The Little Orange Book

By Brooke Malinak

brookemalinak14@gmail.com

Once a turtle, always a turtle… said no one ever! And thank goodness for that. It means that we can grow from the person we once were into someone stronger and happier.

Why did I mention turtles, you ask? Well, that’s because people tend to mention them, particularly their shells, when they talk about people being shy. Or at least, that is what happened to me often.

There are many shy people in this world and for most of my life, I got away with being one. I still am one today. The only difference is that up to eighth grade, I did not want to meet new people, I did not want to talk in class, and I was absolutely terrified of both of those options.

Okay. I exaggerated a little. I could meet new people and could talk in class if I needed to. However, I was not exaggerating when I said both of these options scared me.

In eighth grade, maybe it was God telling me I needed to change my ways because in one of my classes, the actions of a teacher would force me out of my shell. And this turtle did not want to come out of her shell. No sir! But, she did eventually. And I am thankful for it.

It was the first class of the first day of eighth grade. One of the cool things about eighth grade was that we got to choose our seats in our classes. So, naturally, I made a beeline to the desk in the back corner where I could still see, but be hidden enough to not be called on. It was perfect!

But no, fate did not want to let me have my way. This class was not cool. We had assigned seats, and I was placed in the back where I wanted to be. The catch? Right by the teacher’s desk. Usually, the teachers’ desks are in the front, so why did this teacher have his in the back and what stroke of luck led me to be sitting right in front of it?

What could I do? Nothing but accept the fact and move on. Other than this unfortunate turn of events, the first class of the first day went well. I knew a few of the people around me and that made it more comfortable. It made me think that I could make it through this class smoothly as long as I ignored the placement of my seat. Everything was going to be good. It’s not like I would be called on a lot, right? I was going to be safe in this class.

Safe? The first class on my second day was not safe at all. My teacher, Mr. Aragon, was a funny guy, and he was nice too. But, as much as this was true, he had an eye for change, and change and me did not get along. I suppose he saw how I avoided eye contact when he looked around to call on people to answer a question, how I barely spoke to the people around me, and how I spoke quietly when I did talk.

Mr. Aragon made a comment about my shyness and declared that he had a special job for me. Out of his hand appeared a small orange book, and he put it on my desk. “You can take this book home, and every night, go through it and pick a joke you like. The next morning, your job will be to start off the class with the joke you chose.”

Okay, okay, take the book home, pick a joke, and read the joke out loud in front of everyone as a way to start off the day. Alright, that makes sense. It would be a great way to start off a class.

Hold on, wait. Did he just say that he expected ME to read a joke every single morning for the rest of the school year? Oh no. Oh no no no.

“And if you run out of jokes, I have more joke books,” Mr. Argon chuckled before turning to begin class.

Oh no. My life was over. Why did I ever assume for a second that this class would be safe? This was worse than my fear of getting called on ‘just a lot’. I would have to bear the weight of everyone’s stares and try to tell jokes EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

It was the third day in my first class, and I was expected to read the first joke of the year. I picked a short one on purpose. When it was my time to shine, I stood up, looked around at all the heads turned in my direction, buried my head in the book, and read the joke. I can’t believe I survived!

But…I messed up. I was too quiet, so I had to read it again. NOOO. I could feel my classmates’ eyes. Expecting. Waiting. This time I was loud enough, but I’m sure my face was red and my hands were sweaty. I felt hot with embarrassment. Were all the days going to be like this?

It was the fourth day in my first class. I wondered if my teacher would just forget if I did not stand up. Nope. He remembered as expected. I ruined my chances by accidentally making eye contact. When I did, he gave me a head nod and I internally sighed. I took a deep breath and stood up. My knees felt weak, and I felt like the book was trembling in my grasp. The page I had opened felt slightly damp between my fingers. Trying to ignore my obvious nerves, I put all my focus into telling the joke loud enough this time.

Much to my excitement, I did not have to repeat it like the day before. However, I did get told that there was an art, a rhythm to telling a joke. It was partially how a person told the jokes that made them funny. Ah, the embarrassment. Maybe I would do it better tomorrow.

It was my fifth day in this class. I chose a knock-knock joke. I had to pick someone to say the famous “who’s there” line. I pointed to someone I knew. I made sure to say it loud enough and tried to say it with more ‘pizzazz’… with less nerves and less monotone than I had used before. I think I got a little better. This time, my correction was to take my eyes off of the book and look at the faces of my classmates when sharing the jokes.

My first week in this class ended, and it was my first day not telling a joke in front of my peers. I was relieved, but still looked at the contents of the book out of curiosity. I flipped through pages filled with jokes about fruits, zoo animals, and more. Which ones should I do next week?

I really did not love the feeling of heat rising into my cheeks and throughout my whole body whenever I had to stand up, pull out the joke book, and speak, but I was getting more used to it. I tried to take the comments of my teacher and apply them to the next day I told a joke. Weeks and months passed by and eventually it was the end of the year.

There was definitely a difference from when I first started to the end of the class. I held my head up a little higher, I could make eye contact with people for a little longer, and I discovered a confidence in myself that I knew would continue to grow. The first day eighth grade me would have hated to admit this, but after a while of telling jokes, it went from scary to kind of fun.