The Crazy Antics of Gweniver Thompson

“GWENIVER?”

I smiled with victorious satisfaction. Tracy’s jaw had dropped low as she looked me up and down, occasionally blinking her soft brown eyes. I couldn’t have described the amusement I was getting from my best friend’s shocked glare.

“Gwen…. I can’t believe you actually…. I mean….. it’s our prom......” Tracy stuttered, her fingers touching her bottom lip, “I didn’t think you’d really show up in a duct tape gown!”

“Oh yes you can.” I smiled dorkishly, spinning around.

Ok, I suppose I should intervene in here and take up a few paragraphs to explain. My name is Gweniver Rosetta Thompson, or Gwen if you rather. I know, it’s a ridiculous name. Both my parents studied at an Ivy League College back in the mid/late 70’s. My mother’s major was history, and my father’s was Middle England. The met in a mythology class in the fall of their sophomore and fell in love while studying the legend of “King Arthur”. After graduating from college with high honors (I swear, my parents are both geniuses. But very cool people at the same time, never a dull moment with either of them) they got hitched. So, roughly ten years later when they had me, their first child, they named me Gweniver, in memory of when they fell in love. My middle name is my mother’s idea. She’s a history nut, and also very heavily obsessed about linguistics. So I’m named also after the Rosetta stone. Hooray for me.

So, Seventeen years later, I’m now a junior at Saratoga High School. Even though I’m perfectly sane, I’ve never acted normal a day in my life. I mean, with a name like mine and how I got my name, you just have to be crazy.

My best friend is Tracy Devine. Her and her family moved here from Ireland when we we’re in fifth grade. I still remember when I first met her. I was sitting in the back of the class stretching my neck above the head of the boy in front of me as my teacher was introducing Tracy. When I got a clear look at her, I burst a great big smile. She was wearing a knee-length green skirt and a white top with a fabric flower hanging off the left shoulder and black clogs were on her feet. Her hair was shoulder lengthen, and it was the darkest red hair I have ever seen. In all our years together, I’ve never seen hair like it. Anyway, the instant I saw her, I knew I wanted her for a friend, and I knew she needed me. She looked like one of those girls who you watch in cartoons. You know, the little girl whose eyes are just barely visible because her head is hung so low and she has her shoulders hunched together, and one foot is slowly grinding into the ground. A shy little Irish girl in an American school had to be scary. So with that thought in my head, I leapt out of my seat, ran down the aisle, and ambushed her with a great big hugged and yelled,

“WELCOME TO AMERICA TRACY!”

I could feel Tracy stiffen like a board in my grasp, and some of the kids were giggling quietly in the background. I felt my teacher’s hand lightly touch the back of my head.

“Tracy, this is Gweniver.” She said softly. If was that kind of soft tone where you didn’t have to look at the person to know that they were smiling.

I let go of Tracy, and I looked her in the eyes. Her brown eyes were big and round and very pretty. They kind of remind me of a couple of glass marbles I had once saw in a pawn shop. I remember that the marbles were beautiful. They weren’t like the cheap 99 cent ones you got at Toy’s R Us, but like some sort of décor for a restaurant or a mansion or something.

“Gweniver, could you return to you seat please dear?” My teacher asked. I just looked up at her and nodded. As I turn to walk back to my seat, I heard Tracy say,

“Can I sit next to her?”

I do stuff like that all the time. If you were to go up to any random person in my school, and asked them what’s the first thing that comes to their mind when they say crazy, they’ll always respond “Gwen Thompson”. It’s what I’m known best for. All through-out the school year I do little things. Sculpt Hobbits out of my friend’s mashed potatoes they got for lunch (We figured that they were a bio-hazard and we didn’t really want to waste them, so we made art out of them). I’ll burst out into random song and dance in the hall ways, and other stuff. The list is pretty endless

Every May is when I do the cream of the crop of my performance. It’s a tradition I’ve installed here at my school. It’s basically just a crazy splash I do before the end of the year. I’ve always checked with the school first with all of my antics. I may be crazy, but I’m not a bad kid. My number one rule of my antics is to make sure every is legal, no matter how much a potential something has.

My freshman year, I entered the talent show and had Tracy build an ice cream sundae on my head. Sophomore year, the Friday before finals, I dressed up like a Christmas Elf. I had the ears, the bells, cute little rosy red cheeks, I had everything. This year, I was going to the prom in a duct tape gown.

“How in the world did you get that?” Tracy asked. Even though she was shocked, you could tell that she was pleased. Tracy always backed me up with my stunts. She actually got involved into a great deal of them, being the behind the scenes worker.

“My cousin makes duct tape purses, hats, shirts and so forth. I talked to her Christmas of our sophomore year and she was more than happy to make me a dress. She loves challenges.” I replied, sitting down on my bed. Tracy followed suit.

“What’s Bob going to say?” She asked. Her Irish accent had gotten thicker, as it always did when she was excited.

“Oh, he’s already seen the dress. You know how my boyfriend is. He laughed, hugged me, gave me a kiss on the forehead and said I was something else.” I giggled.

“Aye, I know how Bob is.” Tracy smiled. There was a little bit of silence between us for a moment before she continued, “You know Clarice is going to have a fit.”

Clarice Jones was the only person in the entire school who hated me and my antics. I mean, I’m sure there were other people, not EVERYONE is going to like you, but Clarice is the only one who was outspoken about her displeasures. Everyone else I came into contact with was very pleasant with me. Everyone thought she was a snob, even some of her “clique” members thought she was a snob. But she was very popular anyway. That’s a given for the kids who have money.

The main reason why Clarice was going to hit the roof though was because she was part of the prom committee, and everything had to be perfect. I had actually brushed by her in the hall yesterday morning and she had said to me,

“I’m sure you’ll be able to act civilized for once in your life tonight Gweniver?” Her voice had been dripping with distain. I just smiled at her and answered back.

“I’ll be myself, that’s civilized enough.”

Yes, she had an irritating way about her. But Jesus said love your enemies, and that’s what I stand by.

“Yes, she’ll come and rip my throat out Monday morning, or sent me a nasty email or something. But there isn’t anything she can do about it. I talked to the principal before I even had the dress made, and he just laughed and said it would be a great relief to see a “strong independent statement made”, or something like that. Nice guy, Mr. Perrel.” I relied to Tracy, staring off into space.

“That’s lovely. He’s going to be there tonight, right?”

“As far as I know.” I said. I looked over at my clock, it read 1:00 and I let out a slight gasp, “Tracy, you probably want to go home and get ready. It’s one.”

“Already?” She leaned over and looked at my clock, “I suppose your right.” Tracy stood, stretching her back. She then walked to the door and smiled at me before she opened it.

“The crazy antics of Gweniver Thompson.”

“Hey!” I grinned brightly, standing up myself, “That should be the name of a book.”