"How I Picked Up a Penny"
A Modern Tale in Parts
Chapter 1: Maude's Coin Theory
“Alright, to tell you this story, I’m going to need to take you all back to the first day of my senior year of high school,” I begin. In unison they let out irritated groans, earning them stares from the adults. My eyes are drawn to my mother’s slitted eyes. No matter how old I am, that look will continue to intimidate me.
Mitchell comments, “Beck, this may be Thursday, but we aren’t in the mood for a throwback.” The rest of the little munchkins burst into laughter. When I glance back at my mom, her and the other adults’ concerns have vanished. They continue with the dinner conversations that I was supposed to be a part of this year, but now I’m stuck entertaining the kids.
“Do you want to hear the story or not?’ I mumble as I stir my fork around in my mashed potatoes.
“Not particularly,” Meredith admits.
Dinosaur interjects, “Plus, if we were to do any throwbacks, we should to the ultimate throwback and discuss my kind.” They might have groaned even louder at his suggestion. Thus, their dispute over what to do at the table begins yet again.
Their chatter only rises and I can feel the adults, or shall I say, the table of mixed-elders, eyeing us. I set my fork down and take a stance. “Alright, listen hear mixed-youths, as the oldest mixed-youth, I declare myself the king of the table. As king of the table, I am going to tell you a story because ever since I arrived, not one person has bothered to ask me about my life in college, and frankly, I’m now in the storytelling mood,” I announce, then take a seat.
Chloe asks, “If you’re so intent on sharing a story about college, why are we going to talk about what happened to you in high school?”
With my focus back on my food, I mumble, “Well, no one really asked for the story, they just assumed that I got lucky.” At this point, they insist that I tell them the story. I swear that their little voices only have 70% pity in them.
“Now here’s a story, the story of how I picked up a penny,” I begin, then pause. With no interruptions, a satisfied smile crosses my lips and the story begins to unfold.
“Beck, Beck, Beck!” my best friend Maude trills as she runs into the band room. My flute group disperses, leaving only me and Maude in the band room. Her freshly cut bangs conceal her eyebrows. I tilt my head to the side to examine her new hair color. Her hair is as white as snow.
Now you all remember when she debuted this hair style at my 17th birthday party. Mitch, she still hasn’t forgiven you for calling her GrandMaude. Although, you did give her an idea for a stage name when she’s a famous actress in her 60s.
“Nice do,” I compliment. A warm smile curls at her lips as she thanks me.
She then wraps her arm around me and begins to bring me towards the exit of the band room. “Can you believe it? Here we are, senior year!” she exclaims as she opens the door of the band room and guides us out. My flute is still in my hands.
I’ve already heard all of your inconsiderate comments about me playing the flute, please refrain from cracking any of your jokes during the story.
“Yay, senior year, woohoo,” I not-so-enthusiastically state.
Maude turns to face me. Her crystal blue eyes pierce into mine, “Beck, show a little more excitement. This is our last year at Lux Wheaton Academy. You can’t hide in that band room forever. This year Maude Grumly and Beck Aglet are taking the spotlight!” At the end, she wraps her arm around me and we earn a few stares from new freshmen.
I take myself out of her tightly wrapped arm, and insist, “Maude, you should stick to the spotlight.”
All of you should remember Maude and her love of acting. Remember my 16th birthday party? Where she performed a one-woman show of our friendship through the years? If you don’t, you’re lying. No one could forget that performance. But that’s another story.
“Alright, just promise me that you won’t be as reserved as you have been,” her tone does its best to hide its complaint.
I scoff,”What are you talking about?”
With that, I head back into the band room to put my flute away. Maude follows me in and explains how this year she wants to see me blossom. Yes, I have been labeled as a nerd. I fall perfectly into the label with my thick framed class, and my love of math, not to mention being in band.
Alright Tyler and Mitchell, I hear you snickering. But I am very skilled flutist and proud of it. Plus I was first chair and the rest of the flutes were girls, so go ahead and laugh all you want.
Maude watches me disassemble my flute. Once I lock the case up, I set it in its designated cubby. When I turn around, I nearly jump out of my skin when I come face-to-face to Maude. I place my hand in the center of my chest and allow my breathing to return to its normal pace.
“Beck, your life lies in this band room. Don’t get me wrong, I love you for being you, but c’mon, you need to do something crazy and stupid this year. For your entire life, you haven’t broken a single rule. Also, don’t make me pull out the girlfriend card here,” she threatens.
Sighing, I push my glasses up. Yes, in my seventeen years of life I haven’t had a girlfriend. The only girls I have had actual conversations with are Maude, the girls in my flute group, and the ones from when we were assigned to group projects. Her comment causes my speech to turn into a jumbled mess of an explanation.
“So, you want us to go out on Friday night and put whipped cream on tortillas and stick them to our neighbors’ windshields?” I propose.
She pitifully laughs, “Well, that sure is one interesting - to say the least - act of rebellion. But why don’t we take on the battle of a girlfriend?”
Instantly, my eyes go wide and I feel my cheeks flush. Over the summer, Maude met this boy, Atlas Hollyhock, who was working the lighting at one of her summer theatre shows. They hit it off faster than a blink of an eye. Maude has pressured me to find a girlfriend ever since she and Atlas got together. Maude’s always wanted to go on a double date.
At the collar of my dark blue shirt, I tug as I nervously say, “I don’t know Maude; I’m not exactly fantastic at striking up a conversation with females.”
Her blue eyes complete a cycle, “Beck, you talk to me every day and you do just fine. Plus I have a foolproof plan for you that I have been plotting.”
We take a seat in the chairs organized in a circle. Maude runs her hands through her straight hair and begins to explain, “I have devised a theory easy enough for you to follow.”
“Easy?” I question with a raise of my eyebrows.
“Yes. For you, it will be easier than AP Calculus,” she tells.
Maude’s coin theory was backward. Her theory stated that our campus serves as a fountain and every girl is a coin. All I had to do was pick one up.
Quarters are the girls who are more quiet and reserved, don’t make a statement at school. (Basically the category that I would fall into.) Dimes are the girls that are involved with school activities and if you said their names, people would know who you’re talking about. Nickels are the girls who are borderline popular. And to top off the coin theory are pennies: the most popular, prettiest, and well-dressed girls that everyone knows and wants to be.
“I don’t know Maude,” I fret.
She latches her eyes in mine and coaxes, “Beck Cornelius Aglet, you are far more extraordinary than you aware. You know every word in the dictionary, yet you claim to be unable to string the right words to speak a single sentence to a pretty girl? I’ve allowed it for this long, and I won’t anymore. You are smart, charming, and have an irresistible smile. Any girl on this campus would be lucky to have you.”
I doubt, yet still I’m filled with flattery, “Are you sure you’re talking about me?”
She winks, “Don’t tell Atlas.”
With that, she intertwines her hand in mine and leads me out to the band room door.
