The Middle

The end of the school year...

finals, parent-teacher conferences

and that official teenage popularity meter...

The yearbooks are out!

- Oh, wow, honey. - I haven't looked yet.

I ran all the way home so we could look through it together.

Wanna flip through it with me and see how many times

- ...I'm in it? - Sure! That's always fun.

That's never fun.

Class officers, no. Clubs, no.

Other clubs, no.

Every year it's the same.

Poor sue had tried out for God knows how many things...

And she hadn't made a single one.

Oh! Maybe I'm in some of the candids from the lunchroom. - Yeah, right.

Oh! I think that might be my shoe.

Well, at least you have your class photo.

Wait a minute.

I retook that picture three times.

I had three photos available!

How did this happen?

This is just not right!

That's okay.

I'm pretty sure that one in the candids is my shoe.

I'll just get everyone to sign it by my shoe.

Yeah. I'm pretty sure that's my shoe.

It is just heartbreaking.

She's so used to failure,

she doesn't even feel bad about it anymore.

- And you know whose fault that is? - The yearbook committee?

- No, Mike. Ours. - Wasn't even my second choice.

We're lazy, Mike.

Oh, no. Not the lazy parent.

We are. We're lazy, lazy parents.

We just throw 'em out the door and let 'em fend for themselves.

Wolves take better care of their young.

So she's an average, ordinary kid. So what?

Nothing wrong with average.

Ugh. You are so naive.

Average may have been fine when we were in school,

but it's a new world out there.

Average is the new below average.

B's are the new c's. C's are the new d's.

- D's are the... - Okay, what magazine or lady show can I blame for this?

Look at this.

All these pages,

filled with extraordinary kids doing extraordinary things...

and you know why?

Because they have parents that get in there and get involved.

Come on. We hate those parents.

We make fun of those parents.

Trust me. We have nothing to worry about.

Our kids are just fine.

Brick may be not be moving on to third grade.

What? What... what do you mean, not moving on to third grade?

He's the smartest kid in the class.

I mean, I'm sure you're doing your best,

- but... not a real brain trust here. - Mike.

It's because he hasn't been returning library books. Are you kidding me?

He's not moving up to third grade over library books?

That's nuts. The librarian is invoking statute 482b.

He's gonna have to resolve it with her.

And please make sure that he does.

It's been a long year.

I don't think I have a Sue Heck in my class.

Yes, you do.

We go through this all the time. You have Sue.

Oh! Here we go. Here's her name.

- I just can't seem to place her face. Does she have red hair? - No, she doesn't.

- Blond and sort of athletic-looking? - No.

- Is she african-american? - Do we look like she's african-american?

How about I look in the yearbook to job my memory?

Oh, don't bother.

We just got the results of Axl's aptitude test.

You don't gotta sugarcoat it.

We already had two other conferences today,

- ...so we're getting pretty used to the drill. - He tested as academically gifted.

Axl is gifted?

Our Axl?

You calling my son a cheater?

Oh, no.

Look. He's gifted. He's brilliant.

The problem is,

he's performing far below his potential.

- He's getting C's. - Which are the new D's.

It's odd.

We rarely see this kind of gap

between achievement and aptitude,

except in families

where at least one of the parents is in prison.

Hey! Mom, look. I'm using my history book as a plate.

No cleanup for you. You're welcome.

We got some pretty interesting news at your conference today.

Apparently, you're smart.

- I am? - Yeah. Like, extremely smart.

Wait. You sound mad.

- Your tone isn't really matching the words you're saying. - That aptitude test you took...

your counselor told us you scored in the 98th percentile.

Out of how many?

100.

Ha! Told you I was smarter than you thought.

Good thing you caught me. I was just about to study.

That would've been a big waste of time.

No, you're gonna start getting grades

that reflect you're smart, so crack a book...

to you, a plate... get.

- We're gonna be expecting a lot from you from now on. - Oh, my God.

You find out I'm really smart, and you're still on me?

I can't please you people! Aah! Stupid big brain!

So...

How did I do? How was my conference?

Oh, honey, so great.

Your teacher didn't have one bad word to say about you.

Yay! She's my favorite teacher.

Heart... breaking.

Breaking, Mike!

You said, "don't worry."

You said, "oh, the kids are fine."

Only took three conferences

to blow your theory out of the water.

Well, I'm gonna get in there

and help Sue make her mark at that school.

I'm gonna be the kind of parent we hate.

Look.

This is what Sue has been reduced to.

And you and I both know that isn't even her shoe.

After we told Brick about his conference,

he agreed to straighten things out with the librarian,

Mrs. Nethercott, an institution at Orson Elementary.

There you are, dear.

The adventures of Betsy, Tacy and darling little Tib.

Oh, I hope you love them like I do.

Please come back and tell me what you thought.

Oh, it's you.

Hi, Mrs. Nethercott. I...is there a problem?

Hmm. Is the a problem?

You know, Brick, when you first came to this school,

I was so excited to hear about a little boy

who loved books as much as I do.

It's what a librarian dreams of.

- Thank you. - Let me finish.

For years I have watched

as you've checked out book after book after book

and brought them back covered with syrup and yogurt...

that is, if they even come back at all.

Look, we can play the blame game all day.

The point is, I love books.

You say you love books. I don't think you do.

I love the books in this room like they're my very own babies.

You have 31 of them out.

31 of my babies.

And I want them back...

all of them...

or you're not going into third grade.

That's right. No fractions for you.

No cursive.

No, uh, field trip to an Amish farm.

You think you can make it

out in the real world without cursive?

You can't.

Look, you have to accept some responsibility here.

Shh!

You have until Walt Whitman's birthday.

Good luck.

Hello, sweetheart. Thank you.

Principal Sholin,

I need to talk to you about my daughter, Sue Heck.

I know, I know. You don't know who she is.

But trust me, she's in the seventh grade,

and she is spirited, and she is awesome,

and it is ridiculous... no, tragic, actually...

that she can't be a part of this school.

Come on. There's only a week left till summer.

Can't this wait till next year?

No. Why can't there be some team, some club

that you can get into just because you showed

doesn't sound like a very good team. But it would be,

because it would be filled with people who don't give up...

people like my daughter, who try and fail

and pick themselves up and keep on going

and stay positive in the face of all odds.

My God!

Isn't there a place in this school

for someone like that?

Guess what?

I, uh, happened to run into your principal today,

and he told me

that they decided to change the policy

and make cross-country a no-cut sport.

No-cut?

No cuts, no tryouts.

All you have to do is show up on Tuesday,

go around the track a few times, and you're in!

Oh, my God. Oh, my God!

I love cross-country!

That's running, right?

Yeah, running. All you gotta do is run.

I can run! I ran all the way home from school yesterday,

and I got here so fast. Imagine how fast I could go

when I'm not holding a heavy yearbook. Oh!