And Brenda Married Me

Chapter 6
Chapter 6

I followed Kyle inside Dillard’s Ice Cream Parlor. The place never changed, not since I was a kid, the first time, and not since my folks were kids. We sat down at the counter.

"Two double banana splits, please," he said.

"Sure thing, sweetie. Say, aren’t you Kyle Gray?"

"Yes, I am," he said flashing me a grin.

"Is it true that you know Simon Farrell?"

"Yes, it is," he grumbled. "I know what he is."

"That’s not true, Miss," I said. "I’ve never seen this kid before. We just walked in together."

"She was talking to me. You’re just some little upstart that can sing."

"You can’t, and I’ve heard you try, so there," I said and stuck out my tongue.

"Now that’s really mature."

I laughed. "You’re brain is getting all crusty again, Kyle. I’ve told you and told you that music is a game for the young."

"No little brat is going to replace me as this town’s number one musical star," Kyle insisted.

"I’m not replacing you, Mr. Gray. You will always have a place in the history of music -- Ancient History, that is."

He laughed. "Mr. Farrell, I give. You win."

The radio played a fanfare, blaring out loud enough to interrupt my thought. I just picked up my spoon as the waitress brought our splits.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, we have once again been honored to be the first station to broadcast Simon Farrell’s new song. Now you have to be sitting down for this one, Anyone driving, please, turn off the radio or pull to the side of the road. There were several accidents when ’The Journey Home’ was played. This one will cause major crashes. Please, don’t be in one.

"Now, a word from our sponsor."

"That song we played was great, but not that bad," Paul commented.

"Your Uncle Steve could give me a break, you know. I only recorded them this morning."

"Them?"

"Yeah, I did the one we played, and two new ones," I said taking a huge mouthful of ice cream.

"Go ahead, eat like a little kid. See if I care. What new ones."

"We’re back, and up next is a new song from Simon Farrell. "It’s Too Hard to say Good ’bye." I hope everyone listened and is off the road, we are not responsible if you are not."

The music started with my dedication to Mom and Dad, and then all Hell broke loose. I had never seen so many people crying at one time in my life. At the end of the song, Kyle lost it. He grabbed me into a long, hug, and cried along with everyone else. I wiped my eyes.

"My ice cream is melting," I said and tried to push him away.

"I hate your guts," he said and sat back up. "How could you do that? With one simple little tune you reached in and grabbed my soul by the throat and wouldn’t let go. Simon Farrell, you are the best song writer I have ever heard. Will you teach me how to do that?"

"Only if you let me finish my split."

Someone next to us, shook his head. "You’re Simon Farrell?"

"Yes, I am, and I didn’t know they were going to play that one."

"He’s right about that song. That grabbed my soul and wouldn’t let go. I remember when my folks died, I was thirteen. You never get over it, but you found the words I’ve been feeling all my life. Thank you."

A tall, beefy man walked into the parlor. He took one look at the crowd outside. "What’s going on? Why is there a line?"

"Didn’t you hear that song on the radio?" someone said.

"Yes, I did, and I will never forget that one as long as I live. Will someone open up dining room B for them?" He opened the door. "Come on in, folks, we’re getting tables ready now."

"Mr. Dillard," one of the girls called out. "Mr. Dillard?"

"Yes, Katie," he said and walked over to the counter.

"Mr. Dillard, I want you to meet Simon Farrell, the boy who wrote and sang that song."

Two seconds later he lifted me off the chair. "I have never been moved by a song like that in my life. That must have torn you up to write."

I nodded. "I had to."

"I understand. I really do. Now your friend here is still my all time favorite musician, but even he is going to have to step aside for you, kiddo. Katie, their tab is on me." He put me down. "Everyone, today everything on the menu is half price, for everyone here, right now. That’s right, his song even made my heart grow three sizes."

I couldn’t help myself. I sang out, "There’s no place for ice cream like Dillard’s -- ever! Can you beat the prices or the flavors? -- never!...."

"That’s going to need some work," Paul said.

"I don’t care. I will pay you whatever you want for jingle, double if you sing it for me. And, free ice cream for a year, on top of that."

I pulled out a card. "This is my Uncle Roger. Call him. We’ll do the music, he can play it and I’ll sing it."

Mr. Dillard laughed. "Now that will shut Jake Post up and good."

After four hit singles, my first album debuted at number one. I felt on top of the world, until Uncle Roger broke his news.

"Oh, Simon, I registered you at school today."

"What for?" I asked. "I’ve been home-schooled my whole life."

"Not anymore. You are in the fifth grade at Lamont Heights Middle School."

"Public School? I can’t go to Private School with Sandy Corbin, or Kyle for that matter?"

"No, I know you’re rich, and getting richer by the second, but I think that getting to know ordinary kids would be good for you."

"But -- no kid is ordinary. We are all special and unique individuals. Now may I stay at home and write music?"

"Nope. You can slide on that for the time being. School work comes first."

"You will hear from my lawyers, Mr. Farrell."

He laughed. "You don’t have any lawyers."

"I’ll hire the Owens twins and turn them loose on you. So there."

He held up his fingers in the sign of a cross. "Back, foul creature of darkness. Back. For even suggesting that I should send you to your room, but you have too many toys there, and the dungeon downstairs isn’t ready. Okay, look, if public school is really that bad, I will pull you out for ’home-schooling’ after one week. Okay?"

"Okay," I said.

So, on a bright August morning, I boarded the school bus, with a huge swarm of other kids. I grabbed the seat next to Tim McAdams. "Hi," I said.

"What are you doing on this bus? Aren’t you in some rich kid school?"

"Nope. My Uncle wants me to research the habits and habitats of poor kids."

Tim laughed. "I had that coming, didn’t I?"

"Yep."

"Okay, as for the habits, you just blew any chance you had of being one of the cool kids by sitting with me."

"You’ve got the plague?"

"Yep. For the last two years," he said with a sigh.

"Okay, I’ve always been a loner, maybe we could do that together."

He looked at me. "Then we wouldn’t be loaners."

"And it’s a good thing, too. With the Feds setting the interest rates at such an artificially low rate, loaning anything is a bad deal."

He closed his eyes. "Simon, I have the plague."

"Ring around the rosie, pocket full of posey. See, I’ve got that covered, too."

"You’re sick, really sick. Then we can be together-ers."

"Works for me," I said.

The bus dropped us off at the Middle School. Several teachers stood around calling out. "Fifth graders, fifth graders over here, please."

"Hey, we’re first years, at least at this school. Do we get the Sorting Hat next?"

Tim sighed. "Yes, we do, and the feast and all of that. Just make sure you go to Slytherin."

I shut up as we were herded along to the school gym. After taking seats, everyone shut up as the teachers walked to center of the room.

A young looking man went to the front of the gym, and spoke into a mike. "Good morning. I’m Mr. Donaldson, the Principal of this school, and this is my first year as a principal, too. Now, unlike the fourth grade, in fifth grade, you will still have one classroom, but your teachers for each class will come to you. Next year, in the sixth grade, you will go to your teachers.

"I would like to introduce your teachers for this year. Get to know them. If you have any questions feel free to ask any of them, even if they aren’t the teacher for your own class."

As the teachers introduced themselves, I wrote the names down on my notepad.

"What are you doing?" Tim asked me.

"Writing the names down in case we have a quiz, later."

"There are four fifth grade classes this year," Mr. Donaldson said. "These four teachers will be your home room teachers. I will call out the names for Mrs. Schneider, and you will follow her to you new classroom.

Then for Mr. Handy, and so on.

Tim and I were still sitting together when the names for the next to last class were called out. Our teacher, a Ms. Jenkins looked bored with the whole thing.

"No need to call your names out, anyone left will go with Ms. Jenkins. "Your class schedule will be posted in your room. That is it, for today. Have a great year."

I took a seat toward the front of my new classroom, and I felt surprised that Tim sat down next to me. "I knew this was the dork’s corner," he said. "We’ve got to stick together, and can I borrow a million dollars?"

"Sure, but you’ve gotta be the one to talk Uncle Roger out of it."

"Oh, well, never mind."

Ms. Jenkins took her seat up front. "Okay, we don’t have much time before your first class starts. I need to call the roll. She started reading out names, until she got to mine. She frowned, and called out, "Simon Farrell?"

I held up my hand. "Here."

"Oh," she said and stared at my clothes. "You’re not ’the’ Simon Farrell."

"Yes I am. I bet that other kid doesn’t go to Public School, so I’m it."

"Okay, sorry, I bet you get that a lot. Just, don’t sing."

"What other kid?" Tim whispered without looking at me.

"Beats me. If she took my bet I would have lost."

"Your first class will be with Ms. Borden for math. Have a good day."

"You’re crazy," Tim told me.

"You just figured that out? You’d better stick with me. I can teach you everything I know about being an evil dwarf."

"Thanks a lot. I happen to be the President of Evil Dwarfs International."

A young lady walked into the room, and wrote her name up on the board. "I am Ms. Borden. Since Ms. Jenkins took the roll, I won’t have to. So, everyone should find a math book under your desk. Take it out, and we can get started.

"Now, to begin, I have a few brain teasers for you to solve. Juice is on sale for two for five dollars, and you have ten bottles, how much will that be -- before tax?"

I waited for a moment before I raised my hand.

Ms. Borden looked around the room. "Yes? And your name is?"

"I’m Simon Farrell, and the answer is twenty five."

"Anyone else?" she asked. "The correct answer is twenty."

I raised my hand. "Oh, really? How did you get that, Ms. Borden?"

"If two bottles are five dollars, half of five is two, and ten times two is twenty."

"Half of five is two?" I asked her. "Then two plus two equals five?"

"No, of course not. Two plus two equals four. Everyone knows that."

"Yeah, but if two bottles are five, and one bottle is two what happened to the other dollar? Didn’t you mean that half of five is two fifty?"

"No, I didn’t," she said, and sounded indignant.

"Okay. What’s two plus three?"

"Seven," she snapped back.

The whole class broke up. One girl raised her hand. Mrs. Borden pointed at her. "Simon’s right, Ms. Borden. The answer is twenty five. Half of five is two fifty, times ten is twenty five."

"And two," I said holding up fingers, "plus three is five. See? It’s okay if you use fingers."

"Okay, for our next brain teaser. If you have twenty bananas, and you eat half, how many are left?"

My hand shot up. She looked around the room.

"Anyone? Doesn’t anyone know the answer?"

"I do," I said.

She growled. "Okay, Simon, what’s the answer?"

"That’s a hard one, Ms. Borden, but half of twenty is ten."

"No, it isn’t. Half of twenty is fifteen," she said with a note of triumph on her voice.

I stood up, walked over to the board, and started writing. "Twenty divided by one half, that’s one over two looks like this. Twenty divided by two is ten."

Everyone clapped.

"No, it’s fifteen."

I pointed my finger right at her. "Looks like you aren’t smarter than a fifth grader. Are you sure you don’t want a lifeline for that?"

"Shut up. Just shut up, you miserable, little brat."

"Why, Ms. Borden, do you realize that you may have

done irreparable damage to my fragile psyche?"

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"If you call me names, I get to call you names, too."

"I’m the teacher."

I shook my head. "Since we know more about math than you do, maybe we should spend this year teaching you how to do basic math, like division, and fractions and...."

Her face turned red.

"It’s okay, Ms. Borden," said the same girl. "I’m sure you can learn fast."

She walked over to her desk, and pressed a button. "Mrs. Green, would you send Mr. Donaldson here right away?"

"Sure, just a moment."

I walked back to my desk. "That may not be the smartest thing to do, Ms. Borden," I said.

"I am the teacher,’ she shrieked at the top of her lungs.

’You’re nothing but a miserable, rotten brat."

"I may be rotten, but I’m not miserable.

"I don’t care what you are, I want you out of my class," she screamed as Mr. Donaldson walked into the room.

"Ms. Borden, what is the problem here?"

"Him, that stupid brat that’s ruining my class."

"I resent that," I said. "I’m a very intelligent, well spoken, brat."

The class cracked up, and even Mr. Donaldson smiled.

"He’s trying to make me look like an idiot, and the whole class is on his side."

"What happened?"

She took in a deep breath. "Okay, to start the class I wanted to give them a few brain teasers. This is the first one." She gave the principal the problem. "When I asked for the answer, he said it was twenty five, then I gave the class the correct answer of twenty. That’s when he asked me how I solved the problem."

"How did you solve that problem to get twenty?"

She sighed. "If two bottles are five, then each bottle is two dollars, times ten is twenty."

Mr. Donaldson frowned. "You mean two plus two is five?"

"No, it’s four. They kept saying it was two-fifty, but that’s not right. When I asked them if I had twenty bananas and ate half, how many would be left? He said ten, when of course the answer was fifteen, then he wrote all that stuff on the board.’

"I see, and what’s wrong with that ’stuff’?"

"It’s just figures. That doesn’t mean anything."

"In other words, you can’t read what he wrote on the board?" Mr. Donaldson asked, making everyone, including me laugh.

"No, I never paid attention to stuff like that. It doesn’t make sense."

"I see, and you’re teaching math?"

She nodded. "I am certified by the State of Virginia to teach math."

I couldn’t help it. "Scary, isn’t it?"

"Son, that’s uncalled for. True, but uncalled for. What is your name?"

"Simon," I said with a shrug.

"He’s the one that said this class should spend the rest of the year teaching me how to do math," Ms. Borden cut in.

"You know, that might not be a bad idea. It would hone their skills, and teach you the basics. Go ahead, Ms. Borden. Show this class how much math you know. Count -- out loud -- from one to ten."

"One, two, three, four, seven, nine, six, eight, ten."

"Ms. Borden, go to the office and wait for me, there." He waited until the lady walked out of the room. "I suppose you feel you did the right thing, showing up the teacher?"

"Yeah. I did," I said. "She’s not even up to first grade level. If I didn’t say something no one else would, and there she is telling kids that two plus three equals seven. She’s the teacher, and they might believe it."

"Okay, you’re right, but I do not fire teachers at the say so of the students. In this case, you will have a different math teacher tomorrow." He pressed the button on the teacher’s desk. "Mrs. Green, would you come to Ms. Borden’s room? Room 145? The kids need a monitor until the end of class."

"Sure, and would you bring Simon Farrell back with you? His uncle is trying to reach him."

"Simon Farrell? Is he in this school?"

"Yes," I said. "Right here."

He glanced at me. "I meant...."

"I’m ’The’ Simon Farrell. Ask anyone?"

Everyone nodded.

"I see, and you’re in this school because?"

"Oh, the other one probably goes to Private School."

He gave me a longer glance. "I see. Is there another one?"

My grin turned crooked. "I’m sure there is, somewhere, and in Private School. Why?"

"I mean is there another Simon Farrell that lives in this school district that sings?"

I looked at Tim and laughed. "Busted."

"It’s him, Mr. Donaldson," Tim ratted me out. "I’ve known Simon all summer, and he’s really a computer whiz like on TV and he sings. How many hit songs have you had?"

"Six."

"Hey, Simon, can I have an autograph?"

"Not now. When he gets back from the office. And you, Mr, Farrell, just because I adore your songs doesn’t mean you are going to get away with anything in my school. Understood?"

"What was I getting away with?" I said, and stood up.

"Nothing, yet, but I intend to keep my eyes on you."

"Won’t you need them to see with, instead of having them get all messy on my shirts?" I asked him. The class cracked up.

’Very funny. Okay, you know what I meant."

I followed him to the office. Mrs Thatcher handed me the phone. "Call home, please.

I did so. "Hi, it’s me."

"I never would have guessed, with so many kids calling me all day. Say, listen, your Uncle Steve was on the phone, and he wants to know if you feel ready for a

concert tour?"

"Concerts? I guess. Okay."

"Is that all? Okay?"

"I get to sing and play the piano, right? Or does he want Kyle to do that?"

"No, just you. Kyle does his own concerts."

"Then it’s okay. When? I’m in school now. If I was home schooled I would have my schedule free, remember?"

"We will work that out, kiddo. Get back to class."

"Okay, and hey, I’m one for one." I said and shut up as I saw Ms Borden leave Mr. Donaldson’s office with tears in her eyes.

What’s that supposed to mean?"

"I’ll tell you later." I said and hung up. I tried to keep out of the way as Mr. Donaldson led Ms. Borden out of the school. She turned and stared at me.

"You’d better watch your ass, kid. You got me fired."

"That will be all," Mr. Donaldson said.

 

---