Orson Buggy's Separation Anxiety

Lesson 1: Even Middle School Has Its Ups and Downs

You think middle school is tough? You should try it with a name like Orson Buggy. Yeah, I know, it sounds a lot like Horse and Buggy.

Believe me, I know.

I'm not sure if I've heard every Horse and Buggy insult ever devised by man, but I'm pretty sure I've heard every one devised by kids like me. Not that there are any other kids like me. I pity them if there are.

I've been at Hugh Morris Middle School for two weeks now, and one thing I've learned: a lot can happen in just two weeks. As much as I'd like to blame all my problems on my name, truth is, trouble seems to follow me wherever I go. At least, that's how it's seemed since I got to Hugh Morris. It's hard to imagine how things could have gone worse. And that's saying a lot, because I've got a pretty good imagination.

I don't want to get into it now, but last weekend this jerk, Dylan Pennington, held this lame party where all the popular kids competed to see who could bring the biggest loser date. Like when super-cute Kate Rootey invited my friend Albert. If you knew Albert you'd understand the kind of fish and bicycle mismatch that was.

I admit I was stupid enough to have a big crush on Kate for a while. If I had known she invited Albert I would have known something was up. Then again, I'm so clueless I didn't even figure it out when Nancy Hines invited me!

It's not what you think. Nancy Hines is really nice. She didn't know what kind of party it was. She just asked me to go because everyone else was treating me like I had monkey pox or something.

You know, I kind of wish I did have monkey pox. Then I wouldn't have to go to school.

It's not that I hate school, exactly, it's just that school and I have never got along particularly well. I used to think it was because of my friends. See, I have this knack of attracting all those loser kids the other kids don't want to be around, and I thought that made me what you call a "loser by association." When I got to Hugh Morris, I thought things would be different, and I guess they were. Just not better. I had hoped the other kids would think I was cool, not that I was an even more ginormous loser than I was at Holmes Elementary.

Anyway, that's all a story from the past. I don't think my friends are losers anymore, and I was lying when I said I couldn't imagine how my first two weeks could have gone worse. I can imagine lots of ways. But if I'm being totally honest, not everything that has happened at school these past two weeks has been awful. Today Nancy Hines kissed me.

Okay, I know that doesn't sound like a good thing, especially if you stop to think that just two weeks ago I thought Nancy Hines was just some skeezy girl who'd been stalking me for the past five years. But like I said, a lot can happen in two weeks. Nancy isn't nearly as skeezy as I remember her. In fact, she's actually pretty cool, and since she has everyone believing she's one of the Populars now, I actually think I might have a shot at popularity by association. Yeah, I know it's a long shot, but a kid can dream, can't he?

I can't believe Nancy Hines kissed me. Does this mean we're boyfriend and girlfriend now? I've never had a girlfriend before.

Not that anyone who knows me would think I had . . . .

Lesson 2: Women Don't Make Sense

REEEEEEEEE!

I bolt upright, scattering pillows in all directions. What is that noise? Sounds like a dozen banshees shredding apart a wounded pig. Then it hits me. My alarm clock. No wonder I never wake up on time. Who would want to be awake for that?

REEEEEEEEE!

Make it stop! I slam my hand over the snooze button--put the pig out of its misery, so to speak--and bask in silence.

"Orson?" Mom calls from downstairs.

So much for silence.

"Orson, are you up yet?"

Just in case I ever forget my parents' curse, every morning Mom must feel a need to remind me that my name is Orson. Even more reason for me not to want to go to school. She calls up from downstairs again.

"Orson? Did you hear me?"

What is her problem? Not that her nagging me to get up is unusual, but I always thought she waited until my alarm had gone off ten or twenty times before she started. What's she expect, that I'm going to throw back the covers and leap out of bed the moment I realize I've been offered yet another wonderful opportunity to go to Hugh Morris Middle School?

Then I remember. Yesterday Nancy Hines kissed me. Everything has changed! Maybe I do want to go to school for the first time ever.

"Orson!"

Unbelievable. "The alarm just went off!"

She doesn't answer. Weird. Normally she'd warn me about missing my bus if I didn't hurry, but today . . . crickets. Then again, she does have super Mom powers. She probably knows she doesn't need to worry. The clothes I wore yesterday are within easy reach, and I'm way too nervous for breakfast. I'm practically ready to walk out the door.

I crawl out of bed, throw on my clothes, and head downstairs to the kitchen.

Mom's standing at the counter, her back to me. My baby sister, June, is sitting in her usual chair at the kitchen table. Not that she's a real baby--she's nine--she just acts like one a lot of the time. To prove it, she gives me a semi-focused glance and takes a long swig of juice from a sippy cup.

Dune's chair is empty, which isn't that unusual--ever since my brother got his license, he likes to get up at the last possible second--but so is the chair next to his.

"Where's Dad?" I ask.

Mom sets a bowl of something way too colorful to be edible in front of June and barely looks at me. "Aren't those the same clothes you had on yesterday?"

"Where's Dad?" I ask again. I've always found that if you don't get an answer from a parent right away, the best course of action is to keep asking the same question over and over until you get what you want. Hey, it's their own fault. They taught me not to be a quitter.

Mom swallows hard. "Your father was up most of the night . . . making some calls. He'll be going in late this morning."

Something is wrong. She's hiding her face pretty well, but from what I can see, her eyes are red and puffy. Has she been crying? This is weird. Mom doesn't cry. "Er . . . you okay, Mom?"

She takes a deep, shaky breath. "I'm fine, honey."

She doesn't lie, either. So why is she lying now?

After a brief pause to rub her eyes, she lifts her chin high. "What do you want for breakfast?"

Now that I can see her face clearly, I'm sure she's been crying. "Um, nothing?"

She stares at me.

"I'm anxious to get to school."

She keeps staring, like she's never seen me before. I guess I can't blame her. When have I ever wanted to miss breakfast for anything, let alone to leave on time for school? I guess I figured with her super Mom powers, she'd somehow magically know what happened with Nancy Hines yesterday, but maybe not. Maybe she's too distracted over whatever it is that has her eyes all red.

WHAP! Something slaps me across the back of the head hard enough to clack my teeth together.

"Hey, squirt."

"Dune, don't hit your brother." Thanks for having my back, Mom.

My older brother, Dune, drops into a chair and stares expectantly at the space in front of him, as if waiting for the breakfast fairy to drop off a plate of bacon. "What's for breakfast?"

I suppose I should take a second to explain how amazing Mom is. Normally she would just ignore Dune's Duneness and answer in her cheerful Mom voice, but today she slams a box of cereal down on the counter in front of Dune and practically screams at him. "Whatever you want to fix."

Before any of us can say anything, she runs out of the room.

Dune looks at me accusingly. "What's up with her?"

"How should I know?"

"She's been crying," June offers without glancing up from her cereal.

Dune reaches out and stops her spoon. "No duh. Why?"

June answers with a shrug.

"Where's Dad?" Dune asks me. I'm not sure why he thinks I hold all the answers, but in this case I do.

"Still in bed, I guess. Something about being up late."

He thinks awhile. "Don't you have a bus to catch?"

"I've got time."

"Beat it, squirt. Mom's never going to tell me what's up while she's worried about getting you off to school."

"Worried about me?" I make a big show of looking around the room. "She's not even here."

"Why are you still here?"

"What about June? She needs to get to school, too, you know."

He scowls. It's one of his more common expressions. "I'll give her a ride." A few seconds tick by. "I'm not going to ask again."

June fights back a chuckle and takes another spoon full of cereal.

Actually, I'm pretty anxious to get out of the house and see Nancy, but as a little brother, I feel it's my duty to put up more resistance. And I think he was lying. He will ask again. "You really gonna just go up to Mom and ask her what's wrong?"

"You really gonna make me come over there and boot your butt out the door?"

For some reason June thinks this is hilarious. So funny, she shoots a mouthful of milk through her nose. I jump back from the table. "Gross. Okay, I'm leaving now."

Dune flicks a bright blue berry off his shirt sleeve. "Later, dweeb."

On the way to the bus stop, I can't stop thinking about what's wrong at home. Why was Mom crying? Why isn't Dad ready for work? Maybe Dune will find out. Having an older brother might be a pain sometimes--okay, most of the time--but I have to give him credit when it comes to dealing with grown-up things. I can't imagine just going up to Mom and asking her to share her feelings. Anyway, all that will have to wait. I can see the top of the street, and I think that might be Nancy Hines standing at the bus stop. My stomach gives a little wrench, and my knees feel like they're seizing up on me.

So, this is what it's like to have a girlfriend.

I don't think I like it.