Jonah McFaddin Part 1

“What’s going on?” the Farmer’s Wife asks to no-one-in-particular. And it’s a good thing, too, because no one answers. No. They’re much too busy for that.

She asks again. And then, finally, she adds a name to her inquiry.

“Hannah. What’s going on?”

The girl herself looks up at her Mother and shifts, leaving the group of giggling girls who have made themselves into a circle.

“Jonah McFaddin, that’s what,” she whispers, like that will mean something to her Mother.

But, apparently, it DOES mean something to the seven or so girls encircled just a foot away, because that incessant giggling begins again. In fact, it’s a bit louder than it was before.

Their heads bow towards the center of their self-made circle and Hannah shimmies her way back in.

“What’s a Jonah McFaddin?’ the Farmer’s Wife asks, no less confused than before.

“It’s a ‘Who’ not a ‘What’,” Brian answers, rolling his eyes.

Oh? You don’t know a Brian? Please forgive me for not making the introductions. This is Brian. There. Now you know him.

“This is nothing,” Brian continues. “You should’ve seen it last week when Jonah was here.”

The Farmer’s Wife frowns. Jonah is a he not a what and the he was there at Hannah’s school and now all the girls were given over to giggles in a most ridiculous fashion.

“Do you see his hair? His eyes?” Mea swoons, bringing in a fresh round of sighs as all in the circle gaze down at said hair and eyes.

The Farmer’s Wife peeks into the very center of the circle and it is just as she fears. They are all (each one of them has a grip) holding tightly to a picture of a he, and yes, he does have hair and eyes.

“Oh brother,” the Farmers Wife says, now seeing quite clearly what is going on.

“And will this Jonah be coming back anytime soon?” she asks Brian, who seems to be the only voice of reason at the moment.

“No. But we’re going to him. Tomorrow.”

The Farmer’s Wife frowns. “Why on earth would we do that?”

But Brian doesn’t answer, at least not out loud. He joins the rest of his team by the gym door for practice and the Farmer’s Wife has all the answers she needs.

The game. Jonah must be from St. Peter’s–the other school that is many, many towns away, that St. John’s plays against from time to time whenever either or both schools are up for the challenge.

“We’re going, right?” Hannah asks once she’s settled in the car to head-to-home after much pulling and dragging away from a certain pack of girls.

Her Mother sighs. She can only imagine how very annoying the giggles will be when the actual Jonah is present instead of picture-Jonah.

“I have no intention of–“

“WHAT!!! YOU JUST CAN”T! NO!!!! YOU’RE RUINING MY LIFE!!! YOU HATE ME!!! I HATE YOU!!!”

Stomp. Stomp. Slam.

The Farmer looks up from the paper. “What’s going on?”

His Wife shakes her head miserably. “Jonah McFaddin.”

“What’s a Jonah McFaddin?”