Teresa Milbrodt, Fictioneer

Only two and a half months left before THE PATRON SAINT OF UNATTRACTIVE PEOPLE is released.  To further whet your appetite for weirdness and the Midwestern mythic, here’s another deleted scene from the book.  My protagonist is reminiscing over her elemetary school days:

Callie and I got along well in school because she was a smart short kid with a big mouth. She could verbally best anyone who made fun of her because she knew big words that they didn’t. The second-grade kids who called her names didn’t know what to think when she said they were senile cretins or obtuse imbeciles.

“We don’t understand what that means,” one of her tormentors whined.

“Too bad,” she said. “Get a dictionary.”

“Yeah,” he said, “well, you’re really short.”

“Go to Hades,” she said.

“Did you just swear?” he said.

“No,” she said.

“It sounded like you swore. I’m telling.”

“Go ahead,” she said.

“What did you say again?” he said.

“You should have paid more attention the first time,” she said.

Callie was queen of the snappy comeback, even when we were seven. I was the kid with sunglasses shade who sat out when we played dodgeball because my shade could get knocked off. I wasn’t taunted much in school but give most of the credit to my first grade teacher. She explained to the other six-year-olds that I had to wear sunglasses because I had a condition that made me sensitive to light. Soon the other kids wanted to wear sunglasses to school like I did.

“I don’t see a problem with that,” said my teacher, “as long as you get your work done.”

Everyone in my class wore sunglasses for the first two weeks of school. After that the novelty wore off and they realized they could see a lot better without them. But since anyone could wear sunglasses inside, it wasn’t a big deal. For years I sent my first grade teacher a card at the beginning of every school year. In another place with a meaner teacher, my elementary school experience could have been a lot worse.