Free Girls in Charge by Debra Moffitt Page B

deeper into sadness. I had accepted it on one level. But it was hard to take the buzz of energy I felt at school from all those eighth-graders who were going. Some of them had been fully packed for days and were ready to have all kinds of NYC adventures. I took different tacks. One day I tried to convince myself the real fun would be after the NYC trip when we had graduation and our Farewell Eighth Grade party. Another time I said it was actually a blessing I wasn’t going on the trip because the babies might come early and I didn’t want to miss that, did I?
    But neither of these arguments held and I went right back to thinking how long three days and two nights would feel, knowing that everyone was having fun on a vacation except for you.
    I was especially dreading the moment when I’d have to tell Forrest. For a week now, he had told me he had some index cards he wanted to go over with me for our joint presentation to the Tomorrow’s Leaders Today group. I kept putting him off, not wanting to imagine in detail any aspect of the trip I wouldn’t be taking. The two of us onstage together was a strange but somehow lovely thought.
    So it was with that kind of woe-is-me feeling that I shuffled to the auditorium for a special fortieth anniversary party for Principal Finklestein. I couldn’t believe anyone could work anywhere that long, especially boring old Margaret Simon Middle School. We were “celebrating” with cupcakes followed by a live onstage interview. Bet would handle the interview and video it for a future You Bet! episode (yawn). I pictured Principal F. watching it over and over on his lonely evenings.
    Giving out the anniversary cupcakes first was a big mistake. Someone had taken the time to write a “40” in icing on each one.
    â€œMmmm … le petite gateau, ” said Piper, downing hers and sharing the French word for cupcake.
    The already excited eighth-grade class was now sugar-buzzing on top of having “Field Trip-itis,” as Ms. Russo had named it. Since the bus was leaving early Saturday morning, it was kind of like Field Trip Eve.
    Shannon Andersen turned around and told us that Principal F.’s mother was there, in the auditorium, wearing a corsage and beaming in the front row. Bet started the interview with a photo montage of Principal F. through the years backed by a rousing instrumental track. It was the kind of music they might play before the start of the Super Bowl. I couldn’t imagine how Bet had stood for this and guessed it was not her idea. Once the photos faded, the lights rose on the stage, where Bet and Principal F. were sitting in two living room chairs. It was like they were having this casual chat, a chat that happened to be occurring before a crowd of hundreds of students and teachers. None of us had any choice but to be there, in our seats, until the bell rang.
    Bet’s first questions were about his early aspirations.
    â€œWell, Bet, it all started when I used to play school in our garden shed. I’d pretend I was the principal and my stuffed animals were the students.”
    Giggles rose up from the audience and teachers shushed them. The image of Principal F. instructing a class full of teddy bears and rag dolls filled the heads of the entire student body.
    After the laughter died down, Bet reviewed his job history, which never included any school other than Margaret Simon Middle School. He was very briefly a teacher, then an assistant vice principal, then a vice principal, and then principal. He nodded and smiled, occasionally tossing out a comment like, “That year, I created a blue-ribbon panel that shortened recess to allow more instructional time.”
    It was excruciating and then, suddenly, Bet took the wheel of the discussion. She made an unexpected U-turn back to 1973.
    â€œPrincipal Finklestein, do you consider yourself an expert on Margaret Simon Middle School?”
    â€œWhy, yes, I do. I’d