Maggie Londhart

Chapter 1

          Hello there; I'm Jim Lasikon.  Before I continue, I think that I should warn you that some people call me poetic.  You know, English teachers and all that. 

          I'm always receiving comments like, "Jim, you have such a talented mind when it comes to words!  Please tell me that you're going to write a book someday."
          To be honest, I have a hard time dealing with literature in general.  It kind of annoys me when people try to find meaning where there isn’t any.  I mean, this happens in all aspects of life, but books bug me the most. 

          For example, one day I was reading a really great book for my English class.  It’s called Hannah… maybe you’ve heard of it.  Anyway, so we were at a really great part where Hannah (that’s the main character) has to choose between freedom and solitude or slavery and being together with her husband, Mark.  Now, for me, that’s a no brainer.  You can always find another person to be with; there’s about six billion fish in this ocean of ours, and I’m sure there’s another Mark (or maybe even a Mark+) out there for Hannah.  In the end though, Hannah decided to stay with Mark, and they lived happily ever after, despite the chains that they had to wear every day.  Though I didn’t agree with her decision, I respected it, and I closed the book in satisfaction after I thought we were done discussing it.  However, suddenly, a tiny hand shot up in the corner of the room.  It was that meek Shawn Ladastandidos.  He usually didn’t raise his hand because Mr. Smith (that’s our teacher) had great trouble pronouncing names any more complicated than his own… I know Shawn’s pain because most people have trouble pronouncing Lasikon as well.  Just so we don’t get confused later on, I’ll explain it phonetically right now.  Lass (like the first part of Lassie), then uh (like the noise that most people make right before they attempt to say my name), finally followed by con (like a con artist). 

Anyway, so Shawn raised his hand, and Mr. Smith looked eagerly at it before discovering that it belonged to someone with a name longer than one syllable. 

 

“Yes, Mr… Ludastadidanditos?”  he quickly yelled at the corner of the room.

“That’s Ladastandidos, sir,” Shawn stated back quietly.

          “Well, whatever it is, son, what did you want to say?”

          “I just wanted to say that I think there’s something hidden, something… symbolic in Hannah’s words on the second to last page.  She said “I do want to be with you, Mark.  I choose you over my freedom.”  I just thought that the “dom” in freedom was maybe referring to the dominance that Mark had over Hannah, because she chose him over freedom.  Well anyway it was just a thought.”

          I felt as if someone had just pelted me with sixty-three watermelons, all making direct contact with my forehead.  Resisting an urge to say “that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I waited expectantly for Mr. Smith to gently but firmly reject this ridiculous notion that Shawn had come up with.  Instead, I was treated to, “Well, that’s great, Shawn.  What do the rest of you guys think?”  To my horror, Maria and Jamie agreed with Shawn, and I was left sputtering in the dust.  Finally, after waiting about 20 minutes for their discussion to end, I jumped in with, “I really don’t think that’s what the author was thinking at all… I think that this “dom” conversation is actually bordering on mental retardation.” Ok, so maybe I’m a bit harsh sometimes, but I only do it to help.  Everyone in the class coldly stared at me while I fumbled around for something to say to try to make myself seem like less of a jerk.  “Well, I mean, not mental retardation… maybe just a few IQ points below normal?”  Apparently, this “apology” was not suitable for Mr. Smith, who proceeded to send me to the principal’s office.  I grabbed my books and my bag and left in a huff, and proceeded to kick the door on my way out.  This did not please Mr. Smith, who began to chase after me, screeching, “Mr. Lasiakokon!  Mr. Lazzykono!”  He soon got tired, however, and, while gasping for air, began to make his way slowly back to the classroom.  I grinned with satisfaction.  At the time, I thought I was just getting out of my stupid, “feel good” English class, but I guess my trip ended up being both a blessing and a curse.  Maggie Londhart was both a blessing and a curse.

Chapter 2

I walked slowly through the hallway in order to try to stop the inevitable; I was not particularly looking forward to my sentence.  I had received quite a few demerits and detentions in the past few weeks, and my parents were not exactly pleased with the direction I had seemed to be taking during school.  I tried explaining to them several times how I couldn’t help trying to correct the other kids, and how I was being punished for my crusade against stupidity, but Mom and Dad would just sit there and shake their heads.

          “You must be nicer to the other kids, dear.  They have feelings, you know… being called stupid doesn’t make you feel very good, does it?” Mom would say with a half-frown on her face.

          “I don’t deserve to be called stupid because I never do anything as dumb as the other kids.  If I was being an idiot, I would want…” I would get out before getting interrupted by my Dad.

          “Now son, promise me that you won’t make any more comments like that.  We want you to go to a good college, and if you keep this up, you’ll get suspended, or worse, expelled!” He would say with a half-stern look on his face.

          “Dad, kids don’t get expelled for calling other kids stupid.  It’s not like I’m shooting them all with a gun or anything…”
          “Jim!” They would both yelp.

          Anyway, they were both pretty tired of my “behavior,” so I wasn’t exactly looking forward to going home.  Because I was staring at the floor while walking, I didn’t even notice the door with the shiny gold “Mrs. Goldtree” plaque above it until I ran directly into it.  The door knob caught me in the chest, and I fell to the ground clutching my lungs.

          The door opened slowly and a woman peered out from behind it.

          “Is that how you knock, Jim?  Don’t you do anything like the other kids?” the secretary, Ms. Lom, said down to me.

          At first, I thought of attempting to explain the situation to her, but sarcasm got the better of me and I stated back nastily,

“No Ma’am, I’m just a freak, I guess.  Walking into doors is just another outlet for my rebellious nature.” 

          She looked at me for a moment before remarking, “Very funny, Lasikon.  That sort of humor is what got you in here, I presume?”
          “Something like that,” I said quietly before sitting down in one of the blue plastic chairs outside of Mrs. Goldtree’s office.  I knew the drill; I had to sit here for five to ten minutes and wait for Mrs. Goldtree to finish whatever she was working on before she could see me, give me a stupid lecture on “being nice to the other kids,” and finally follow it up with telling me to go home for the day and think about my actions.  I never quite got the last part of that punishment; a lot of kids committed pseudocrimes just to get out of school.  I remember last year when a group of fifteen or twenty kids all got together and threw home-made smoke bombs into the trashcans in the hallways.  The halls began to fill up with really thick, bad-smelling smoke; this caused the fire alarms to go off all over the school.  All of the kids began to shuffle out of the school in single-file line while the teachers barked directions. 

          “Keep moving!  Don’t stop!  Maria, stop trying to look at your hair!  Joanne, save the makeup for another time!” 

          Anyway, after everyone was out of the school, the fire department ran into St. John’s (that’s the name of my school), and began to douse the trashcans with water.  They sprayed and sprayed until the ‘cans overflowed.  After a few seconds of examination, they figured out where the smoke had come from, and the head of the operation stormed out of the school, his face being a very similar shade of red to his clothes.  He whispered something angrily to Mrs. Goldtree, and soon her face was just as crimson as his.  She told us to go back to class, and apparently she was so annoyed that she forgot that the hallways were completely flooded.  I had the brilliant idea of quickly getting my rubber raft from home and charging money for trips to classes; I made over fifty dollars that day.  I don’t think that the administration was too pleased.

          Anyway, she soon found out who the culprits were, and for their crimes, they were sent home for the day and given a stern talking to.  Even I think that that punishment was a bit too light.

          Chapter 3

          Suddenly, I was rudely awakened from my thoughts about smoke bombs and water with an incessant tapping on my shoulder.  I gazed up and saw Ms. Lom staring down at me.

          “Yes?”

          “For the tenth time, Mrs. Goldtree is ready to see you now.  She’s got a guest that she wants you to meet.”

          I have a philosophy about guests; being a guest brings out the worst in people.  For an example, I’ll use Mrs. Lovak.  Now, Mrs. Lovak seemed like a great person at the time that we decided to let her stay at our house for a few days while her home was being renovated.  She always had good things to say about kids, and she had freshly baked cookies for us nearly everytime we saw her.  Also, she was a model leader in the community, and all of the parents loved her.  Therefore, even I didn’t really object when I was told that Mrs. Lovak was going to stay with us for a bit.  Little did I know, my life would soon become a living hell.  Every single day, at exactly 7:08 A.M., Mrs. Lovak would get in the shower and screech like a banshee for approximately fourty-five minutes.  This was not a pleasant experience for me, because I was used to waking up at around 8:30 A.M. 

When confronted about her terrible singing, she responded with, “If you don’t like my singing, maybe you don’t like my contributions to the ‘Save the Children’ fund either!”

 My parents didn’t know what to say to that.  I won’t bore you with all of the details, but in the end, she was creating havoc and we couldn’t wait for her to leave.  After she finally left, my mom began to clean the guest room (which was left in shambles), and suddenly screamed at the top of her lungs.  She yelled at me, “Jim, don’t come in here!”  while she tried to figure out what to do.  Later that night, I heard a hushed phone call when my parents thought I was asleep, and the only two words I heard repeated a number of times were “child pornography.”  I’m not sure exactly what that means, but I didn’t complain about the new car that we got, or that Mrs. Lovak had apparently moved somewhere “very far away in a very small room.” 

I got up from the chair, and began to walk to the office.

Chapter 4 
          As I made my way around the cabinet awkwardly placed in the center of the room and continued onwards towards Mrs. Goldtree’s, I wondered what fate awaited me.  Maybe dad was right; maybe this was the last straw, and I would receive suspension or expulsion.  I tried to stow these thoughts away as I reached for the doorknob.  As my hand grasped the metal, I suddenly thought of running away as fast as I could to some distant land.  Australia sounded promising; I could live among the kangaroos and send mom and dad mail annually.  I did a project on Australia once during second grade; my teacher flunked me because she said that I was being “too sarcastic” when I said that the kangaroos that lived there were more intelligent than the majority of the students in the classroom. 

          As my mind was being plagued with thoughts of the past, the door to the office suddenly swung open.  I was still holding onto the doorknob, and thus was thrown several feet into the office, hitting my head on the desk and knocking off a paperweight. 

Ms. Lom called from behind me, “Not very lucky with the doors today, are we, Mr. Lasikon?” 

Disorientated for a moment, I blinked and looked up, seeing two concerned faces staring down at me.  Thinking for a moment that the collision had caused double vision, I attempted to shake it off until I realized that these were two very different faces.

Chapter 5

As I was helped to my feet by Mrs. Goldtree, who kept muttering about “safety,” I got a closer look at the other person in the room.  I had never seen her before.  She had curly brown hair and freckles, and her braces shone in the light streaming in from the broad window behind Mrs. Goldtree’s desk.  Momentarily blinded, I stepped back and leaned against the wall for support before stating, “I’m fine.”  The concern from Mrs. Goldtree’s face disappeared quickly, and she began to question me about why I had been sent to her.  After a quick explanation, she began to lecture me on what I had said.

          “Mental retardation is no laughing matter, Mr. Lasikon.  Students who you deem to be “stupid” should not be subjected to such abuse.  I would send you home to think about your actions, but apparently that tactic hasn’t worked for the number of times that I’ve tried it.  I’ll tell you what…”
          Let me tell you, alternatives are never any fun.  Whenever someone forces me to go off the road I normally tread into unknown territory, I cringe.  One Sunday, I was getting ready to go to Church, fixing my tie and buttoning my sleeves up.  Now, as anyone knows, getting dressed for Church requires a lot of work, and I was just doing the finishing touches on my shoes when my mom came into my room.

          “Son, you can take off all your church clothes.  I…”

          “Mom, you totally can’t be serious.  I just spent like thirty minutes trying to fit into these stupid black pants that are way too small for me because you bought them for me when I was ten.  Now, you want to try to take them off?  I don’t care if you’re going to tell me that I am going to win a million dollars, there is no way I am taking off these pants.”
          My mom sighed and glared at me.

          “Jim, listen to me.  You need to stay home so you can answer the door when the repair man comes.  In case you didn’t notice, one of our sinks is broken.  Dad tried to fix it earlier, but you know how your father is when it comes to work around the house… he usually makes things worse.  I don’t want to hear another comment out of you.  Take off those pants and quit complaining.”

          I started to reply but decided not to; sometimes moms are best left alone.

          Anyway, moving on: I sat around the house watching TV for about thirty minutes (Sunday TV is the worst), before I heard the door bell ring.  With a grunt, I heaved myself off of the couch and went to go answer it.  As I opened the door, I began to say “the sink’s this way,” but the repair man interrupted me.  With a huge grin and sweat pouring out of his every pore, he said to me, “Hi there, SON!  Where’s your ma?  I need to get paid before I start!”      

          I immediately found him unbearably obnoxious.  Everything I said to him received shouting in response, and it seemed that I would never get a moment of quiet.  Because my mom wasn’t there to pay him, he took it upon himself to sit down on my couch and eat the pizza rolls that I had just cooked for myself, offering “I hope you don’t MIND!” as his meager apology.  I started to say “Actually…” but he was chewing too loudly to hear me.  Anyway, after about fifteen minutes, my parents came home, and gave him his money.  He took it and went to work on the sink, but managed to mess it up even worse than before.  Because of my mom’s demands for me to “venture off the trail,” my lunch and our sink were utterly destroyed. 

         Mrs. Goldtree waved her hand in my face to try to get me back into the present.  With a shrug, I said, “Excuse me?”  Exasperation clearly showing on her face, she asked, “As I said about six times already, would you be ok with showing this girl where her classes are?  I don’t have the time; this can be your punishment.”