Forcing Myself to Plow Ahead with Saving Scout

This is hard. Really hard. And more so then many of my essays, I feel awkward posting it, as it's so rough and such a new form for me, at least in terms of trying to do it well. But the truth is, the fact that I am working on it on the blog is perhaps the primary reason I am getting anything done, as I have such limited time in which to do this kind of writing, and I am now using the essays--even the good ones--as an avoidance tactic. They come more easily, naturally to me. But this project has more immediate potential for publication, if I can keep pushing ahead, and so I will, for a few more days, anyway, until I feel confident enough to go "offline" and keep going.

Here goes...

When Andy was finished, had told about the awkward pushing of the wheelchair up the ramp that his father--as it turned out--had not properly installed, about the way his grandfather had even more awkwardly hoisted himself out of the chair, onto the bed, and then turned on his side so his back was to them, and that Andy had seen (for the first time in his life) tears in his grandfather's eyes, Mia was silent.

"Well?" he finally said. She cleared her throat.

"There's not much to say," she said. Andy was annoyed. Mia was the kid the teacher had to ask NOT to raise her hand. She never had nothing to say.

"Can you believe my mother actually said that?" he pushed. "To me? It's like: deal with it. You're the grown-up." His face felt hot, remembering. Although for some reason he hadn't told Mia, the news had shocked him. He hadn't actually expected his grandfather to die. Or to die right there, in the guest bedroom of his own house, with his school pictures on the wall, the wheelchair blocking the doorway.

Again, Mia was quiet, but then she said, in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, "It's got to be terrible for your mom." Mia and Andy's mom had never quite clicked. Andy suspected his mother thought it was strange that his best friend was a girl but not his girlfriend. For the first few months of their friendship, whenever Mia called, or came over, his mother would ever so slightly raise her eyebrows with a little smile that made Andy want to crawl out of his skin.

Once she had said to him, "You know, in a few years I think Mia's going to be quite attractive," and Andy had seethed, said in his head: You know, just because you and dad don't like each other doesn't mean I can't have a friend who's a girl. But he hadn't. And after a while, with no reaction, she'd stopped. Suddenly Andy was feeling annoyed with Mia. What kind of a friend defended the enemy? She was supposed to be on his side. What else was the point?

"You know what?" he said. "Forget about it. You're right, she's just stressed out, and the whole thing's not a big deal. I won't even see him. He eats in the bedroom. On a stupid tray. Now can we please talk about my science project?"

Andy's science project had become the bane of his existence. He hated science; it was his worst subject every year, and this year was especially bad because his teacher, Mr.Gallagher, hated him. Whenever he expressed this complaint, Mia went off on her list of theories about Mr. Gallagher--he sidelined in Internet porn, he bought vintage GI Joe dolls on ebay, and on and on--Andy got the distinct feeling she was skirting around the reality of the situation, which was that Mr. Gallagher really didn't like Andy.

"I've got to say, you're in serious trouble," she said now, back to her old self. "I can't really imagine how you think you're going to pull this off in four days. There's no time to build it, to get the materials." Every year, the eighth graders at their school were given the same assignment: to design, build and demonstrate an invention.