you don’t. Therefore, keep your mouth shut. All for the greater good of the citizenry, of course.
Mouth shut, feet moving. Katie following. Still talking.
“Where did you get him? Did you
steal
him?” Katie looked horrified. Yeah, right, because every fourteen-year-old guy wants his own small child.It’s barrels of laughs to look after a preschooler. I’d only been responsible for Markie for a few hours and already I was exhausted.
“No, I didn’t steal him. He’s mine, fair and square.” Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I’d read that somewhere. Candidates have to be current with all law, um, things.
“What are you thinking? He can’t possibly be covered by the school’s insurance policy, nor the legal responsibility–slash–social construct of
in loco parentis
that schools and parents abide by.”
Latin phrases. Super smart-sounding. I’ll have to throw them around in the debate. Katie’s not the only one who can do a computer search.
Markie’s face peeked out from between the flaps of Dad’s trench coat. “Am I in trouble, Dutchdeefuddy?”
I glared at Katie. See what you’ve done? my gaze said. Scared the little boy. Nice job. Now go away.
As I’d suspected, Katie can read my mind. Her cheeks got red and she looked down.
“Are you mad that I’m at the big-boy school?” he asked. She shook her head and gave him a crooked smile. “Why did you make a mean face at her?” He tugged at my coat. “We can’t make meanfaces at our friends in preschool. Well, we can, but then we don’t get stickers on our charts. It’s important to get along with our friends. That and not picking our noses.”
“Your preschool covers all the basics, Markie, but—” Our chat was interrupted.
“Mr. Spencer. Ms. Knowles. Small child. Just when I was under the impression that I’d seen everything middle school had to offer.” It was Ms. Lynch, the assistant principal. “I’d have thought you were more of the bag-of-crickets or box-of-frogs kind of troublemaker, Spencer. A little boy is a nice twist.”
“Hi! I’m Markie.” He flew out from underneath my coat—I can’t really blame him, the oxygen level was probably getting a little low and I was sweating buckets—and stuck out his hand. Markie recently learned how to shake hands in a kiddie etiquette class.
Ms. Lynch looked at Markie’s hand like JonPaul looks at sink knobs in public restrooms: no way am I touching
that
.
I am oh-for-three today when it comes to Markie charming females. First Milania, then Katie andnow Ms. Lynch. What happened to the nurturing maternal instincts in this school?
Why am I the only one who can see what a great little guy Markie is? Obviously, it’s because I’m so in touch with feminist issues. Most men aren’t really empathetic about stuff like that. Another point in my favor.
“What is it doing here?” Lynch asked.
I hope I never again see the look that was on Markie’s face when she called him an “it.” He took a step back and grabbed my hand.
Before I could move, Katie stepped over and took Markie’s other hand. He smiled at her and I could feel him relax.
“Kevin and I,” Katie told Lynch, “on behalf of Cash, after some brainstorming about the deeper meaning of a middle school election, brought Mikey—”
“Markie,” I corrected.
“Right, Markie, to school as, um—”
I jumped in: “—a reminder to the voters about what’s really at stake—the future students. Katie and I agreed that—”
Katie cut me off, but we were clicking, finishingeach other’s thoughts. “—the kids in this building don’t have an appreciation of the bigger picture. It’s not just about them this year—”
“—it’s about all the classes that’ll follow us through these halls.”
“And you’re wrong and mean to have called a child an ‘it,’ ” Katie said in that cold tone that I usually despise but loved her for right now.
Lynch looked like she was going to cut Katie down to
Mouth shut, feet moving. Katie following. Still talking.
“Where did you get him? Did you
steal
him?” Katie looked horrified. Yeah, right, because every fourteen-year-old guy wants his own small child.It’s barrels of laughs to look after a preschooler. I’d only been responsible for Markie for a few hours and already I was exhausted.
“No, I didn’t steal him. He’s mine, fair and square.” Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I’d read that somewhere. Candidates have to be current with all law, um, things.
“What are you thinking? He can’t possibly be covered by the school’s insurance policy, nor the legal responsibility–slash–social construct of
in loco parentis
that schools and parents abide by.”
Latin phrases. Super smart-sounding. I’ll have to throw them around in the debate. Katie’s not the only one who can do a computer search.
Markie’s face peeked out from between the flaps of Dad’s trench coat. “Am I in trouble, Dutchdeefuddy?”
I glared at Katie. See what you’ve done? my gaze said. Scared the little boy. Nice job. Now go away.
As I’d suspected, Katie can read my mind. Her cheeks got red and she looked down.
“Are you mad that I’m at the big-boy school?” he asked. She shook her head and gave him a crooked smile. “Why did you make a mean face at her?” He tugged at my coat. “We can’t make meanfaces at our friends in preschool. Well, we can, but then we don’t get stickers on our charts. It’s important to get along with our friends. That and not picking our noses.”
“Your preschool covers all the basics, Markie, but—” Our chat was interrupted.
“Mr. Spencer. Ms. Knowles. Small child. Just when I was under the impression that I’d seen everything middle school had to offer.” It was Ms. Lynch, the assistant principal. “I’d have thought you were more of the bag-of-crickets or box-of-frogs kind of troublemaker, Spencer. A little boy is a nice twist.”
“Hi! I’m Markie.” He flew out from underneath my coat—I can’t really blame him, the oxygen level was probably getting a little low and I was sweating buckets—and stuck out his hand. Markie recently learned how to shake hands in a kiddie etiquette class.
Ms. Lynch looked at Markie’s hand like JonPaul looks at sink knobs in public restrooms: no way am I touching
that
.
I am oh-for-three today when it comes to Markie charming females. First Milania, then Katie andnow Ms. Lynch. What happened to the nurturing maternal instincts in this school?
Why am I the only one who can see what a great little guy Markie is? Obviously, it’s because I’m so in touch with feminist issues. Most men aren’t really empathetic about stuff like that. Another point in my favor.
“What is it doing here?” Lynch asked.
I hope I never again see the look that was on Markie’s face when she called him an “it.” He took a step back and grabbed my hand.
Before I could move, Katie stepped over and took Markie’s other hand. He smiled at her and I could feel him relax.
“Kevin and I,” Katie told Lynch, “on behalf of Cash, after some brainstorming about the deeper meaning of a middle school election, brought Mikey—”
“Markie,” I corrected.
“Right, Markie, to school as, um—”
I jumped in: “—a reminder to the voters about what’s really at stake—the future students. Katie and I agreed that—”
Katie cut me off, but we were clicking, finishingeach other’s thoughts. “—the kids in this building don’t have an appreciation of the bigger picture. It’s not just about them this year—”
“—it’s about all the classes that’ll follow us through these halls.”
“And you’re wrong and mean to have called a child an ‘it,’ ” Katie said in that cold tone that I usually despise but loved her for right now.
Lynch looked like she was going to cut Katie down to
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