2004 - Mississippi School for Mathematics and Science

A TypicalMonday MorningMy mama has always been a little bitscatter-brained. Well, maybe scatter-brainedisn’t the right word... I love my mother;there’s nobody like her in the world. She isbrilliant and funny and good with my friendsand a health nut— everything anybody couldpossibly want in a mom. But she doesn’talways think... Perhaps that’s the best way ofputting it.I remember one particular morning in thefall of my freshman year of high school. I wasstressed out— I was stressed out a lot backthen. Anyway, I wasn’t at my best that morning...I’d been up late the night before, studyingfor some test, and I woke up late, too,probably at about 7:30. My first class, EnglishI, began at eight, and I barely had time towash my face and throw on my school uniformbefore my mother’s yells echoed throughthe hallway of our house— “Tim-o-thy! Addie!”Her voice always went up on the last syllablesof our names. My little brother was typicallyunresponsive; of course it never matteredif he was late. The elementary portion of ourlittle K-12 school had no punishment for tardiness;after all, how could they— it’s not likethe kids could drive. I’d only been introducedto tardies a few years before— in seventhgrade— and I’d discovered that I didn’t likedetention.“TIMOTHY!” I hollered. I threw my longbrown hair into a messy bun and stormedthrough the hall into my parents’ empty bedroomand into the closet that served as my littlebrother’s room. He was stretched out on hisbed, leisurely reading a book. I snatched it upfrom him, and ignored his irritated yell as Istole a glance at the title before placing it out ofhis reach. Captain Underpants and the Attack ofWedgie Woman. It figured.“We’re about to be late,” I hissed. “Areyou ready to go?” It would be his fault if wewere late— it was always his fault if we werelate. I flounced back out of his room and intomy own where I proceeded to jam my feetS V4 1Addie Leakinto my worn Doc Martens and pull myschool anorak over my head.Makeup, makeup, makeup... “Aaad-die!”Never mind. I grabbed my makeup case, tossedit into my backpack, and half-jogged to thekitchen, where my mother was standing withher purse already slung over her shoulder andher keys in hand. “You ready?”I gave her a pained look— “Almost,Mom— I just woke up.”“All right. You have five minutes. I’ll be inthe computer room.” She looked rather impatient,but I decided to overlook that. After all,she was my mother; wasn’t it her job to wakeme up if my alarm clock didn’t go off ontime?I grabbed an apple from our fruit basketand a half of a protein bar from the fridge,unscrewing the top of a bottle of water as Idid so and placing it under the tap. I was ona health kick then (Mom’s fault), and noteven a bad morning would allow me to skipbreakfast. As the bottle finished filling, Ireplaced the top and threw it into my backpackas well, taking a bite out of my appleand shoving the protein bar into a pocket.No time to fix lunch, but I’d already decidedthat if worse came to worse (and it appearedthat it had) I could always eat a salad in thecafeteria.I hurried toward the front door— “I’mready, Mom!” Then a thought struck me—actually, I wasn’t; I hadn’t printed out my essayfor Mississippi Studies. I sighed exasperatedlyand changed course, heading back to my roominstead and pulling up my three-page report onMississippi in the early twentieth century. Iclicked the print button and suddenly rememberedTimothy.I yelled his name again, and was absolutelyinfuriated to see, as I rounded the corner to hisroom, that he had pulled out yet another bookand was reading it. “Are you READY?”