MUGD -- Chapter 1: My Elementary School

“Monica!”1

“Monica!”2

That’s me: Monica Ginger. And that was my mom, yelling at me that I would be late for school.3

“I’m coming,” I groaned, struggling to take control of my black, frizzy hair.4

After ten minutes of pointless brushing, I gave up on my hair, which now looked little short of a bush, but I was nine, and didn’t care much for my appearance.5

“Monica, you’re going to make me late!” shouted my mom, who was eager to assume her post at the restaurant she and my dad owned.6

“I’m coming,” I said again as I trotted down the stairs, and grabbed the backpack my mom was holding out to me. “Bye!” I shouted on my way out the door.7

The school bus drove past my house as I stepped out onto the porch. It was only six o’clock, but the bus always passed by at this time, for our street was their first stop.8

“Come on, Monica!”9

That was my cousin, Dan – or at least he was supposed to be. I met him in my early years, so I don’t remember exactly how he appeared in my world one day. I think Mom said he was Dad’s brother’s grandson. That would make him my second-cousin, right? He was a brother to me, though, and I was the world to him.10

“Wait up, Dan!” I called. He had ridden his bicycle up to the stop sign already, and was waiting for me to catch up, teasing that he would leave without me.11

Of course, I knew that Dan would never do that. He treated me like the Royal Guard treats the Queen, or the secret service treats the President. Sure, it was a pain sometimes, but I knew he had my best interests at heart.12

I grabbed my own bicycle and rode down to the stop sign where Dan waited.13

“You’re late,” he said as we turned the corner.14

“What else is new?” I asked. “It’s the same old, same old.”15

“Well, I thought you should know, your hair looks awful,” said Dan, knowing I had no control over my hair’s attitude. “You should’ve just left it when you got out of bed; right now you’d look better if you stood in the eye of a hurricane.”16

“Thanks,” I said as the park a few blocks away came slowly into view.17

We reached the park in only ten minutes, but an impatient crowd of guys were already there.18

“What up, Boss?” asked the one with short locks of blond, curly hair.19

Dan nodded to each of them, but said nothing. I knew that he liked the nickname “Boss”, but the name was a bit overpowering considering, in this case, its definition was: founder of the L.S.P.P.20

The L.S.P.P. (Little Sister Protection Program) was nothing short of a group of volunteer body guards. My body guards.21

“Sorry we’re late, Guyz,” said Dan. “The Girl had some hair issues this morning.”22

That’s my nickname in the L.S.P.P. “The Girl.” It was the most nameless nickname in the world, but eventually, I got over it. Life goes on.23

We spoke no more, but hopped back on our bikes, heading for my elementary school. However, it was in no ordinary way. Dan had us riding in an almost-pyramid. Dan rode in front, leading the way, while Chad and Brad rode on either side of me. When a car would come, the three of them would escort me safely to the curd. Those boys would prefer it if the largest injury I was burdened with were a paper cut.24

Unfortunately, Dan couldn’t guard me all the time. As we arrived at my school, he bade me goodbye and didn’t look back. I however, watched him until his bike vanished from sight, resulting in my nearly being late for class.25

I sat down at a table, and throughout all of Math, I didn’t look anywhere other than my teacher, my text book, and my paper. But when I had finished my equations, and my fellow students were still struggling through the first problem, I was bored. Even while I was doing my multiplication tables, I was bored. Dan swears I could skip two or three grades, but the school board said I’m not “emotionally mature” enough. What’s that supposed to mean, anyway?26

After Math was Science, which was just as easy as Math and after that was History. I didn’t mind History so much because I’d be reading the same thing next year, and the year after that. Why should I be bothered? I love reading.27

None of my friends were in my class, but I got to catch up with them at lunch.28

Upon entering the cafeteria, the first thing I – and everyone else – noticed was the table reserved by the cheerleaders for the cheerleaders. They’re the first noticed because they were the only ones wearing the hottest trends. They were all giggling and flirting with the jocks at a nearby table. Calling those girls my friends would be the ugliest lie I’ve ever told. But I’d even rather have them for friends than the ones I had then. But then, I’d also rather have the boy with gelled hair, who tucked in his plaid shirt, and carried around his inhaler than the friends I had then. The reason for this was that I had no friends. My “brother” made sure of this. That’s where his over-protectiveness branched out into annoyingness.29

So, I bought my lunch and sat down at the same table I always sat at. The table was located at the back of the cafeteria. All of society’s rejects sat there, and I only hoped I that I wouldn’t have to endure the torture of rejection throughout middle school, too.30

It wasn’t all bad, though, for Dan wasn’t the typical brother/cousin. Many people complain about their rude, arrogant, unsupportive brothers, but I’d never had the misfortune to meet one. Now, I’m not saying that Dan was polite, or had no ego, or supported everything I said, but he didn’t play the painted role of "villain brother." He was sweet, kind, and sensible.31

When I heard snickering from the other side of the table, I shook myself from my daydreams.32

"MOnie's got a boyfriend! MOnie's got a boyfriend!" sang a girl whom many, upon first sight, would not think would sit at the rejects' table. She was a reject because the populars (Dan and I called them The Pops) wouldn't let anyone forget the Tuesday that she accidentally wore mix n' match socks. Two years ago.33

"My name is Monica," I snapped. "Monie" was the dumbest nickname I'd ever head. I HATED it. "And what do you mean, anyway?" I asked. A few other kids laughed and I looked down at my right hand where I had absentmindedly written Dan's name over and over on my napkin. Oops.34

"Monie and Dan, sittin' in a tree..." the girl started singing.35

"MY name is not Monie," I snapped. "And Dan's not my boyfriend, he's my brother."36

"You said you didn't have any brothers and sisters," sneered a boy wearing bell-bottom pants and an afro.37

Oops again. I knew he was right. I had undoubtedly mentioned, or muttered under my breath, at the very least, the lonlines of being an only child. "Fine," I said. "He's not my brother or my boyfriend. He's my cousin, or something like that. He's like a brother, is all."38

But the children at the rejects' table only sang even more loudly than before, "Monie's got a boyfriend!"39

I slouched in my seat, wanting nothing more than to slip under the table and never come out.40

When the bell rang for school to let out, I was so exhausted ffrom all the embarassment that I wished I didn't have to ride my bicycle all the way to Dan's middle school and wait for him there.41

There was no getting out of it, though. If I wasn't at the right spot at the right time, Dan would worry something had gone horrible wrong.42

Therefore, I rode over to the middle school, which let out only slightly later than mine, and was about a mile away from it.43

Upon arriving, I entered the front door, ducking as to not be seen by the ladies in the office. I sneaked through the vacant hallways until reaching the empty auditorium. The exact middle chair on the third-closest row to the stage was where I sat.44

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!45

The alarm on my watch went off. Typically, the doors to the auditorium would have swung open, and Dan would have stepped inside at this second.46

But that didn't occur that day. That day I spent three minutes, in which time I could only imagine the agony he could be induring in such a dreadful place.47

Sorry, I'm late," came a voice from behind me as the doors to the auditorium swung open, and Dan stepped inside. "Come on, Monica, let's go!"