Millie Lawrence, As She Really Was B+

Written By: Brenda Cartwright - Mrs. Shalbor's English Class

Nobody liked Millie Lawrence. Or, at least, no one I knew liked her, which I guess really proves that Millie wasn't worth getting to know. I know that sounds really harsh, Mrs. Shalbor, and please don't lower my grade for this, but it's true.

Honestly, if I could introduce Millie to someone in a written paragraph, it would go something like this: "Do you know a Millie Lawrence? You probably do. Freckles, blond curls that sort of hang around her cheeks, chubby, and permanently pink-faced. Usually she does stuff like band practice and chess club. Millie played the trumpet, but never really was good at chess. Heck, she even tried to make friends with those geeks and was rejected." (It was sort of pathetic, really.)

I'd see her sometimes, perching uneasily at an empty lunch table and nibbling her soggy baloney sandwich from a crumpled-up paper bag. No one dared glance at her for fear of attracting Millie's doggishly hopeful gaze, the one that quite clearly screamed: "Sit with me. Please, sit with me." No one did.

At school dances she'd lounge near the snack table, in a garishly glittery, pink dress that clung to her beefy figure and stretched like elastic to cover herself. Millie was like a gaudy disco ball that didn't spin, merely hung around and was useless. She'd hold a paper cup of punch in her hand, sipping occasionally as she eyed boys hopefully as they walked past. The song would end. And then another song did. And another. And another. Two more songs - this time slow - ended before Millie crushed her empty cup and tossed it into the trash can as she stormed off, pink face growing even pinker, out of the room.

Before you think I'm a stalker (like anyone would've stalked Millie Lawrence), let me tell you: I didn't normally watch her. Like, at all. But ever since May 21st I've been thinking, and I've realized I remember a lot more about Millie than I initially thought. She was always just THERE, drinking Coke in her stretched-out, homemade "SAVE THE WHALES" shirt, or playing the trumpet in the school band, or mumbling and "um"-ing her way through oral reports and projects in English, the only class she shared with yours truly (and you, Mrs. Shalbor).

I actually made fun of her a couple of times. But don't get me wrong, Mrs. S - it was never to her face. When she first came to school, all the way from Oklahoma, she wore bright blue cat's-eye glasses. Paired with her pudgy body and ruddy face, it just seemed like she was TRYING to be made fun of behind her back. So I did, a few times. Just in the beginning. Eventually the rumors dwindled away. Now they're starting up again.

What I'm sort of trying to say is that Millie was sort of a nobody, in the least offensive sense of the word (of course). I mean, Liza Thompson and I would make fun of her a lot, but we never meant it to actually hurt her. Really.

I guess that's all I want to say. I just hope Millie gets better. I hope this is good enough, Mrs. Shalbor.

~Brenda Cartwright, June 1, 1997

Well done, Miss Cartwright.

Despite your misgivings about Miss Lawrence I am pleasantly surprised by your admittance to your attitude toward her. Congratulations. I'm sure Millie would be pleased to hear your changed thoughts on her - and yes, I hope she gets better as well.

Signed, Mrs. Shalbor

Okay, so this is my first original oneshot that I've posted on FictionPress! I hope you guys enjoyed. Thanks for reading, and please rate and review!

Signed,

PancakesWithMilk