Sophomores and Other Oxymorons (24 page)

I
wake and eat and walk and board the bus and ride and disembark and start my day at school. In English, we might read or write or debate or listen. On this day we were introduced to
polysyndenton
. It struck me as a dangerously wordy technique, and one best used sparingly.

Zenger Zinger for April 28

Last week's answer:
“My ballpoint pen melted and drooped into a semicircle,” John Peter said ubiquitously.

This week's puzzle:
“I'm against plays where the performers have to scale the walls,” John Peter said
_________
.

“It would be great to put out a color edition once in a while,” Sarah said when we were wrapping up the meeting.

“We're lucky we can put out any edition,” I said. “Maybe
there's another club we can resurrect. We could do a joint newsletter.”

“Good idea.” Jeremy went over to the laptop connected to the SMART Board and logged into his student account. Then he used the browser to pull up the budget from the district's web site.

“Well, this is fascinating,” Richard said, “but numbers make my head hurt. I'll leave you math types to it.” He got up and walked out.

There were a couple more scattered “me, too”s, which triggered a mass exodus.

“Looks like it's me and you,” I said.

“That's all it will take,” Jeremy said. “Hey, here's one.” He pointed to a line on the display. “Future Farmers Club. I've never heard of that.”

“Me neither.”

We found eleven other clubs that didn't seem to exist anymore.

“Wow,” I said. “All that money could have been used for things the school needs. What a waste.”

“Hang on.” Jeremy scrolled to a different section of the budget.

“Look at this,” he said. He tapped a section labeled “prior-year surplus.” “That's any unspent funds. See here? The Pep Club didn't use all their money last year. So it showed up as a surplus this year. Everything has to add up. For every dollar
allocated, there has to be a dollar spent. That's how budgets work. But there's no surplus listed for the phantom clubs.”

“So the money for the Latin Club—for all these clubs—was spent?” I asked. My scalp tingled as my brain caught up with what Jeremy was implying.

“Somebody spent it,” he said.

I heard the janitor rolling his mop and bucket down the hall. They'd be kicking us out soon. “Let's finish this at my place,” I said.

“Do you have good Internet access?” he asked.

“Not really. It's okay.”

“We'll go to my place.” He pulled out his phone and called home for a ride.

I was enough of a reporter to know we were on to something big. There was a small chance we could find an honest explanation for the missing money. But there was a lot larger chance that someone had been stealing the money that was allocated for all the clubs that no longer existed.

As we rode in the backseat of Jeremy's mom's car, I remembered what had happened when I'd been called to the principal's office. Mr. Sherman had not looked at all happy about having me revive the Latin Club. But he also looked like he didn't want to protest too loudly. I guessed, if he was involved with all of this, he didn't want to risk me finding out exactly what Jeremy and I had just found out. He knew that if I got the funds, I'd go away happy, and never give it another thought.

“This could be a real scandal,” I said.

“Definitely,” Jeremy said. “I feel like Woodward and Bernstein.”

“Both of them?” I asked. Those were the reporters who had discovered the Watergate scandal back in the 1970s that brought down President Nixon.

“No. You can be one.”

“How about Hudson and Danger?” I asked.

“That sounds even cooler.”

When we reached his house, Jeremy set up two laptops, then downloaded the school budgets for the past fifteen years to one of them.

“That seems like a lot,” I said.

“We need to find out when the embezzlement started,” he said. “And we need to see when the inactive clubs were eliminated.”

“We could check yearbooks,” I said.

“That might be tough,” Jeremy said. “I'm not sure they're searchable.”

“What about the local paper?” I said. “Most clubs get mentioned once in a while. I can search by year, to see when each club stopped being active?”

“Great idea.”

We got to work. Jeremy pulled a list of all clubs from the budget and printed it out for me. I searched the newspaper, crossed off the clubs that were still active, and noted the years the other clubs had stopped meeting.

“The oldest budget I grabbed is legitimate,” Jeremy said. “The clubs are all real. And the money left over by three of them was accounted for in the budget for the next year.”

“So, no crimes happened that year.”

“Right. Let's move on.”

The next several budgets were fine, too. Then, midway through the batch, Jeremy said, “Found one! Eight years ago, there was no active Latin Club. But there was a budget for it.”

“How could that happen?” I asked.

“People are lazy,” he said. “They try to do as little work as possible. Maybe nobody on the board even knew the club was gone. Either way, at the end of the year, someone should have noticed that none of the money allocated for the Latin Club was ever spent.”

“I think somebody
did
notice,” I said. “And they decided to take advantage of it.”

“For sure.” Jeremy pointed to the list. “Look at this. One club wasn't enough. Somebody got greedy. Three clubs were eliminated the next year. But they weren't removed from the budget.”

He checked through the rest of the budgets. All together, the misused money rose close to six figures.

Terror and excitement can feel pretty similar. I think they were wrestling in my stomach for control. “This really is huge,” I said.

“Enormous.”

“Who do we tell?” I asked. “The police?”

“They won't listen to us,” Jeremy said. “We're just kids.”

“Lee's dad is a lawyer,” I said. “We could give all of this to him.” I looked at my watch. “He won't be home yet. He works late a lot.”

“Stay for dinner,” Jeremy said. “My folks will drive us over after that.”

I called my parents to let them know I was under the supervision of responsible adults. After dinner, Jeremy's dad drove us across town to Lee's house.

When we got there, he pulled to the curb and turned on the ball game on the radio. “Take your time.”

Lee's mom answered the door.

“Hi, Scott. Lee's up in her room,” she said.

“Actually, we came to see Mr. Fowler.”

She hid her surprise well, and led us into the living room.

“I think we uncovered a major crime,” I said.

He hid his surprise well, too. After Jeremy had gone over the evidence, Mr. Fowler said, “This is serious. And you were smart to bring it to me. With local issues, there's no way to know who might be involved. I'll take it to the state district attorney. He has forensic accountants who can analyze all of this.”

Jeremy turned to leave.

“I'll catch up with you in a minute,” I said.

After he headed out, I checked to make sure Lee hadn't come out of her room. The thump of music pulsing through her closed door removed any fear my words would be overheard.

“I need advice,” I told Mr. Fowler.

“Shoot,” he said.

“Actually, before I started, I was going to make you promise not to shoot,” I said.

“Are we specifically talking about firearms, or are you including archery and slingshots?” he asked.

“All of those. And trebuchets,” I said, naming my favorite type of catapult.

“You actually know what those are?” he asked.

“Doesn't everyone?”

“Sadly, no. Although, were one of those involved, I'd be more likely to shoot you
from
it than
with
it. That would greatly increase the chance of satisfying results. What's your question?”

“I like Lee.” I paused to let that sink in.

“I was not unaware of that,” he said.

“
Litotes
,” I said.

“What?”

“Litotes. A figure of speech where an opposite is negated.
Not unaware
. Saying more by saying less. Sorry. Bad habit. I've been force-fed a lot of this. A little learning. Dangerous thing. But, yes, I'm not surprised that you are not unaware. Parents tend to know more than kids realize. Very observant of you.”

“You're babbling,” Mr. Fowler said. “And I know the definition of
litotes
. I was just surprised to have a rhetorical term pop up in the middle of what started out as a serious discussion of adolescent angst and indecision.”

Good grief. He was right. I was turning into Mouth, right before my own ears. And I was sweating. And feeling cold. And dizzy. And hot. And shivery.

“Say it,” Mr. Fowler said.

“I want to ask her out,” I said. “But I have no idea how she'll react to anything.”

“That sounds about right,” he said. He seemed to be enjoying my discomfort.

“Look, can you give me any advice?”

“You're seeking advice on asking Lee out from the one person on the planet who doesn't want her to date?” he asked.

“It seemed like a good idea.” I tried to remember how to breathe. He was playing me like I was a half-pound sunfish on a ten-pound line. He could keep letting me run and reeling me in all day. Or like a heavyweight boxer going ten rounds against a toddler. Or like—oh, hell. Now my brain was babbling thoughts worse than my mouth had babbled words.

From the side, Mrs. Fowler spoke. “Lawrence, the quality of mercy . . . ,” she said. “Help the kid out.”

“Okay,” he said to her.

If I'd known quoting Shakespeare would do the trick, I'd have already been back in Jeremy's car. I gave Mr. Fowler my full attention.

“Be honest,” he said.

I waited. He didn't expand on his statement. I was reminded of a crucial moment in
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the
Galaxy
, when the computer spits out a long-awaited answer.

“That's it? ‘Be honest?'”

“That's it. Whatever else is perplexing or unpredictable about Lee, however cryptic she might be when the stakes are low, she values honesty. I'd like to think that, perhaps, this is something she learned from her parents. Maybe so. Maybe not. Either way, that's really all I can tell you. Other than a gentle reminder not to hurt her. But we've already covered that.”

“Yes, we have. Uh, thanks for the advice.”

“Are you planning to follow it?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, that was an honest answer. Good start.”

I
heard you stopped by the house last night,” Lee said when I got to geometry. “You could have said hi.”

“There were parents waiting in the car,” I said. I explained what Jeremy and I had discovered. “Your father seemed like the best person to give it to.”

“He was,” Lee said. “He might help people turn rivers into sewers, but he's honest.”

“Honesty is a good quality in a river sewer man.” I pictured Lee's dad with a Mark Twain kind of mustache in a Mark Twain kind of scene with white coats, riverboats, rafts, and very muddy water filled with small brown bobbing objects. “It would be a good quality in a school board member, too.”

“It will be interesting to watch this evolve,” Lee said.

“
Paronomasia
intended?” I asked.

“Intended and savored,” Lee said.

• • •

My success with the catachresis paragraph, and a consequent easing of hostilities between Mrs. Gilroy and me, had given me
the courage to ask her something that had been on my mind ever since curiosity and ambition had driven me to look up a ton of rhetorical terms, well beyond the forty-seven figures of speech she'd listed on the board.

“Wish me luck,” I whispered to Lee.

“Good luck.”

“If I die, you can have my slot cars.”

“Yippee.”

“Here goes . . . ,”

I raised my hand, interrupting our discussion of ellipsis. When Mrs. Gilroy called on me, I pointed at the terms on the board and said, “It's a mess.”

“Can you elaborate on that, Mr. Hudson?” she asked. “A pronoun in an isolated sentence is generally not very informative.
What
is a mess?”

“The figures of speech are a mess. There are terms all over the place with overlapping meanings,” I said. “And some terms have different definitions, depending on where you look. I picked up a book at the used bookstore. Some of the definitions are totally different from the ones I've seen elsewhere.”

To my surprise, she nodded in agreement. “All of this is true. The Romans adapted from the Greeks. The medieval scholars took their turn, followed by centuries of university professors. Even people who tried to reclassify everything couldn't resist leaving the old terms in place. On top of that, in part with thanks to our friends the ancient Greeks, the same terms appear with different meanings in other fields. In
philosophy, a
tautology
is a statement that is self-evidently true.
Hypothera
is a rhetorical term, and also an obsolete word for part of an insect wing.
Meiosis
is understated irony, and a type of cell division. Rhetoric is a mess, a stew, a hodgepodge,” she said. She wrote that sentence on the board:

Rhetoric is a mess, a stew, a hodgepodge.

“Class, what do we have here?”

“Tautology, maybe?” I said. That was easy. She'd tagged it with three similar terms.

Mrs. Gilroy wrote that word on the board, including my question mark. “Yes. What else?”

“
Stew
is used as a metaphor,” Julia said.

Mrs. Gilroy added that to the list. “What else?”

“
Hodgepodge
has assonance and consonance,” Lee said. “And it rhymes.”

“I wonder whether there's a term for internal rhyme,” I said.

“Don't just wonder and wait for an answer,” Mrs. Gilroy said. “Research and investigate.” She tapped the words on the board. “All of your answers are correct. There's also a literary allusion. My phrase owes a debt to the marvelous and well-known opening of a work you probably haven't read yet:
Cannery Row.
Mr. Hudson is correct when he points out that the study of figurative language is a mess. Every one of you has now looked at this simple sentence as carefully as a surgeon studies a heart he is repairing. You haven't just read it or heard it; you've grasped it. Rhetoric is a mess, but it is our mess.”

May 5

Sean, I just wrote “nice benefit” in an essay. But I've been more aware of Latin ever since we formed the club. And benefit has
bene
as a root. I'm pretty sure bene means good. So I suspect nice benefit might be redundant. The problem is, I often want to add words that way when I'm writing. To my ear, benefit by itself feels undressed. I wonder whether that means my ear needs more tuning. On the other hand, you could use nice benefit for irony if you got something you didn't want. Like, “Gee, Mr. Cravutto, rope burns are a nice benefit of playing tug-of-war.” I always thought irony meant when something happens that smacks you in the face or goes completely opposite from the way you'd planned. Like pretty much everything I did freshman year. And it does mean that. But it also means sarcastically saying the opposite of what you mean.

That's enough for now, you charming and eloquent little bundle of bowel and bladder control.

Zenger Zinger for May 5

Last week's answer:
“I'm against plays where the
performers have to scale the walls,” John Peter said anticlimactically.

This week's puzzle:
“Well-mannered men love wordplay,” John Peter said
_________
.

Wednesday at the newspaper meeting, Jeremy and I strutted out our discovery.

“That's big,” Sarah said.

“If it's true,” Mr. Franka said.

“Do you think it isn't?” I asked.

“I think it is
probably
true. Maybe even very likely. We won't know until after the experts investigate the flow of the funds, and the legal system makes a judgment. We can never act before the fact.” He paused and frowned, as if he'd noticed the unintended rhyme. “If we call suspects criminals before they're convicted, we've committed a crime ourselves. What's our best friend when discussing crime?”

We all shouted the answer to that question. “‘Alleged'!”

• • •

“Scott Hudson, please report to the office.”

Now what? It was the middle of second period on Thursday, and I had no idea why I'd been called down. Dad was waiting there for me. Before I could even speculate about some disaster, he said, “Your mom forgot to tell you she made a doctor's appointment for you.” He shot me a wink with the eye that wasn't facing the school secretary.

I followed him out. “There's no appointment, is there?'”

“No. But we're giving Bobby a bachelor party, and we didn't want you to miss out.”

Now I was really puzzled. Dad led me around the corner, out of sight of the school office windows, to a van from a local roofing contractor. Wesley was at the wheel.

“New job?” I asked.

“No. We just needed room for all the passengers. I borrowed this from a friend.”

I looked inside. Bobby was there, along with his bandmates, Wayne and Charlie. I gave him a quizzical look. He responded, “No clue.”

I got in, and Wesley took off. Wherever we were going, I was pretty sure it didn't involve kegs of beer, cigars, or adult entertainment.

We went up Route 33 toward the Poconos, and cut off toward Saylorsburg. Eventually, we left familiar roads. After several miles, Wesley drove through a wooden gate and followed a dirt road.

“Whoa!” I said when we stopped.

I was not alone in my exclamation.

“It's a racetrack,” I said.

“Private,” Wesley said. “One of my dad's friends owns it.”

“The guy with the Ferrari?” I asked.

Wesley shook his head. “He's not talking to my dad right now. Or to me. He ran out of gas on the way home.”

“I can see where that might have annoyed him,” I said.

“At least the car was clean,” Wesley said. “This is another guy. We've known him for years.”

We got out and walked over to an old man wearing a bright yellow suit and a cowboy hat. He was standing by a car.

A car.

Those words are so inadequate for encompassing what we faced. It's like calling a hot-fudge and vanilla ice-cream sundae on a brownie “a sweet.” Maybe
The Car
would be better. Maybe primal grunts and screeches would be the best of all. The Car was a Lamborghini Gallardo. I don't know cars the way Dad and Bobby do. I'm clueless about the mechanical parts. But I knew this car from video games. I never thought I'd be standing next to one.

Wesley introduced us to the man, who told us to call him Stumpy. He had a wide smile, a Texas accent, and a firm handshake. I did not speculate on the origin of the nickname.

“Who's first?” Stumpy asked.

Bobby, being the bachelor, had the honors.

Stumpy drove him around the track for several laps. Then they switched seats and Bobby drove. Dad took a photo of Bobby's face when he stepped out. He looked like he'd seen all seven wonders of the ancient world laid out before him.

Dad went next. Then Wayne. Then Charlie. Then Wesley. Then Stumpy looked at me and said, “Climb in, sport.”

It was my turn to see seventeen or so wonders.

And then, after Stumpy took me around the track . . . they let me drive. Yeah. I had to keep it slow. But in a Lamborghini, even
slow
is still pretty awesome.

Bobby took another turn.

After he got out, he and Dad looked at each other. Some form of communication happened, but I was clueless.

“Can you pop the hood?” Dad asked Stumpy.

“Sure. Just be careful with the groom. A guy about to get married shouldn't let his eyes enjoy anything this hot for too long.” He let out a guffaw.

Dad and Bobby studied the idling engine for about two seconds, then nodded.

“Alternator belt's slightly too tight,” Dad said. “It's putting more strain than necessary on the engine.”

Stumpy stared at Dad for a moment. Then he stared at the engine. “By gosh, I hear it now. Didn't notice it at all until you pointed it out.” He slapped Dad on the back. “Thanks.”

“Got tools here?” Dad asked.

“Has a kitten got whiskers?” Stumpy said.

“Trust us to adjust it?” Dad asked.

Stumpy slipped behind the wheel and switched off the ignition. “Be my guest.”

• • •

We had the rehearsal dinner on Friday, just for the families and the wedding party. I was part of both since Bobby had asked me to be an usher. I kept telling people my name was Roderick,
and I kept getting puzzled glances, except from Amala, who'd read the Poe story to which I was alluding. Her father wasn't quite as scary as Bobby said, but I'd definitely never want to end up on his bad side.

It was nice getting together with everyone. Amala's bridesmaids flirted with me. I could tell they were just having fun. That didn't diminish my pleasure.

• • •

Saturday, we went to the church early to get ready.

After Bobby got dressed, I said, “Thanks.”

“What for?”

“For getting me a sister.”

He smiled. “Got you a good one, didn't I?”

“The best.”

I watched him fiddle with a cuff link. “Nervous?”

“Terrified.”

“You don't look it,” I said.

“What if I screw this up?” he said.

“You won't.”

“I've screwed almost everything up in my life.”

“If you're half as good a husband as you are a brother, you'll have the best marriage ever,” I said. “Next to Mom and Dad's.”

Instead of saying anything, Bobby gave me a hug.

May 10

The wedding yesterday was great, Sean. Amala was beautiful. Bobby looked like a dashing hero. Mom and Dad cried. I didn't. At least, not where anyone could see. After the reception, the happily married couple drove off for a honeymoon at a bed and breakfast in North Carolina. It didn't look like there was much to do around the place, but Bobby and Amala didn't seem to be concerned by that.

There was no honeymoon from school for me. I was back at it on Monday. Ms. Burke managed to fit one of her favorite poems into the history lesson, and Mr. Stockman tossed out a limerick in geometry. We studied a Langston Hughes poem in English, and a Pablo Neruda poem in Spanish class. I guess you could call it a day of rhyme and reason.

And I guess poetry was still on my mind on Tuesday, in the locker room after gym, when I asked Kyle, “Did you ever think about writing poems? It's a wonderful way to explore your feelings.”

“Did you ever think about mating with a pencil sharpener?” he asked. “It's a wonderful way to experience new feelings.”

“Yeah. But they always insist that I take them out for dinner and a movie first,” I said.

He actually smiled at that. “It's getting harder to insult you.”

“That's one of the many benefits of humility,” I said. “I excel at being humble and modest.”

Irony is enhanced by subtle use of tautology.

Z
enger Zinger for May 12

Last week's answer:
“Well-mannered men love wordplay,” John Peter said pungently.

This week's puzzle:
“I lost my favorite board game,” John Peter said
_________
.

A week after we shared the news about the budget, everyone on the paper wanted to know what was happening with the investigation.

“My friend said her dad had given all the information to the district attorney, and someone in his office is investigating,” I said. “It could take days, or weeks, for something to happen. It could even take months.”

It turned out it took only one more day.