I used to dread awards assemblies. I’m pretty sure you can figure out why, but I’ll run down the list for you anyway. For one, Mom never, ever came. Other people’s parents came, their moms in flowery dresses and dads in starched ties. They’d bring bouquets of flowers and take a bajillion pictures afterwards. I wasn’t the only kid whose parents never came, but it felt like it sometimes. There’s nothing lamer than having to hang out by yourself on the side of a stage waiting to go back to class while everyone else gets fawned over and kissed to death by their aunties.
I never once won an award, either. Perfect attendance was out, because there were some days that I just didn’t feel like going. And Mom didn’t make me. Any kind of academic award or honor roll was out; we’ve been over this. And there were certainly never any character awards. Travis Beaker isn’t the only one who has met the wrong end of my fist.
Okay, maybe I lied. I did win one award in third grade when my teacher insisted everyone win an award, whether they deserved one or not. I got one that said, “Most Improved.” What I was “most improved” in I don’t know, because it didn’t say. But I would’ve rather not gotten an award. Everyone knew it was just a pity certificate. It was embarrassing.
This year feels different, though. I’m not dreading awards this time, not plotting an escape to the bathroom or a way to get fake diarrhea to get sent to the nurse’s office. My homeroom class shuffles in last, behind all the other seventh grade classes, and we sit on the floor in nice rows in front of the stage. The seventh-grade teachers are walking around, giving the stink-eye to anyone who’s talking too loud or still has a hat on. Mr. Berman walks up and down the rows with a trash can, waiting for the gum chewers to spit it out before the awards start.
I see Travis’s mom come in, walking with a cane, looking weak and fragile. She looks worse than she did at Play Day, and now I know for sure something’s not right with her. The colorful scarf on her head has come askew, and I can see part of her scalp, shiny and bald. Travis’s dad puts a hand on her elbow and guides her to a seat near the front.
Mom sneaks in at the very last minute, right behind Mrs. Washington. My mouth hangs open in shock, and I only close it when Kyla nudges me. I knew Mom had to work, so I didn’t even tell her about the awards. I’m most likely not getting one anyway. I didn’t want to waste her time. But she gives me a big smile and finds a seat near the back just as Mr. Mark takes the stage.
“Welcome, welcome, Piney Woods seventh graders and your wonderful families! Thank you so much for coming out today to help us celebrate our awesome students. This has been such a great year, in so many ways, but one of the highlights for me was watching our tug-of-war team take home the championship! It’s never been done in the history of the school!”
He waits for the applause to die down. “Without further ado, I’m going to hand the mic over to our teachers!”
I’m going to spare you all the boring details of this very long assembly. Every teacher gets up in turn and gives about fifteen awards each. It takes forever because seventh-grade teachers like to gush about their students. Erin and Jason are the only two from my homeroom who made the A Honor Roll, and Marisa has perfect attendance. Jolie and Denzel get Math Whiz prizes for winning the most math competitions Mr. Berman holds every Friday. I’m about to check out when Mrs. Parkman takes the stage.
“This year has been one of my very favorites so far,” she starts out. “We did so much reading and writing together. I have never seen such enthusiasm for books and stories and writing as I have in this class.”
I turn to Denzel and bet him ten bucks that she’s gonna cry. He’s smart and doesn’t take the bet, because he knows he’ll lose. Sure enough, Mrs. Parkman has to stop for a second to compose herself.
“I’ve seen this group grow so much this year, in their willingness to share and be open with their classmates, in the way they’ve taken care of each other and supported each other and helped each other. I couldn’t be any prouder than I am right this minute.”
She proceeds with awards. Kyla wins the “Most Enthusiastic” award, which she deserves. After she shakes hands with Mrs. Parkman and Mr. Mark, she comes and sits down next to me and squeezes my hand. I let her. Caden receives an award for reading the most books this year, which surprises me. Good for him, though.
I can tell Mrs. Parkman only has one more award in her hand, and my heart sinks. There are still deserving classmates left. I figured if anyone would give me an award it would be her. But some of my classmates hadn’t been called. What about Duke’s story? That was incredible. Surely he’ll win some kind of writing award.
I think back to the day I read my story aloud. I decide right then that the standing ovation from my classmates—the whooping and hollering and smiles and Mrs. Parkman’s streaky mascara after I read my story was better than any award I could get.
I stop listening and turn around to look at Mom. I hope she doesn’t feel like it’s been a waste of time to come today. But she just smiles at me and, the next thing I know, Kyla and Denzel are pushing me up to standing.
“Go on!” Kyla whispers. “She said your name!”
It takes me a minute to register that she’s talking to me, but I stand, wobbly because both of my legs have fallen asleep, and walk up to the stage. Mrs. Parkman is smiling so big I’m sure her face hurts. Mr. Mark gives me a cool-guy bro nod as I pass him, and I go stand by Mrs. Parkman.
“I saved this award for last, because it’s very special. Dragon, you are getting the ‘Distinguished Writer’ award today.”
I can’t believe it.
“Now this might not sound like a big deal to those of you who don’t know Dragon. Let’s just say that we had a rocky beginning to the year when it came to writing. But once he found his voice, he couldn’t be stopped.”
She turns to look at me. “I’m so proud of the way you used your words and stories to make us better. Thank you for sharing your gift with us. In fact,” she says, turning back to the audience, “I submitted Dragon’s last piece he wrote in class to the district, and it was chosen, along with eleven others, out of all the seventh-grade pieces, to be included in the district’s Year-at-a-Glance publication. This is a huge honor.”
Too shocked to say anything or understand how I feel, I look at my classmates, who have all risen to their feet and are clapping wildly. Mrs. Parkman hands me my award and wraps an arm around my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Ms. Luna comes on my other side and gives me another hug before walking me over to Mr. Mark who has the biggest grin on his face. He gives me the manliest of fist-bumps he can manage and looks me right in the eye as he says, “I’m so proud of you, buddy.”
Mr. Mark takes the microphone again and is giving his final remarks, but I cannot hear any of them. Denzel and Kyla are clapping me on the back and other kids have turned around to give me high fives and fist bumps. Duke sneaks me a smirk like he knew all along I’d get some kind of writing award. Before I know it, the whole thing is over and kids are getting up to find their parents. It’s mass chaos.
Mom finds me and wraps me up in a big hug. “I’m so proud of you, getting through seventh grade! And Dragon, I’m so impressed. I think I need to see some of this writing your teacher is talking about.”
“Soon,” I say. Earlier, Mrs. Parkman gave us our anthologies, so tonight Mom will be able to read the story I wrote. I’m not sure I’m ready for her to see it or if she’s ready to read it, but here we are anyway.
Mom snaps pictures of me with Denzel, Duke, and Kyla with her new phone. I know they will live on the wall of my room for many years to come. And when she takes one with Mrs. Parkman, it hits me that the year is over. Next year will bring new classmates and a new teacher and, all of a sudden, I’m not ready for it to be over.