On Monday morning something happened. At first, of course, Meg didn’t realize its importance, but not to long after, she would come to recognize that Monday as the first link of a chain of events that would change her life forever.
When the bell rang, Meg was in her back-row seat taking out her copy of Romeo and Juliet and a notebook in preparation for Mrs. Gilheimer’s literature class. The seats quickly filled with chattering students and the teacher stood up to begin her class. “We have a lot to cover, so let’s open our books to page…” But at that moment, there was a knock on the classroom door. Mrs. Gilheimer looked perturbed, but she called, “Come in!”
The door swung open and Ms. Kibble, the school secretary entered the classroom. Trailing along behind her was a dark-haired boy with wide eyes and a bored expression on his face. The school secretary spoke quietly to the teacher.
Finally Mrs. Gilheimer nodded, and the other woman left. “Class, I’d like to introduce you to William Thorpe. He’s a new student transferring from Jefferson Middle School. Please give William a warm welcome.”
A few people clapped. Most of the kids simply ignored the skinny boy standing there with a bright red backpack slung over his shoulder. Meg noticed that his socks didn’t match.
The teacher said, “William, you can take a seat. Any of the empty ones.” He nodded listlessly and started down the aisle toward Meg. She eyed him warily. There were plenty of extra seats in the classroom. Most of the students sat closer to the front, but Meg always sat in the same back right corner seat. She was next to the window, with two empty desks between her and the next student. She liked her isolation. But to her horror, William was headed toward the empty seats next to her. Closer, closer… Don’t sit next to me! she thought furiously. Then the lanky boy slouched into the very next desk and dropped his backpack next to Meg’s plain brown satchel.
Now the students were paying attention. One of the girls whispered loudly to her friend, and the words carried across the room: “He’s sitting next to Creepy Meg!”
Mrs. Gilheimer rapped her knuckles on the desk. “Order, class! Everyone, open your books to where we left off in Act II.” She gave Meg a pointed look. “Margaret will help you find your place, William,” she addressed the new boy. William fished a copy of Romeo and Juliet out of his annoyingly red backpack. Then he turned his eyes lazily toward Meg.
“Page ninety-one, William,” she hissed, glaring at him, hating him for disrupting her comfort bubble.
“Thank you, Margaret,” he said.
The name was enough to make Meg fly off the handle. “Never, ever, call me Margaret!” she snarled. “It’s Meg.”
The boy suddenly sat up and grinned. “Will,” he said, sticking out a hand. “Will Thorpe. I won’t call you Margaret, if you promise not to call me William. Deal?”
Meg stared at his hand. Finally she shook it, letting go very quickly. She turned deliberately toward the window, and Will resumed his slouch as Mrs. Gilheimer began a discussion on Act II as it related the history and culture of Shakespeare’s time.
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Come lunch time, Meg was ready to retreat to the farthest corner table and eat her sack lunch. After spreading out two egg salad sandwiches, a bag of Doritos, a Kit-Kat, and an apple, she pulled out the book she was reading—the latest Artemis Fowl book. Halfway through her egg salad sandwich, she realized it needed salt. Without thinking, she held out her hand and the salt shaker soared across the table and into her outstretched fingers.
Instantly, Meg regretted doing it. Why couldn’t she just remember not to do strange things in public? Her forgetfulness was the very reason she was shunned and ignored at school now. No one wanted to be around Weird Meggie who could make things move by simply thinking about it.
Berating herself, she glanced up quickly to see if any of the other students had noticed. At first, it looked as if no one had noticed. Most of the kids were just eating lunch, laughing, and talking. Over at Table 8, Bertie Johnson was doing a rather loud and remarkably good Mr. Swortigny impression and the audience was cheering him on enthusiastically. At the other end of the cafeteria, three of the most popular girls in the 8th grade were huddled around a teen glamour magazine heatedly arguing about who was cuter—Jesse McCartney or Shia LaBeouf. At the nerd’s table, four or five kids with glasses and geeky clothes were pouring over and discussing books like Preparing for your PSAT’s, and Nuclear Science for Dummies. So no one had noticed, Meg thought, sighing in relief as she finished her sweep of the cafeteria. Then she froze.
Two tables away, the new boy, Will, was sitting with a short stocky kid with thick glasses. The stocky boy was talking animatedly to Will, but the taller boy didn’t seem to be listening. He was staring at Meg with a strange expression on his face.
Meg shot him an enraged look and tried to bury her head in a book again. For years she had tried to hide the fact that she was different than other kids, that she could do things they couldn’t. But people had found out anyway, because Meg couldn’t control it sometimes. Her parents had always called Meg their “special little girl,” but she knew they worried about her. Once they had taken Meg to the doctor when she was younger. The pediatrician had checked Meg over and said she was perfectly fine, until his glasses flew off his head and into Meg’s outstretched hands, and his stethoscope began bobbing up and down. The spooked doctor had hastily prescribed medication for some concentration disorder and ushered Meg and her mother out of the room immediately.
For years she had endured name calling, shunning, teasing, and mocking, all because of her strangeness. She had never had a real friend before. Instead, she retreated farther into herself, finding her closest friends in the pages of books. In her imaginary world, she had many friends: Frodo and Sam, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Peter Pan and Wendy, Alec and his Black Stallion, Matilda, Anne-spelled-with-an-E, Alex Rider and Sabrina, and even haughty Artemis Fowl and his faithful Butler.
When she was 10, she had read a book called Inkheart. The story had fascinated her, and she had become so caught up in the magic of the tale that when she finished the last chapter, she threw the book down, jumped up, and paced around the room, desperate for a way to express the overwhelming ecstasy she felt. Seeing a piece of notebook paper on her desk, she swooped down on it and began to draw with her favorite purple pencil. A half-hour later, a penciled scene had appeared: Dustfinger, creating fantastic patterns with flames, while an awed Meggie sat watching, shadowed by the dark-haired Farid holding Gwin.
After that, whenever she wasn’t reading, she was drawing. It was like a window had been opened up inside of her and finally she had a way to pour out her anger and loneliness into sketches. Now, as she was getting close to completing 8th grade, Meg often thought about taking her GED after two years of high school and enrolling in an art school. Art was a safe profession; she could be completely isolated as she worked on paintings and drawings. Maybe she could illustrate books. That would be fun.
Around grade four, Meg had finally transitioned from craving friendship—longingly watching her classmates play at recess, eat together at lunch, and just have fun—to craving isolation. Now being alone was the one thing she really enjoyed.
A prickling sensation on the back of Meg’s neck brought her thoughts spinning back to reality. She tried to focus on her book, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. She looked up, and to her dismay, Will was still watching her, and the fat boy was rudely staring now as well.
Meg’s stomach balled into a knot. For sure, she had received more than her share of stares in her life, but these boys really made her feel uncomfortable. They weren’t gaping, they were simply observing. She couldn’t escape the smirk in Will’s eyes.
“Gosh,” she muttered, banging her fist lightly on the table. Quickly, she swept her uneaten food into the paper bag, shoved her book back into her satchel, and stalked away from the table. As she passed Will’s table, she growled, “It’s rude to stare. Who taught you manners?” and hurried out of the cafeteria.
