Written by Kenneth M. Kapp
“One hundred, eighty-nine, seventy-eight, sixty-seven, fifty-six, forty-five,” Ebbette Sage counted back by elevens, “thirty-four, twenty-two, twelve, one!” She was mad, really mad. Her father had taught her how to count back from 500 by tens, elevens, twelves, and thirteens, but now she was so mad she started at one hundred.
Maybe I should have started at 500 and gone back by thirteens? First recess after the first lunch period on the first day of school and the bully in my fourth-grade class makes fun of my name. “Ebbette–bebbet has no credit.”
She couldn’t help herself and laughed at him, saying, “Bobby Fuller filled his pants—” and that was when he pushed her.
She picked herself up immediately and saw that her white tights were torn at the knees. She muttered, “You really are stupid. That’s the best you can do: ‘Ebbette–bebbet has no credit!‘” She wiped her nose; her knee hurt and her mom was sure to lecture her about fighting.
She refused to give him or his friends the satisfaction of seeing her cry. “500, 487, 474, 461, 438….” She almost broke out in sobs. She knew she’d made a mistake and was only saved from further embarrassment when the teacher on yard duty came running up and demanded to know what was going on.
“Ms. Ebbette, what happened to your tights? And Master Bobby Fuller, why do you have that smirk on your face?”
Ebbette’s mother was big into Kung Fu and yoga and was teaching her how to defend herself. Good thing I didn’t launch into a swinging giant circle and land one on Blubber Bobby’s face. “I slipped, Ms. Mathews. I’ll be all right. Can I go inside and wash my hands?”
Ms. Mathews was old enough to be her grandmother. She taught the other fourth-grade class and when her parents brought Ebbette to school at the end of the spring semester to meet the possible teachers in the fall, she quickly decided that Ms. Mathews was not for her. On the way home she said, “She’s too old and stoops. With all the brown she wears she looks like a cashew. I know you’re not supposed to make fun of people because of how they look or their names”—sneaking that in was her way of telling her parents in no uncertain terms that she was definitely NOT happy with her own name—”but I’ll never be able to get through a whole year without calling her Ms. Cashews. I know it’s just going to slip out.”
As a result she was enrolled in Ms. Santillianni’s class. Bobby Fuller sat two rows behind her and had snickered when, after the bell rang, Ms. S had read her name going through the class list. It wasn’t funny, especially after she had told them they could address her as Ms. S.
Ms. Mathews waved over a sixth-grader and asked her to accompany Ebbette to “the Lady’s Room.” “I don’t think she needs to see the nurse, but if she’s having trouble, you know where to take her. Just come out and tell me when you’re through.”
Ebbette almost started to laugh. Lady’s Room? Nurse? Maybe I should faint. “I’ll be fine, Ms. Mathews. I’ll just take the tights off and wash the scrape. You can see there’s no blood on them,” pointing to her exposed knee. She was tempted to add, “I hate wearing tights, it’s so little-girlish.” Wisely, she kept that thought to herself.
The children lined up in the schoolyard when the dismissal bell rang at 2:30. A girl in a pinafore and two pigtails tied with plaid bows inserted herself next to Ebbette. There was a grocery bag in each hand filled with books. She put one down, pushed her glasses back up on her nose. “I’m Fennie. I’m in the other fourth grade class. Bobby’s a bully. That’s why my parents insisted that they put me in different class from him. I heard what he said. He did the same to me until they locked him up in the Principal’s Office.”
Ebbette smiled. “They should have kept him there.” She peeked at the top book in Fennie’s grocery bag. Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing by Judy Blume. Not bad, I read Double Fudge at the beginning of the summer.
They sat next to each other on the school bus. Ebbette looked out the window, busy thinking. She was an only child and was home-schooled until this year. Her parents gave up when she had a tizzy and whined, “Well, I don’t think there’s anything else you can teach me.”
Her father agreed. “Fine then, we’ll just send you to school like everyone else. You’ll have to learn how to act properly with others! I’m taking the dog for a walk. Your mother can deal with you.”
Her mother agreed. “Ebbette, you brought this on yourself. I’ll paint the big picture for you. You’ve been spoiled silly. However, with practice, you should be able to learn how to work with others. September is four months away.”
“Well,” she rolled her eyes, “I’m not going to courtesy if that’s what you mean.” She used the wrong word on purpose.
“No, Dear. And it’s curtsy, not courtesy.”
Ebbette turned to Fennie. “I think we should have a cup of tea together sometime this weekend. It’ll have to be herbal tea. My parents think I’m too young to drink Earl Grey but what they don’t know can’t hurt them.”
Fennie laughed. “My last name is Bergaman and I do like Earl Grey. The black tea leaves, you know, are flavored with essential oil pressed from the bergamot plant. I guess that’s why I like it. I’m allowed to have a cup Sunday morning. My parents don’t like me to become hyper. Yes, that would be nice.”
Ebbette decided she would have to have a serious talk with her mother before Sunday. “Yes, that would be nice. Why don’t you come to my house on Sunday? You’re not allergic to dogs, are you? If you give me your phone number I should be able to call after supper.”
Fennie’s mother walked with her to Ebbette’s on Sunday. They lived two blocks away. While their mothers were chatting in the living room, Ebbette served Earl Grey tea in the kitchen. “I hope you like it. We only use loose tea and have three sizes of tea caddies.”
“I didn’t tell you; my first name is Fenshaw.”
“I expected something like that. I gave it considerable thought Friday night and Saturday afternoon. We need to form our own secret society – the Unique Name Society – UNS for short. There’ll be UNS and everyone else.
“I’ll make a second steeping. You think about it while the tea is brewing and if you agree, we’ll swear loyalty for life! But first…”
Ebbette crossed the kitchen to a rack where bundles of fresh herbs were hanging. She broke off two leaves and returned to the table. “This is sage. Great alone if you have a cold. But into the brew it goes—bergamot and sage, sage and bergamot.”
Together, the Unique Name Society was able to get through the fourth grade.
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Kenneth M. Kapp was a Professor of Mathematics, a ceramicist, a welder, an IBMer, and yoga teacher. He lives with his wife in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, writing late at night in his mancave. He enjoys chamber music and mysteries. His stories have appeared in more than one hundred publications worldwide. Please visit www.kmkbooks.com.