Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

35. Everyone A Misfit

"So I will not be punishing you any more than your three peers," Dr. Howard continues, "but you need to understand that you are walking on very thin ice from now on. The way you spoke today was incredibly disrespectful. I understand that you are not a bad person, you've just been through a lot lately, and I know that a lot of that frustration does fall on me. However, there is a line between meaningful protest and needless rebellion. Where do you feel you fell today?"

I shrug. "Meaningful protest."

"Really? How so?"

My throat tries to close up from the pressure of his questioning, but I swallow hard, forcing it open. "Like Patti said earlier, theater is self-expression. All I wanted to do was express myself. And if you knew me before this quarter, you would have known that I was the quietest, most to-herself person in the school. I was failing, because I refused to speak; but today I was fighting for a voice. That's all I wanted."

He takes my words in, nodding in silence as he leans back in his chair. "You know that I have to call your house, right? That's the protocol whenever we have suspensions."

"There's a line between tattling and reporting too," I say.

Mrs. Larkin stifles a giggle, and even Dr. Howard cracks a smile.

"I have to, but I appreciate the effort. Go ahead to Mrs. Clayborne's room."

I nod and push myself off the chair. As I leave the office, I hear Mrs. Larkin say, "She's come a very long way it seems."

"She really has," he agrees.

I smile to myself as I join my friends in the ISS room.

It's almost the end of the day now, and after a completely silent day, Breakfast Club style, I'm counting down the minutes. Then, ten minutes before dismissal, the secretary's voice comes over the loudspeakers.

"Please excuse the interruption for the afternoon announcements," she says. She calls a list of names to the office and health room for whatever things they need to pick up before leaving school, reminds everyone that the weight rooms will be open tonight for the athletes without social lives on a Friday night, and then tells us all that she has a very special announcement.

"After careful consideration, Grant O'Reilly has selected the two students, one male and one female, from our school to appear on his show as extras. Please give a round of applause to your peers Layla Monroe and Greg Sussek."

Called it.

Even though we're not allowed to talk, I look to each of my friends as I say, "I'm sorry, guys."

"Sh," Mrs. Clayborne hisses.

"Can we, like, at least clap for them?" Moth asks.

"Shut it, Boone," she scolds.

And we do. We shut our mouths. I shut down any excitement I had about theater. I shut out any hope I had. I shut my eyes and put my head on the desk. Nine more minutes, and then I can go home and cry.

"Holy shit," Moth says.

"Boone, what did I—oh my god, Grant O'Reilly," I hear Mrs. Clayborne say. I spring my head up, and there he is, standing at the doorway, followed by Mrs. Permala.

"Oh my god, my daughter is such a fan," Mrs. Clayborne continues in a high pitch I didn't know was possible for her. "May I get a picture?"

He smiles effortlessly, combs his fingers through his hair, pre-photo. "Sure."

Mrs. Clayborne, a football player of a woman in her late 40s, springs up from her seat behind her desk like a giddy little girl for her selfie with Grant O'Reilly.