Excerpt from the Short Story - Mac's Character Arc
WARNING: Spoilers ahead!
Excerpt from
As
Mac waited in the office space of her new school, she stretched out the collar
of her crisp, navy blue sweatshirt and read the line of secret script written
on the inside: “Why are you so downcast,
my soul, why do you stir within me? Hope in G-d.”
She, of course, had been careful not to write the full name
of G-d, as it was too sacred to write on material that could be destroyed.
Mac had stayed up late the previous night to write multiple
lines all over the inside of her sweater with a silver permanent marker. It was
her way of keeping the words of G-d close to her.
This one particular line was her answer for every problem
and worry, so she had written it over her heart.
Why am I so
downcast? she thought. I’m only starting a new school. In the middle of the semester. And
everyone already knows each other. And they all have the same religion. And I’m
a stranger in a strange land.
Mac sighed. She was being dramatic and she knew it.
She didn’t want to be popular. All she needed was one good
friend. She worried, however, that she wouldn’t find even one.
She was the daughter of a psychiatrist. Her mother had
unintentionally taught her how to see into people’s minds and hearts and pick
them apart. She was also the daughter of a spiritual teacher and advisor at the
local Jewish Community Center. Her father had spent decades studying, teaching,
and living their faith.
So Mac had insights and outlooks that her classmates just
wouldn’t get. It was like she was an alien from another galaxy – with a
completely different language and custom.
A stranger
in a strange land…
She opened her sweatshirt again.
“Hope in
G-d,” she reminded herself.
Her parents had told her this school was the best in town as
far as academics were concerned. Plus there was the awesome scholarship
program. She was getting a great opportunity for nearly-free.
So when they had gotten the call – mid-semester – that a
spot was open, her dad had joked, “We can’t afford not to send you there!”
“What if they try to convert me?” Mac had asked.
Her dad had laughed. “You are too strong of faith and
stubborn of mind for that,” he had told her.
“Then what if I convert all of them?” she had asked.
He wagged his finger and said, “We’ll burn that bridge when
we come to it.”
She smiled at the memory, but she couldn’t help but think
that a Jew going to a Catholic school sounded like the beginning of a bad joke.
But really,
why am I anxious? she thought. I don’t care what everyone thinks of me. I know my mom and dad love me.
And I have G-d. What else do I need?
Still, she clutched her sweater, over her heart.
“Hi-yee,” came a way-too-chipper voice.
A girl with a high ponytail, stylish glasses, and a uniform
pressed to perfection, stood in the doorway to the school office where Mac was
waiting.
“I’m Becky,” the girl said, extending a hand.
Mac took it.
“I’m your new class representative,” Becky bragged with a
wink. “And I’ll be showing you around today.”
“Thanks. I’m Mac.”
“Well, let’s get going, Mac!”
Becky led her out into the hallway and started gabbing away.
“These are the lockers, obviously,” she said. “And you have
the first floor bathrooms down there. Warning, you can smell the boys’ bathroom
all the way out here, so you might want to hold your breath.”
She laughed at her own joke.
“I don’t know what your old school was like, but the
teachers here are super strict. They assign a buttload of work every night,
too. Don’t get me wrong, they’re mostly nice, but then I usually obey the rules
and get good grades. I’m totally weird like that.”
She finished with a flourishing laugh.
Mac knew that she was socially obligated to chuckle or at
least feign a smile. But Mac wasn’t into feigning. If there was one thing she
didn’t like, it was insincerity. And if there were two things she didn’t like,
they were insincerity and social games.
She thought she should keep her thoughts to herself, but
then she remembered the words written on the left shoulder of her sweater:
“I made
myself dumb in silence; I was silent from good although my pain was intense.”
It was meant to remind her to speak words of truth at all
times.
So she did.
“Dude, have you ever noticed how many people describe
themselves as weird?” Mac said in what she hoped was a chummy tone. “But if you
think of it, that’s impossible by definition. If everyone is weird, then weird
is normal and no longer weird.”
“Oh,” Becky said with a forced smile. “Right.” Then she
contrived a playful and happy tone. “I guess I’m not really weird.”
Mac could tell that Becky’s pride had been wounded. She
hadn’t meant to hurt the girl. She just wanted to be honest.
So she kept talking, hoping to clarify her thoughts.
“I think most people use it as a self-deprecating tactic
when what they really mean is, ‘I’m unique.’ But they’re afraid they’ll be
mocked for their differences, so they put themselves down before others can do
it.”
Becky stared blankly at Mac a moment.
“What I’m saying is that I won’t make fun of you for being
different,” Mac said.
Becky finally let out a pleasant – but phony – laugh.
“Oh wow,” she said. “You’re… funny.”
Uh-oh.
Mac knew what that meant. That meant that Becky didn’t like
her. They passed a few unbearably awkward moments in silence.
“So who do you have for your first class?” Becky asked, all
sweetness and bubbles again.
Mac studied her paper. “Math with Ms. Ilges.”
Becky’s eyes widened.
“Oh, Ms. Ilges,” she repeated, pronouncing the name as
eel-guess. “Warning,” Becky said, “she’s super cranky until third period – when
she finishes her third cup of coffee.” Then she lowered her voice to conspiracy
level. “Most people call her ‘ill-gas’ behind her back.”
She laughed again. But Mac didn’t feel like laughing with
her – though she almost always enjoyed a good play on words. If there were
three things Mac didn’t like, they were insincerity, manipulative social games,
and unkindness.
“I’m sure she’s just recovering from long nights of grading
papers and tests,” Mac said, defending the unknown Ms. Ilges’ honor. “I mean, I
get it that people love bonding over a common enemy, but I bet Ms. Ilges makes
a lot of sacrifices for her students. And teaching can be hard. I’ll be honest,
I wouldn’t want a job where I had to handle, like, twenty middle schoolers in a
classroom seven times a day.”
Becky’s face was stiff as a marble statue.
Yeah. One thing was clear: Mac wasn’t making a new friend.
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