth as if physically trying to wipe away his mirth.
“That’s enough guys. Enough I said. Sorry sweetheart. It’s just so darn funny. Every time,” and his shoulders started shaking with laughter again.
Oh no. I thought. No more. I kicked him hard, in the shins.
“STOP LAUGHING AT ME,” I yelled.
That did it. Everyone shut up.
“Ouch,” Bing said, grabbing his shin and hopping around on one leg dramatically. He quieted down. “Well, I guess I deserved that.”
I stood in the middle of the circle, the new girl, everyone’s eyes upon me. It was suddenly so quiet that I could hear the fountains gurgling.
Finally, Rafe, the poem reciter, spoke up, “It’s okay, you don’t need to get violent! What’s your name?”
“I’m Macy. I’m new.”
“Hi Macy. You need to know that every one of us has been screamed at by that old gasbag, been scared to death and run out of there like a bat out of hell. He’s famous for it. It’s kind of like passing your initial test here at Chanticleer. We all live through it and laugh about it later. You will too.”
“Come on, we’re sorry,” said Poppy, and she put her arm through mine and gave it a squeeze. “Let’s all go to lunch and we’ll tell you about it.”
I looked at Bing and Poppy and the others. Every one of them was smiling at me and nodding as if to assure me that I was no different. Okay, I thought to myself. I’m all right. I just lived through something a little strange but I’m not hurt.
I put my arm through Poppy’s arm and Bing took my other arm and gave me a playful fist to the head. Suddenly I was cracking up at the memory of running down the stairs, and at the sound of the vestibule door being locked behind me to keep me out.
“See, you are laughing at yourself already!” Bing teased. “I told you to laugh at yourself. Laugh at who you are now. Life is funny.”
I felt I had to apologize. “I’m sorry for kicking you, Bing. Do you have a bruise?”
“Nah,” he said, without even glancing at his leg. “Only on my ego. Sorry Macy if you thought we were laughing at you. We just like to laugh in this place, that’s all. Come on, you must be starving. Let’s eat.”
I followed along as the group headed into an enormous timbered building with floor to ceiling arched windows. Each window was inset with diamond-shaped panes reflecting the sun in a dozen brilliant colors. Once through the door my ears were overcome with the din of voices and the clanking of plates and silverware.
“What’s so funny?” they asked.
“I’m not sure,” I explained. “We came from the Prime Minister’s house and Bing seems to think that was hilarious.”
“The Prime Minister’s house?” asked Poppy, the girl who’d been carrying the book on her head. Three or four other kids pointed their fingers at me and joined in the screaming.
“OUT! OUT! OUT!”
They too dropped to the ground and rolled around laughing. I started to wonder what kind of a cuckoo world I had stumbled into. That Violet and Zooey from the day before had seemed nice, but where were they? I was stuck with lunatics. I flirted with the idea of wandering away from Bing and the group. It wasn’t that funny and apparently I was not in on the joke. Or I was the joke. It was hard to tell.
I shouted to make myself heard over the laughing. “Hey! It isn’t funny to be an inch away from a big angry man who looks like he’s going to kill you.”
It didn’t make any difference. No one paid attention; they were all busy laughing.
“Hey!” I shouted again, lightly kicking Bing with my flat to get his attention, but it was no use. He just kept rolling around in his own little world. I stood there, getting madder and feeling more and more embarrassed.
“Okay, stop kicking me,” Bing finally said. He stood up and composed himself, drawing his hand across his mouth as if physically trying to wipe away his mirth.
“That’s enough guys. Enough I said. Sorry sweetheart. It’s just so darn funny. Every time,” and his shoulders started shaking with laughter again.
Oh no. I thought. No more. I kicked him hard, in the shins.
“STOP LAUGHING AT ME,” I yelled.
That did it. Everyone shut up.
“Ouch,” Bing said, grabbing his shin and hopping around on one leg dramatically. He quieted down. “Well, I guess I deserved that.”
I stood in the middle of the circle, the new girl, everyone’s eyes upon me. It was suddenly so quiet that I could hear the fountains gurgling.
Finally, Rafe, the poem reciter, spoke up, “It’s okay, you don’t need to get violent! What’s your name?”
“I’m Macy. I’m new.”
“Hi Macy. You need to know that every one of us has been screamed at by that old gasbag, been scared to death and run out of there like a bat out of hell. He’s famous for it. It’s kind of like passing your initial test here at Chanticleer. We all live through it and laugh about it later. You will too.”
“Come on, we’re sorry,” said Poppy, and she put her arm through mine and gave it a squeeze. “Let’s all go to lunch and we’ll tell you about it.”
I looked at Bing and Poppy and the others. Every one of them was smiling at me and nodding as if to assure me that I was no different. Okay, I thought to myself. I’m all right. I just lived through something a little strange but I’m not hurt.
I put my arm through Poppy’s arm and Bing took my other arm and gave me a playful fist to the head. Suddenly I was cracking up at the memory of running down the stairs, and at the sound of the vestibule door being locked behind me to keep me out.
“See, you are laughing at yourself already!” Bing teased. “I told you to laugh at yourself. Laugh at who you are now. Life is funny.”
I felt I had to apologize. “I’m sorry for kicking you, Bing. Do you have a bruise?”
“Nah,” he said, without even glancing at his leg. “Only on my ego. Sorry Macy if you thought we were laughing at you. We just like to laugh in this place, that’s all. Come on, you must be starving. Let’s eat.”
I followed along as the group headed into an enormous timbered building with floor to ceiling arched windows. Each window was inset with diamond-shaped panes reflecting the sun in a dozen brilliant colors. Once through the door my ears were overcome with the din of voices and the clanking of plates and silverware.
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