The Secret Life of a Funny Girl (12 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I PUT THE PEN down on my desk and sit back, satisfied. Well, sort of satisfied—English has never been my strong point. And this was a tough exam. That unseen poem, well, I'm still not sure I called it correctly. It's so hard to tell, isn't it, what the author is trying to say? It's like figuring out the answer to a brainteaser. I've always been better at math and science—Debbie is the one who aces English all the time.

I glance up at the clock, still forty-five minutes left. Lots of time to check it over, so I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and check out how the rest of the girls are doing.

Heads down, backs hunched over like rabbits, the soft sound of scratching pens—everyone still deep in the zone. Yikes, maybe I finished too early. So I lift up my paper to check it over, when out of the corner of my eye I notice Patsy Gallagher. Lounging back in her desk, legs stretched out before her, arms folded tightly across her chest, staring straight ahead. Pen idle on her desk. Is she finished or just giving up? Did she even study for this exam? I remember when Mom was so sick, how hard it was to find time to study, let alone concentrate. I almost feel sorry for Patsy, when abruptly her sullen eyes lock onto mine. I don't even think about it, I just do it. A slight smile. For a brief instant Patsy's expression changes, like a mask dropping away. Then she turns her face to the wall.

Did I just see that? I'm not sure. I shake my head, pull my attention back to my test.

Later in the corridor, I meet up with Debbie and some of the girls.

“So,” says Mary Ann, grinning at Debbie, “how did the valedictorian find her exam?”

Debbie smiles and lowers her eyes. Yes, it's true. The big announcement came yesterday afternoon. Debbie was called to the office and returned twenty minutes later, all flushed and pleased. Who could blame her? It's an honour anyone would appreciate. And everyone agrees Debbie's a great choice—high marks, involved in choir and band and dancing, always helpful and considerate. I'm glad for my best friend, but I have to be honest—a part of me feels dejected, and sorry for myself. I was in the running for valedictorian too—Sister Marion told me that, didn't she? My marks are just as good as Debbie's, and I'm involved in all the same activities. The only difference of course is in behaviour, so I guess the deciding factor must have been my miserable treatment of Miss Godwin this year—which I guess is what Aunt Kay meant when she talked about repercussions. But it's too late to change that now. I just have to be happy for Debbie's success.

“I didn't find the test too bad,” says Debbie to Mary Ann and me. “How did you guys find it?”

There's no time to answer because Bernadette appears. “Oh, Maureen,” she announces, “Sister Marion says she wants to see you in her office. Right now, before you go home.”

Cripes!

“Hey, don't worry,” says Debbie. She's soothing and calm. “I'll get Beth-Ann and we'll wait outside until you're done.”

“Thanks.” I sigh, and trudge off toward the office.

My mind races as my heels click on the hardwood floors. Is it Mom? Possible, but I doubt it. She was great this morning, really cheerful, planning to plant pansies and marigolds in the flower beds around the house. Miss Godwin? No way. I'm hardly even talking in class anymore, let alone anything more obnoxious. So whatever this is, it's coming out of nowhere. Another blow to deal with? Something else to figure out, that's for sure.

I knock timidly on Sister Marion's door.

“Ah, Miss O'Neill. Come in, please sit down.”

“Hello, Sister. Is everything all right?

She looks at me and there's a definite kindness in her eyes. “Everything's fine,” she says, nodding her head in the slow way that nuns do. “Please take a seat.”

Right away, I relax. Sister Marion wastes no time getting right to the point. “Maureen, as I'm sure you know, the choice of valedictorian has been finalized.”

“Yes, Sister, I do know. Debbie's a wonderful choice.”

“Indeed she is. She has an unblemished record in this school.”

I drop my gaze. Obvious in that statement is the fact that I don't.

“It was a difficult decision, Maureen. Several girls were carefully considered, you being one of them.”

“Yes, Sister.”

“Now that the decision of valedictorian has been made, it's occurred to me that it might be appropriate to add another feature to the Mother and Daughter Tea this year. I think it's important to recognize Miss Godwin's contribution to Fatima Academy, in view of the fact that she has decided to retire.”

Retire? Guilt pushes me to ask. “Sister, I hope Miss Godwin isn't retiring because of me.”

Sister Marion clasps her hands together on the desk and assesses me, her head tilted slightly to one side. “What I will say is that Miss Godwin has found this past school year to be a particular challenge. However, her decision to retire is due to a number of factors, most of which are personal.”

I nod my head, taking this in. No doubt I'm one of the “factors,” which does
not
make me feel terrific, but at this point, what can I do?

“In any event, as I was saying,” she continues, “I feel it would be fitting to recognize Miss Godwin's contribution to the school, and to do so at the tea. I would like a graduating girl to deliver a tribute to Miss Godwin and I would like that girl to be you.”

Me? Deliver a tribute to Miss Godwin? Whoa, I was definitely not expecting this.

“Thank you, Sister.” Then the contradiction hits me. “But Sister, why would you ask
me
, considering all the trouble I've caused Miss Godwin this year?”

“That is precisely the reason why I have chosen you, Maureen,” replies Sister, watching me closely. “It seems to me most fitting that you should deliver such a tribute. I am certain Miss Godwin would greatly appreciate it.”

“Are you sure, Sister?”

She smiles despite herself. “Yes, Maureen, I'm sure. Now, I don't want to revisit the past; we have dealt with that. What's important at this point is that Miss Godwin be given a suitable farewell, and in my opinion you are the obvious choice—for two reasons.”

Two reasons?

“The first is that you will be required to speak to Miss Godwin's finer points of character, and I think it would be quite appropriate for you to reflect on that. Additionally, you've had a difficult year, what with your mother's illness, and I feel you've come through it admirably.”

What? Where is she going with this?

“I know you missed your mom terribly, but you managed to maintain good marks and continued to do well in band and choir, and in your dancing. Now, we did have that objectionable behaviour with Miss Godwin and we're certainly not glossing over that. However, you did apologize to Miss Godwin, who said the antics had stopped by then, anyway.”

I stare at Sister, and I'm floored. “I don't know what to say, Sister. Except thank you.”

“Thank you will do just fine,” says Sister, as she pushes a sheet of paper across her desk toward me. “Here is a listing of the expectations for your speech. Length of time, some background information on Miss Godwin. This is an honour and I'm sure your parents will be proud. By the way, I understand your mother is home now. How is she feeling?”

“She's doing better, Sister, thank you.”

“Excellent! Delighted to hear it. I look forward to seeing her at the tea.”

Oh God! I bite my lip and look down. Will Mom be able to go? It'll be an empty honour to speak at the Mother and Daughter Tea if my own mother isn't even there.

I chew at the inside of my cheek. “I hope she'll be well enough to come, Sister,” I say in a low voice. “She still gets tired very easily.”

A veil of concern passes over Sister Marion's face. “I will continue to pray for your mother,” she says. “Please God, everything will work out fine.” Then she stands and moves around her desk to shake my hand. “Thank you, Maureen. Best of luck with the rest of your exams.”

* * * * *

I skid down the gravel path on the hill by the side of the school. Debbie's sitting on the concrete steps, watching Beth-Ann jump rope. She leaps up at the sight of me.

“So? What happened? Why did Sister want to see you?”

“Debbie, you're not going to believe this!” I fill her in, as well as I can remember, finishing off with how Sister said she'd pray for Mom. “Now,” I say. “Bet you weren't expecting all that!”

“That's terrific!” Debbie squeals and hugs me. “We'll both be speaking at the tea. That'll be so cool! Imagine, though, Miss Godwin retiring. I wonder why?”

“Apparently, there are a number of ‘factors' and I'm pretty sure I'm one of them. This is all a bit awkward. I'm amazed Sister asked me to do it.”

Debbie grins. “I'm not amazed. It's pretty smart, actually. You've got to stand up and tell everyone how wonderful Miss Godwin is. Ironic, to say the least.”

See? What did I tell you about Debbie being so good at English? It wouldn't have occurred to me that irony played any part in Sister's decision. But does it really matter? I'm happy to do the tribute, even if I do have to spend time considering Miss Godwin's finer qualities.

We're standing at the crosswalk now, waiting for traffic to stop so we can cross Elizabeth Avenue, when suddenly I'm conscious of someone else coming up behind us. Turning, I see that it's Patsy, all by herself. For an instant, we both freeze. And stand there, eyeing each other. Then I think—oh for heaven's sake, this is ridiculous. She's just a girl. So I take a deep breath, pull myself together.

“Hi, Patsy,” I say, like everything is totally normal. “What's up?”

She watches me a split second longer, then turns her head away, shrugging her shoulders.

“Not much,” she says. “What's up with you?”

“Nothing. Just going home.”

Meanwhile, Debbie is observing all this with an incredulous look on her face. But being Debbie, she doesn't miss a beat. Jumps right into the situation.

“Hi, Patsy,” she says. “Looking forward to summer holidays?”

“I guess,” says Patsy, as the cars finally take notice of us and stop to let us cross.

Beth-Ann, who has been uncharacteristically quiet, skips along beside me and worms her way into the conversation. “I'm Beth-Ann,” she says, her tiny voice bright and excited. “Are you Reenie's friend?”

Patsy smiles. Just a bare smile, tugging up the sides of her mouth, but it's there. Who can resist Beth-Ann, anyway, with her springy blonde curls and cute little face? She'd crack the hardest nut. I think she just has.

“Hi, Beth-Ann. Yeah, your sister and I are in the same class.” I notice she doesn't say “friends.” Well, why would she? That would hardly be true.

“Okay,” says Beth-Ann, apparently satisfied. We're standing on the other side now, the three of us facing east, Patsy facing west. Patsy hesitates, looks like she's about to say something else. And then she does.

“Hey, Beth-Ann,” she says. “I like your red shoes.”

“Thanks!” Beth-Ann beams, all delighted. “They're new! Mommy ordered them from the catalogue.”

“Really pretty,” says Patsy, walking away from us now.

Wow! That was sweet. “Bye, Patsy!” I shout.

“See you later, Patsy,” says Debbie.

“See you later,” answers Patsy, calling over her shoulder as she heads toward Churchill Square, her long hair lifting on the June breeze.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

OH SWEET GOD, I'm boiling in this uniform. It's about a hundred degrees today and everyone else at this tea is wearing summer dresses and wide-brimmed hats. Except us girls. Yes, it's true. The graduating class of Fatima Academy in the year of our Lord 1971 is still dressed for winter, with wool skirts and itchy sweaters. It's the last time I'll ever wear this uniform, but all I want to do is get home, haul it off, and pull on a pair of shorts.

Standing outside on the steps of the parish hall, I breathe deeply, let the soft wind fan my face. Behind me, I hear the clattering of teacups, the rise and fall of conversation—all those mothers and aunts and grandmothers chatting together at the same time. I just had to escape for a few seconds, to clear my head and calm my nerves before my speech.

My thoughts drift toward John Ryan. Haven't heard a word from him since the dance last month. Not that I'm expecting much—I'm not on the hunt for a boyfriend or anything like that. I'm not sure I'd be allowed to have a boyfriend, come to think of it. Still, you'd think he could have picked up the phone, see how I'm doing, that sort of thing. Who cares—it's not the end of the world. But hey, I'll always remember the fun time at the St. Matthew's spring dance. No one can take that away from me.

“There you are! So who told you it was time for a break?” It's Debbie, coming through the doors behind me, a pink and yellow teapot in her hand. “No special treatment for people making speeches—get back in here and help out!”

“Sorry.” I grin at her. “Aren't you hot? I think I'm about to pass out in this uniform. We all must be nuts, stuck inside the parish hall on a day like this.”

“Sure I'm hot, but what are you going to do? Fight about it with Sister Marion? Cancel the tea?”

“Guess not,” I say, giggling. I take one last gulp of the sweet summer air and follow her inside.

Whoa, this place looks fantastic. It really does. Tables draped with pure white linen cloths, and in the centre of each one, pink and white helium balloons standing like soldiers, ribbons of the same colour curling away from them. China plates heaped with macaroons and brownies and egg salad sandwiches all arranged on long buffet tables. Pink and white carnations everywhere. Sparkling jugs filled with pink lemonade. Even tiny crystal bowls brimming with pink and white candies.

Streaming through the room are all the Grade Eight graduates carrying teapots and platters, each girl in uniform, likely feeling roasted, same as me. I pick up a teapot and Debbie points me toward a table. In the corner by the piano, I can see my own family, all sitting together. Beth-Ann's blonde curls bob up and down as she prattles away to the little girl standing beside her. Next to her is Aunt Grace. Nice of her to come, I suppose. I imagine she'll hear lots of news in here today. Across from her is Aunt Kay, so dignified and controlled, auburn hair pulled back in an elegant bun, pinky finger stretched out as she sips her tea. And next to her is Mom, and my heart just melts as I look at her. So tiny and fragile in a summer dress. She glances up at me—probably feels my eyes on her—and we both smile at the same time. You know, I can hardly believe she's really here.

For a while, I was sure it wouldn't happen. But I think it was me doing the tribute to Miss Godwin that forced the issue. The other evening, I heard them all talking in the living room. Mom and Dad, Aunt Kay and Uncle Charlie. They thought I was studying, and I was, but I needed a glass of milk. On my way through the hall I could hear them discussing the tea. So I stopped in my tracks to listen and heard the whole thing.

“Cecelia, I think you can do this,” Dad said. “I think you should do this for Maureen.”

“Grace and I will be with you the whole time.” Aunt Kay was decisive. “It's an honour for Maureen, of course you're going to go.”

“Everyone will be staring at me, whispering about me,” said Mom in a low voice. “I get jittery just thinking about it.”

“Well, stare right back,” said Uncle Charlie. “That's what I'd do. Tell them to get a good look, 'cause the price goes up tomorrow.”

They all burst out laughing. I was giggling myself too, standing out there in the hall, trying to catch every word. What is Uncle Charlie like?

Anyway, whatever else was said, it worked. Mom told me later that night she was coming. I could hardly believe it, really. I wondered, would she actually go through with it? But she did. And now she's here, for me. The first time she's gone anywhere publicly since the day of Gran's funeral in March.

Like the dutiful graduate that I am, I pour hot tea until my pot is empty. I try my best to ignore the lines of sweat wiggling down my back. Then I notice Sister Marion approaching the stage. Two sharp taps on the microphone is enough to silence everyone in the hall.

“Thank you for your attention,” says Sister, her clear, precise voice ringing through the room. “Now we'll begin the formal part of our afternoon tea.”

Yikes, here we go. I put the empty teapot back with the others and sit with my class in the chairs set up for us. My stomach is churning. Soon I'm going to have to get up there and talk to all these people. It's scary, believe me. I really didn't expect to feel this nervous.

First, Sister Mary Joseph, the school principal, speaks. We never had much to do with Sister Joseph, hardly know her, really. She just started at Fatima this year, spends most of her time in her office. Sister Marion seems to be the one who has everything to do with us girls.

Sister Joseph says all the usual stuff. Then Father O'Connor, the parish priest, gets up and says his piece. After him, it's Mrs. Hanrahan, president of the Parents Auxiliary, who got this whole tea organized today. Each speaker gives us graduates every best wish and I'm starting to feel that I'm going to die with boredom. That's if I don't collapse from heatstroke first.

Then Sister Marion is back at the microphone. “And now we have come to the highlight of our afternoon,” she says, looking around. “Each year at Fatima Academy, one girl is chosen from the graduating class who best epitomizes the Fatima values of good character, high academic standing, and sound Christian principle. Our valedictorian for the graduating class of 1971 is Miss Debbie Thomas. Miss Thomas, would you come forward, please?”

There's polite applause as Debbie stands and heads for the stage, all calm and dignified. I clap loudly too. I'm proud of her, I really am. And she does a great job. Thanks the Mercy Sisters, the lay teachers, our parents. Talks about the fun times we've had at Fatima, about faith and a good education. Doesn't look the least bit nervous to me. Gee, I hope I'm as good when it's my turn.

Too soon Debbie is done and Sister Marion is back on stage, smiling and nodding at me, which can only mean one thing. I'm next. My stomach flips.
Why
did I even agree to do this?

“This year we've added a special feature to our Mother and Daughter Tea,” she begins, “in recognition of the fact that our music teacher, Miss Margaret Godwin, will be retiring effective this month. Miss Godwin has given thirty years of her life to educating young girls, the last ten here at Fatima Academy. This afternoon, Miss Maureen O'Neill will give a tribute to Miss Godwin, to thank her for her years of service. Miss O'Neill, could you come forward, please?”

Okay, here we go! Head high and shoulders straight, just like I'm at the ballet recital, I walk up the steps to the stage, concentrating with all my might on beating back my ping-ponging nerves.

“Thank you, Sister Marion,” I say, as my voice booms through the hall. Whoa, is that ever loud! I press my papers flat onto the podium, pull back an inch or two from the microphone, and try again. “It is an honour for me to give this tribute today for Miss Godwin.” Hey, that's better.

Once I start, you know, it's really not so bad. I speak about how Miss Godwin was born in England and came to Newfoundland during the war. About her passion for music and her desire to share her knowledge with girls like us. About her volunteer work with the parish and the respect that everyone feels for her. Respect? Yikes! Now I feel squirmy.

Then I stop. I want to say something else. I look up from the pages of my speech, and when the next words come out, my voice is quiet and low.

“Miss Godwin, I know sometimes we haven't shown you the respect you deserve and that I haven't always been a perfect student. But because of you, I believe I've become a better person this year.”

Instantly there's a huge hush. You can actually hear people suck in their breath. Backs straighten, heads whip around, every eye in the room locks on me.

But it's too late to turn back now.

“People say you learn from your mistakes, and I think that's true. Well, it is for me, anyhow.” I cough nervously. What am I doing?

“So, thank you, Miss Godwin and Sister Marion, for all your advice this year.” At this point, Sister Marion is eyeing me carefully while Miss Godwin has just pulled a large white tissue from her pocket, dabbing it at one eye. “I'll always remember the things you told me.”

Now I smile at Mom, right out so everyone can see, and her face is shining with love for me. It gives me courage to go on.

“And I know this tribute today is supposed to be for Miss Godwin, but Miss, I hope you don't mind if I say a little thank you too. I just want to thank my mom, Cecelia O'Neill, for coming out to this tea today.”

For one long moment, the hall is quiet. Then a single person in the back of the room begins to clap. A few seconds later, more people join in. Then chairs scrape back from tables as everyone rises to their feet, and still the clapping continues. I'm standing there on the stage, watching it all. There's Sister Marion and Miss Godwin. Aunt Kay, Aunt Grace, Beth-Ann, and Mom. Debbie and Mary Ann, Heather and Bernadette. And Patsy and Evelyn too, can you believe it? All through the hall, people clap and cheer for bravery and mistakes and becoming the best you can be.

* * * * *

Later, as we all pile into Dad's big car, laughing and talking over each other, Beth-Ann comes running up from behind, a long-stemmed pink rose in her hand.

“Here, Reenie,” she says. “This is for you.”

“For me?” I look at her strangely, then take the rose and open the tiny attached note.
Congratulations
, it says,
from John
.

Sweet God. I feel heat creeping up my neck, spreading into my cheeks. “Bethie, where did you get this? Who gave it to you?”

By now the adults have stopped talking and are turned around, listening. Oh, for heaven's sake! Of course, Beth-Ann's only too delighted to be giving news.

“He's over there,” she says, pointing a chubby finger behind me.

I turn. And there leaning against a wooden fence is John, a half-smile on his face. Then he waves at me. Hey, what's he doing here?

“Is that him?” I hear Mom ask.

“That's him!” Dad replies, with a big grin.

This is
so
embarrassing! And my brain is bobbing crazily inside my head, so it's really hard to think clearly. Shyly, I wave back. Then I have an idea.

“Mom, Dad,” I say, leaning into the car. “I think I'm going to walk home. Is that okay?”

“Go right ahead,” says Dad, as he starts up the engine with a roar. Meanwhile, Mom, Aunt Kay, and Aunt Grace are smiling and nodding at each other, exchanging knowing looks. Well, let them.

I walk away from the car toward John, the long pink rose and card still in my hand.

“Hey,” I say to him. “Thanks for the rose and the card.”

“Hey yourself,” says John. “Congratulations. I heard all the clapping in there. Was that for your speech?”

“Yeah, but I think I strayed off topic a bit. I guess it turned out okay in the end, though. You want to walk home?”

He grins at me. “Sure. Why not?”

So we turn and head over the hill, out onto Elizabeth Avenue, leaving Fatima Academy behind us as we go. He's telling me about his exams and the long weeks of study and his plans to visit Ontario for the summer. I walk next to him on the sidewalk as the cars leaving school zip past us and Debbie waves from the front seat of her mother's Austin Mini.

The bees are buzzing and the birds are chirping and the breeze is soft against my face. And even though I'm still dying of heat in this heavy old uniform, I don't even care anymore. My years at Fatima are finished and so are these last few months, which have been so tough. I don't know if Mom will be okay, but I have hope and that's enough. I'm moving forward now, toward people and places and ideas I don't even know about yet, but honestly I'm not nervous at all. Because you know what? I think it might just be a bit of fun.