Gwynne the Great

Gwynne the Great


“Delia, wait up!” Gwynne shrieked, pedaling her brother’s bike faster and faster up Gardener’s Hill. It was a notoriously hot day, when cicadas sizzled and you could barely move in the copious, humid air.
“Catch me!” taunted Delia, Gwynne’s best friend, in response. And after a toilsome ride, the girls reached the top of the knoll, panting like Mangus, Gwynne’s saggy basset hound.
Far below spilled the town; the corner drug with its Izzy’s ice cream counter, and Poplar Winds Middle School, where the two would soon dutifully attend. They could even see their own homes; an immaculate, white-with-green-trim ranch style rambler on Zenith Street, and a mocha-beige split level on Kibitzer Avenue.
“Race you to Izzy’s!” Delia cried, aiming her bike for the corner drug’s ice cream counter. As Delia sped down Gardener’s Hill’s steep descent, Gwynne’s eyes lingered on the sights below, and she lost track of time. It was mid-August and sixth grade was creeping up on the two best friends. Would Middle school change them?
“Gwyn-nie!” an enraged shout pulsed from Delia’s mouth to Gwynne’s unlistening ear. “I rode the WHOLE WAY to Izzy’s, and you know what I found? That Gwynne Michelson WASN’T there behind me. So I waited, and waited… and waited. And then, being the CARING friend I am, I came all the way back up here just to make sure you were all right. Now, are we going to Izzy’s?”
Gwynne smiled. Same old Delia. She wouldn’t let middle school change her… Would she?
“Race you there!” Gwynne hollered, jumping back on her brother’s bike the way she had practiced all summer. It was great to be a kid.

That night at the Michelson dinner table, school was on everyone’s mind. “So, when are you going to get your school supplies?” Mom asked casually to Gwynne and her older brother, Jesse. Gwynne guessed it was more of an order, like: “You BETTER get your school supplies soon, you ungrateful Michealson children.”
“Ummm…Tomorrow, Mom!” Gwynne answered for herself, as well as her Jesse, whose mind seemed to be with the book he was reading, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.
“Good. I’ll take you to Woolworth’s. Be ready at eleven tomorrow,” and it was a settled matter.
“Can I call Delia to see if she can tag along? I bet she still needs to go school shopping, too.” Gwynne glanced at her mother hopefully, fingers crossed under the slick, linoleum table.
“Tell her we’ll pick her up at eleven twenty… and not to fret if we’re a tad late.” So Gwynne called Delia and it was a plan.

The next morning at eleven twenty-five (Gwynne’s mother was ALWAYS fashionably late) Gwynne and Delia sat side by side on the front bench of the glossy, ink-black suburban. Jesse, on the other hand, sat in the very back, staring vacantly through the smoked window. The twosome giggled gaily in the front seat, between breaths exclaiming about what they would wear on the first day of school.
“Just think,” Delia whispered, changing the subject, “Maybe you could pick up an extra notebook to write stories in!” Gwynne grinned, trying to hide her satisfaction that Delia thought her stories were worthy of their own composition book. She had only started writing them last year… and she’d be the first to admit that they weren’t very good. But as she wrote and wrote, her stories became better and better. Since she had written for the school paper last year as well, she considered herself an “unofficial” author.
“We’ll see.” Gwynne murmured to no one in particular.

Once they entered Woolworth’s drug store, Mom was all business. She ALMOST didn’t let Gwynne and Delia get a cone at the Izzy’s counter. “Now Del, Gwynne, You each need three composition books, twelve pencils, an expandable folder, and one package of note cards. Now, SCAT! I have some errands to do down the way.” Delia prodded Gwynne with a bony finger, prompting her to ask for the fourth notebook. Gwynne hurriedly muttered the request in her mother’s ear, and with a subtle nod, she said yes.

“Take a deep breath, Gwynne. We are about to enter the first day of the rest of our lives,” Delia cooed, giving her annual, first day of school sanction. She spoke in the soothing voice she used every year to calm Gwynne’s frayed nerves.
“First day of the rest of our lives,” Gwynne echoed, ignoring Delia’s coruscating smile. The two had eaten a rushed breakfast of “nutritious” doughnuts at Gwynne’s house, but they were now standing under the metal doorway of Poplar Winds Middle School… fifteen minutes pending the first bell.
Delia and Gwynne had only two classes together, band and lunch. That was yet another reason for Gwynne to worry. Ever since they had met in the second grade, Gwynne and Delia had been in the same class, their desks side by side (Or as close as the teacher would allow two VERY loquacious girls to sit…). But now that they had different homeroom, P.E., language arts, math, history, shop, and science classes, who would Gwynne sit next to?
“Gwyn-nie! I know that look!” Delia’s brow furrowed as she quickly walked Gwynne to homeroom. “Don’t fret! I PROMISE I’ll sit next to you every day at lunch, and even though I can’t sit next to you in band…You know they don’t let trombones and flutes sit side by side. But, we’ll survive!” With one last squeeze, Delia finally pushed Gwynne into her classroom. “Go get ‘em, Gwynne girl!” Delia mouthed as she scurried back into the hallway.
In her mind, Gwynne answered, “I will.”

“Class, now that you are in sixth grade, you are considered OLDER and MORE RESPONSIBLE children. You are in middle school! Show me that you CAN handle that responsibility!” The teacher in the front of the room gave that speech that teachers HAD to give every year. Mrs. McGillicutty announced herself with a garish red name tag, sitting like an obedient dog on her fake-wood desk. She was frumpy, with multiple chins and oily, corkscrewing hair. “…I won’t give you any homework today, but tomorrow, expect some fun, interactive games to play with your parents.” She grinned profusely, her twisted teeth poking out helter-skelter. Gwynne was sure this would be a LONG day…

“So, how was your day so far?” asked Delia, taking a generous bite out of her salami sandwich.
“HORRENDOUS. Have you SEEN Mrs. McGillicutty?” Gwynne demanded. Delia glanced at her sympathetically, but then skipped on to explain HER first four periods.
“I have Mr. Jay for homeroom. He’s awesome! Did you know her snowboards? And my L.A. teacher is divine…” Suddenly, Gwynne perked up. She hadn’t had language arts yet… maybe she would have the same teacher as Delia…
“BBBBBBBBBBRING!!!!!”

“Arr…” Gwynne thought. “…Rudely interrupted by the bell.”

“See you in band!” Delia shouted, already making her way across the lunchroom.

“Yeah… If I survive that long.” Gwynne muttered under her breath, all hopes of language arts vanishing.

Gwynne was almost out of breath when she arrived at her language arts class. It was her last real “class” before school was out. (The last class was end-of-the-day homeroom.) As Gwynne loitered to her seat, she saw the teacher rummaging in her desk for a pencil. If she was as kind as she looked, Gwynne would have the best class yet. She crossed her fingers tightly under her desk, her good luck charm.
The teacher’s fiery red hair was swept up a professional-looking, tortoise-shell clip, with matching freckles that looked like another Hansel and Gretel bread crumb incident. She wore a foreign-looking khaki skirt with numerous pockets, and a flowy, maroon and gold tunic.
When everyone had finally entered the classroom from the sweat-smelling, over-crowded hallways, the teacher began.

“My name is Emily Bonickson, and I am your language arts teacher this semester. I expect three things from you this year; Respect, Quality, and Good Attitude. If you obey those rules, everything else will be fun and easy.” Ms. Bonickson’s eyes lit up as she spoke. Even the boys who lingered criminally in the back of the class were listening now. “Take out your notebooks and pencils… We are going to start with a quick writing exercise.”

The rest of the class flew by in what seemed like minutes for Gwynne. As she met Delia to walk home, all she could do was talk of Ms. Bonickson, notebook clutched tightly to her chest. Maybe school would be all right, with language arts to look forward to… Maybe school wasn’t so bad after all… She contemplated it over as Delia ranted over her oh-so-exiting, out-of-this-world day. Maybe she wouldn’t have all the grumpy teachers she had for P.E. and Shop. Maybe… she subconsciously crossed her fingers.
“Gwynne girl, are you LISTENING?” giggled Delia, slapping her friend’s freckled palm. “C’mon. Race you to Izzy’s!” And they raced off, into the September sunshine.