Summary: Lila is just trying to get through this thing called life.
I gave my friend Jamie weird stares as she lugged around a huge poster board plastered with Internet pictures of the Battle of Gettysburg. I noticed her staring at me too because unlike her, I was carrying nothing but my backpack.
Looking me up and down she asked, “Lila, what did you do for your history project?”
“It’s a secret,” I said. “You’ll see in class.”
“Then it must be something great.” Her mouth broke out into a wide grin. She knows me too well.
Jamie and I have known each other ever since—ever since before we were born. Really.
Our moms would go on chili dog binges together when they were pregnant, but neither of us knew we were across from each other. We weren’t born looking the same though. Jamie is slim and delicate. She has always kept her hair cut in the same short and bouncy style. Her fair skin testifies to the little amount of time she spends outside. As for me, my skin is dark brown, and I have insane hair that constantly ignores the laws of gravity. My mom says that my hair is just like my personality. I don’t think so. I believe I’m a relatively shy person, except when it comes down to my projects.
Every time I do a project, it has to be something new, original, or not tried by anyone else before. That’s just the type of person I am. It’s another stuffy school day, not too different from the many others. The only excitement I can look forward to is presenting my creative projects to the class.
I was nervous when I walked into the classroom. Most students had a display board or some kind of poster for their projects. Some had written reports. Mine was in my head. Believe me, more thought went into it than it seems. Making a rap about history was not as easy as I thought it would be.
Student after student went up to the front of the classroom. Some pointed out pictures on their display board while others just read from a report they had written.
The report readings were the worst. At least with the poster boards there were pictures to look at, but with the written reports the only thing I could look at was the reader. Watching a person read isn’t that exciting. My classmates would just go on and on in a boring monotone or get lost and take, like, hours trying to find where they left off. I laughed as a girl stumbled over her written report.
I’ll blow them all away, I thought confidently. Then it was my turn.
“Miss Lila Collins, you have the floor,” said my history teacher, Mrs. Andrews, while getting her pen ready to write down an ‘A’ in the grade book.
Everything was quiet as I walked up to the front of the classroom. Everyone was staring at me attentively. The history teacher looked at me with an encouraging smile. I looked at her and smiled back. I took in one deep breath to relax. Then I started rapping with confidence and style.
I said the words as fast as I could without missing a beat. The dates of the American Revolutionary War were easy to remember. My tongue rolled them out easily, and each date was accompanied with bits of rhyming background information. I twisted the words. Stylized them. Cut them short—just to make them fit my purposes. History had never sounded so good. When I finished, I was completely out of breath, but the class was stunned and gave me a hard earned applause.
Mission accomplished.
“Wonderful,” complimented my history teacher. “Lila, I always enjoy your creative alternatives to every history project I give.”
I grinned.
“But—”
Right at that word, my heart sank.
“I only gave two options, a poster or a written report. Rapping was not one of those, so I will give you some credit for coming up with a project, but you will not get full credit because that was not what I was looking for. Otherwise, it was good. Mr. Arnold Schneider, you’re up.”
So much for the ‘A’. I guess I’ve forgotten to mention something.
Even though my projects are creative and out of the ordinary, I never seem to get good grades on them for some reason.
“Lila, I told you about going off topic!” said Jamie when we met up at lunch.
“She said do something about the Revolutionary War, and I did something about it.”
“It was the Civil War, and she said only a poster board or a report.”
“The Civil War?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly, I felt like someone had seen me naked. Why didn’t Mrs. Andrews say anything instead of giving me that innocent, “You’re the best student ever!” smile?
“Oops—well, at least I sorta stayed on topic. It’s still an American war.”
“Yeah, it is an improvement over the George Washington project,” she said with a snicker.
“Don’t even mention that project.” I took a quick sip of my milk.
Every time I hear the name of that project I feel like putting a paper grocery bag over my head and stapling it shut so no one can see my face. It was the worst day in the history of school projects—a major creative failure.
I thought it was supposed to be a report on Ben Franklin, not George Washington. I planned what I was going to do weeks ahead of time. On the day to present the project, I came to school all dressed up as Ben Franklin instead of George. I was the first person to go, so I didn’t know I was doing it wrong. After giving a ten-minute speech about electricity and kites, my history teacher told me that it was supposed to be about George Washington. That was the ultimate embarrassment.
Ever since then I’ve tried to take it easy on my projects, but it still has to be original.
“I liked your rap, girl,” said Terrell as he sat down next to me. “You should try free styling with me and the guys sometime.”
“It’s a tempting offer,” I said sarcastically, “but I think I’ll pass it up this time.”
He began to play drums on the table for a while. Soon he got a little bored and began to talk again. Really, he should’ve stuck to drumming on the tables.
“So are you ready for the SST tomorrow?”
“The SST?” asked Jamie with a confused frown. “I heard of the SAT but what’s the SST?”
“Jamie, you’ve got to get with it,” I said, amazed that she didn’t know. “The Stupid Standardized Test. You know we have to take that big statewide test tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Jamie with a depressed drop in her voice. “I heard that it determines if we pass or fail.”
“And don’t forget graduation too,” I added.
“Heh! Well, I know I’m going to fail,” said Terrell. “Those tests ain’t my thing. Maybe if I could listen to my CD player while we take it, I could do better.”
“Terrell you know we can’t listen to CDs during that test or any other test we take during our ‘scholastic career’,” I said, mocking my math teacher, Mr. Sanders.
Everything we do has an impact on our “scholastic career,” which I really don’t understand. Going to school isn’t much of a career. I’ve never gotten paid for going.
“Well, that’ll be one of the first changes I’ll make when I become president of the United States,” said Terrell, sitting all straight up in his chair with his arms folded, like that was supposed to make him look important or something. It would be funny to see a painting of him in the back of a history book. He would be the first president with his hair in cornrows.
“First he becomes president, then the end of the world,” Jamie whispered in my direction with a hand hiding her mouth.
“I heard that!”
Jamie ignored him and went on to say, “I’m just worried that I might not do well. This one test could ruin my chances of going to Harvard.”
“You shouldn’t worry,” I said, gathering my trash on my lunch tray. “You’re smart. You don’t have anything to worry about. As for me, I’ll probably bomb it. I’m just going to relax and do the best that I can. My best might not be that good, but I’ll try.”
Even though I tried to appear confident on the outside, deep down crept a nauseous pain as if I was already condemned to failure.
My number two pencils were sharpened and ready. The tips of them were still hot from the electric pencil sharpener. I squeezed my scientific calculator in my hand. I was ready to be tested like I had never been tested before. The sky was clear, and the air was crisp. It was the perfect day for a test.
As I looked out of my homeroom window, a sad realization came to my mind. Today and for the next two days I will be here in this room, thinking. I will be thinking about everything from science and math to English. My mind will not have a single break, and by the end of the day I will be totally vegetable-ized. My mind will be no better than bread left too long in a toaster. The future looked bleak.
The homeroom teacher began the age-old ritual of passing out the test materials and reading what to do from a stale, mechanical script.
“Please, do not break the seals on the tests until I tell you to… Bubble in the circles completely and erase cleanly… Only use number two pencils… Now you may break open the seal… Now you may begin.”
Once those last four words were said, all that could be heard was the nervous scratching of pencils on the answer sheets. First section of the day: math.
“If eight pens and seven pencils cost $3.37 while five pens and eleven pencils cost $3.10, how much does each pen and each pencil cost?”
My head began to hurt after reading the confusing problem over and over again. I tried to calm myself down. It’s only algebra. I imagined Mr. Sanders standing there, peering down at me with his bugeyes saying, “Lila, pay attention!”
That helped a little. I scribbled down some numbers and bubbled in an answer. One math problem down, twenty-five more to go. That was a long three days.
Saturday afternoon, I was in bed. I never realized having weekends off was such a blessing. It was past twelve, and I still didn’t have one foot out of bed. My mom didn’t try to wake me up. I guess she knew what I had been through and thought I needed the rest.
Staying in bed gave me a sense of life that I had not felt for the last three days. I almost felt like a person.
I did really bad on the test. I could feel it. When the test scores were going to come back, I didn’t know. And honestly, I didn’t care.
On Monday Jamie was excessively happy. She talked and talked about things she wouldn’t normally talk about. Trees, donuts, aliens, anything she could think of. For a while she had me wondering what was wrong, but I didn’t have to ask her.
After going on about a guy she saw at the mall who wore an old scarf just like her mom’s, she said out of nowhere, “I think I did so well on that test last week. I know I have to have gotten a high score. Lila, how do you think you did on the test?”
“Don’t even ask,” I said, paying more attention to the dirty vinyl floor. “Let’s not talk about it. Thinking about that test will ruin my day.”
At lunch I sat there eating. I was just eating. I did not notice how my sandwich tasted or how sweet my candy bar was. I just ate. I didn’t want to think about that test, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
What if I had to repeat the tenth grade? I might be allowed to take eleventh grade classes, but I still would be a sophomore. What would my parents say? They would be so disappointed, and when my friends graduate, I would be all alone…
“Hey, Lila? Are you home?”
Terrell was waving a hand in front of my face. I was pulled back into reality.
“What’s going on in there?” he asked me.
“Oh—nothing, nothing.” I glanced around the lunchroom, trying to get back in touch with my surroundings.
Lunch ladies spooned food onto the lime-green, plastic trays. Students stood in line to pay for their lunches. Some were laughing. A girl dropped a pizza on her brand new skirt. Too bad. It was cute. Then my eyes picked up a girl who stood out in the crowd. Her outfit was like a uniform.
She wore a light-blue jacket, and a small, blue tie around her neck. A band of sky blue circled the bottom of her white skirt. She stood by herself, looking around.
“Hey Jamie, who’s that girl over there?” I nodded my head in her direction.
“It’s just a guess, but I think she is one of those girls who go to Omni High, that all girls private school, on Main Street,” she replied in a hushed voice.
“Omni High School? Is that the school where ninety percent of the graduates go to Harvard?”
“Yeah that’s the one, but I’m sure they don’t get to Harvard by being smart. All they have to put on their college resume is that they went to that school, and they are accepted almost automatically.”
“Then why is she here?”
“I don’t know,” said Jamie furrowing her brows. “It is kind of weird for her to be in a public school like this. She can’t be coming to this school. You have to be crazy to want to come here. I don’t know what she’s up to, but I’m sure it isn’t anything good. Omnigirls are so stuck-up.”
It was a long bus ride home. I live about fifteen minutes away from school. Many kids like to do their homework on the bus. I don’t. The trip home shouldn’t be for doing more work. It should be a time for releasing the day’s frustrations.
So I couldn’t help getting everyone on the bus to sing “The Wheels on the Bus” seven times in a row which drove Mr. Fletcher, the bus driver, crazy. He constantly reminded us of how elementary children were better, but we paid him no mind. When we were about to sing the eighth chorus, he threatened to throw us off the bus for the rest of the year, and then our parents would have to take us to school. I didn’t think he was serious so I decided to keep on singing. Just as I was about to sing it one more time, I saw something out of the window that made me stop.
Not too far down the street in front of my bus stop were two girls in blue uniforms. One of them was a redhead; the other was a blond. I had never seen so many girls in that blue uniform before.
Where had they all been?
The bus driver put the bus in park, and the doors opened with a hiss. Several other kids and I filed off the bus. Once I got off, I looked around for the Omnigirls.
They weren’t at the bus stop anymore. They were walking together down the street. My curiosity begged me to find out what they were up to.
One part of me wanted to follow them, but another part told me to go home. I gave a disappointed tug on my ragged backpack and walked home.
As I trudged up my driveway, I heard the TV going in our living room. I looked at my watch. 3:30. I shook my head as I opened the door and walked in.
On the sofa was my mom sitting there with a pillow clasped to her chest, totally mesmerized. The soap opera hour didn’t end until four. I took a pack of chocolate chip cookies out of the pantry and snuck upstairs to my room as quietly as I could. I’ve learned over the years: Do not disturb mom while she is watching her soaps.
I set my backpack on the floor and took out some of my books. I had mountains of homework to do. I set it aside.
“I’ll work on it later,” I said aloud as I picked up my guitar. Being able to play the guitar is like my little secret; almost as much as it is that I am smart. Very few people know of my musical talent, except for my mom and dad.
I don’t know why I don’t show it off that much, even though I think it would be awesome to be a musician. I worked on a song that I had been busy composing for the last few weeks. Every time I play it I think of my dad and how hard he works.
Don’t give up when things are down.
The good things will come around.
Love will carry through.
The love I feel for you.
My family isn’t rich. My dad often has to work many hours overtime to make ends meet. He doesn’t earn much money from cleaning office buildings and doing other odd jobs on the side. My mom used to work too, but after I began having problems in school, she felt that it would be better if she stayed home to help me with my homework. But instead of helping me, she got hooked on daytime dramas. She hasn’t helped me with a single addition problem.
Still with her help or not, it would be best to do my homework. I wouldn’t be able to get higher than a C without doing it.
I set my guitar down and looked at the pile of books on my bed. I closed my eyes as I felt a slight headache coming on. I couldn’t do it. I lied on the bed with the guitar across my stomach and looked up at the ceiling.
I just couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t matter anyways. Like, I had failed the test already. If I failed the classes, it wouldn’t make a difference. I would still be a sophomore.
The next morning I was running late for school. I threw on my clothes, piled all my books and undone homework into my backpack, and ran out the door without a bite of breakfast.
I ran to the bus stop, which is seeing distance from my house. The bus was already there. Thank goodness I haven’t missed it yet, I thought.
As I ran, I glanced back. At that moment I collided into someone else. The papers they held in their arms flew everywhere as both of us fell back to the ground. I shook my head, trying to get my senses back after the accident. I scrambled up quickly, just in time to see my bus leave in a filthy cloud of exhaust.
“Stop!” I yelled, waving my hands, but I didn’t bother to run after it.
I was too late, and knowing Mr. Fletcher, he wouldn’t stop if I had caught hold of the bus and was dragging behind it. I put my hands down and let out a frustrated sigh. I turned around and for the first time looked at who I had run into.
It was the red headed, Omnigirl I saw the day before at the bus stop. She was still sprawled out on the ground in shock. The papers that were in her arms were all down the sidewalk. A car passed by sending some of the papers flying into the road and across the street.
I looked at her again and smiled timidly. She shyly smiled back and reached out her hand for me to pull her up. On one of her fingers was a beautiful ring with a bluish pearl-like stone in the center. I pulled her up, and then there was an awkward silence.
“Sorry—about knocking you down like that,” I said, tugging on the strap of my backpack.
She didn’t respond. She looked uncomfortable and her mouth was set. Her blue jacket glittered in the rising sun. She stared at me stiffly.
I looked back to the ground. Papers were scattered everywhere, fluttering into some of my neighbors’ yards.
“Um, let me go ahead and pick these up for you. I was in such a rush that I wasn’t even looking where I was going,” I blabbed on as I gathered the papers together in my arms. “I feel so bad about this.”
I picked up a few more. Then I heard the sound of shoes slapping the pavement. I looked up.
She was gone.
The girl was running down the street as fast as she could.
“Hey!” I yelled standing up and waving the stack of papers in my hand. “Don’t you want your stuff?”
I heard the constant pit-pat of her shoes as she continued to run down the street, without looking back.
That was so weird. I couldn’t even begin trying to understand it. I shrugged and continued picking up the papers.
Starlight Library Omnigirl Symbol Key Excerpt:
Lila: (Lee-la is how I say it) Means Divine Play or Cosmic Play (looks lovely in Sanskrit! लीला). In this story, she is the embodiment of creativity—the cosmic dance of creation. I also think it’s fascinating how this name is also interpreted as dark beauty. This fits perfectly with the literal physical description of this female character in this story as well. She is a black girl of Hispanic origin.