SOCIAL STUDIES

He’s just infuriating,” I said to Natalie. “The way he looks at me, like he’s ashamed to be related.”

“You have to cut them some slack,” said Natalie. “It’s a difficult time. They’re getting older, their bodies are changing.”

“And he’s so sad when he’s with me, like I’ve ruined his life. I just want to scream all the time.”

“Their emotions are all over the place,” she said. “I mean, middle age, right? You can only hope they get through it without doing too much damage.”

Natalie and I were talking quietly in the back of our seventh-grade social studies class as Mr. Armbruster sat on the edge of his desk and droned on about some president named Theodore who, based on the photographs up on the screen, would run around with boxing gloves and ride horses up hills. Nice work if you can get it, but just then I wasn’t so worried about Theodore and his saddle sores. I was steaming about my father. And Natalie, I must say, wasn’t being so sympathetic.

“You’re not being so sympathetic,” I said.

“A few weeks ago you were complaining about your father never being around. And now you’re complaining about him being around too much.”

“That’s it exactly!” I said. “And all he wants me to do is sweep and file, file and sweep. He gave me this stupid thing to look at because he says I’ve been negligent in my sweeping.” From my pack I pulled out the old leather-bound book my father had stuck under my chin and dropped it with a thud on my desktop. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Read it, I suppose.” Natalie took the book and weighed it in her hand. “You think it’s a romance novel? I could give it to my mom. She reads a lot of romance novels.”

“Are we disturbing you, Natalie?” said Mr. Armbruster from the front of the class. He was tall and his Afro was gray and he wore bow ties. Yeah, bow ties. One of those. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your conversation with Elizabeth.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Armbruster,” said Natalie. “You won’t.”

As the class laughed, Mr. Armbruster hopped off the desk and strolled toward us. He was always so annoyingly theatrical, which sort of made his class annoyingly fun. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“A book?” said Natalie.

“But not your textbook. Let’s see.”

Mr. Armbruster lifted the book from the desk, took a look, stared at Natalie like he was staring at a fish on a bicycle, and then looked back at the book. “The Common Law by Oliver Wendell Holmes Junior? Why on earth are you reading this?”

“For the romance?”

“You aren’t by chance doing independent research for the oral presentation that each of you will be required to give at the end of our section on the Progressive Era, are you?”

“Would that be good?” said Natalie.

“That would be thrillingly unexpected,” said Mr. Armbruster. “Our Mr. Holmes here was actually appointed to the Supreme Court by President Theodore Roosevelt. Did you know that, Natalie?”

“I have the book, don’t I?” she said.

“Well, that settles that. You can do your presentation on Justice Holmes and his famous book.”

“An oral report on this book?”

“Just a five-minute PowerPoint. And we’ll all be expecting some interesting photographs. Justice Holmes cut quite the dashing figure.”

No matter how much fun it was to see Natalie squirm under Mr. Armbruster’s attention, I felt right then it was my duty to step in. You know, as a friend, and as the person who actually owned the stupid book that was causing all the trouble.

“Mr. Armbruster,” I said, “though I am excited to see Natalie’s PowerPoint—”

“As are we all.”

“I have to admit,” I continued, “that the stupid Oliver-whatever book is my book, and so if anyone needs to—”

“Are you trying to steal Natalie’s topic, Elizabeth?”

“No, it’s just—”

“I’m very proud of her for showing such initiative. I was going to give her extra credit for bringing the book into class and discussing it with us all. And she sure could use it. But if you’re trying to take that for yourself, well then—”

“That’s not what I meant. I was just—”

“Maybe you should concentrate on your own work in this class. Your test on the Gilded Age was not quite so stellar. What was the line in your essay I was so taken with? Oh yes, ‘Just a bunch of rich guys walking around in funny hats and getting fat at banquets.’”

“And your point is?” I said.

Mr. Armbruster was laughing with the rest of the class when there was a knock at the door and a kid came in with a note. Mr. Armbruster gave Natalie back the book and smiled at her before hurrying to the front of the room.

“Ah, this is a shame,” he said after reviewing the note and sending the kid on his way. “We’re going to have to finish our discussion on Elizabeth’s essay at a later time. Because right now, Elizabeth, you are wanted in the office.”

The classed filled with oohs and aahs and squeaks—long sad story about the squeaks.

“And take your pack with you,” he added. “You might be gone for a while.”