When she started heaving plastic storage containers out of her closet, I decided to give in, because it was bad enough I had to look at her mess without it bleeding over onto my side of the room. “Look, I believe you, okay?”
A pile of shoes fell off the shelf above her, tumbling down and whacking her on the head, and I laughed.
“Shut up,” she said, flinging random sneakers onto my side of the room. Oh, man. The worst thing is, I knew she’d never bother to clean up all this junk and I’d have to do it eventually. I picked up a runner and threw it at her. I missed on purpose, but she was plenty mad anyway.
“Why’d you do that?” she screamed.
This wasn’t how I’d hoped it’d go when I told her, but I should’ve known. She loves to be in charge of me, and finding this stupid pact was just one more way she could run my life.
“Keep your smelly junk on your side,” I told her, instead of what I was really thinking: You aren’t the boss of me. I didn’t want to sound like a five year old.
“You’re so lame,” she said, as the shoe whizzed by my head. Return to sender.
I jumped off the bed, ran for the door, and kicked her new purse across the duct tape dividing line as I went. She slammed the door after me. In the living room, I shoved Sammy to one end of the couch and curled up under Dad’s stadium blanket. I love Tracie. She’s a great older sister. The best, really. But even the closest sisters fight, and years of experience were not wasted this time. I’d made sure I had hold of my book when I vacated the premises.
I stuck my cold feet under Sammy’s warm body and she began to purr. Suppose Tracie actually found the pact? Could she seriously mean to hold me to it? Now that I was out here in the quiet living room, I started thinking maybe Tracie was right after all. We’d lived this long without a mother. What did we need one for now when we were almost grown up?
^^^
I must’ve drifted off to sleep, because one minute I’m reading about a big double-cross in the story and the next, Dad’s shaking my arm.
“Fighting with Tracie again?” he asked.
“I like the couch.”
“Yeah, right. Better get to bed.”
“What time is it?”
“Late.”
I hate it when you ask someone the time, and they say “late” or “time to go” or whatever. If I wanted to know that, then I’d ask that. What I want to know is what time it is.
“What time is it?” I repeated.
“Eleven-thirty.”
As I went off to my room, it occurred to me I should probably get Dad to sign my detention slip. But in the end, I decided to wait until morning. He wouldn’t be so mad if he was mostly asleep when I asked.
In the hallway, I examined the crack under the door for light. Black. Good. I could hear Tracie’s muffled snores penetrating the walls. She’s a big snorer. Once, strictly for blackmail purposes, I made a recording of her using the voice memo app on my phone, but she wouldn’t pay up because she thought it was Dad. Next time I’d try video.
There’s nothing Tracie hates more than being woken up, and I was annoyed enough with her to interrupt her beauty sleep just to get back at her for treating me like crap. I switched on my desk lamp and aimed the light directly at her head. Then I slammed the doors on my wardrobe a couple of times, dropped my backpack on the floor, and tossed some of her shoes from my side right onto her bed. She didn’t even turn over.
A second later our door opened, and Dad stuck his head in. “What’s going on in here?” he whispered.
“Nothing.”
“Well, be quiet. We don’t need Mrs. Kullbom hitting her ceiling with a broom handle all night.”
“Sorry.”
Our downstairs neighbor believed in payback, if Tracie and I were too noisy for her. I flipped off the light and felt my way to the bed. When I pulled back the sheets I heard the faint crackle of paper. Lifting the corner of the curtain and holding the paper up to the window, the streetlamp cast just enough light on it for me to make it out.
On a faded piece of red construction paper, written in purple crayon, was the pact:
We promise to never talk to our mom agaen. Tracie and Susan
Chapter 5
I always wake up really early on the weekends. Maybe it’s from all those fishing trips I used to take with Dad and Uncle Bill when I was little. Whatever the reason, I was up on Saturday way before the rest of my family. It was freezing in our apartment because we have electric heat, so we have to keep it really low or Dad says Tracie and I will have to get jobs to pay for it. He’s only half-kidding.
Since it was the first of the month, I’d gotten my allowance out of Caroline’s support check, and so I took myself out for coffee and a muffin at the Double Shot, a café not far from our house. By the time I got there it’d started to rain, so I made the coffee and muffin last about two hours, while I sat in a comfy armchair in front of a fake fire. The rain was really coming down hard by noon, and the barista kept giving me dirty looks for hogging the best seat, so I bundled up and went to the public library.
I walked up and down the YA shelves looking for something good, trying not to drip on any books. In the end, I checked out the first book and the third book in The Testing trilogy. Maybe the one I found on the bus would make more sense if I started at the beginning.
By then I was starving, but I didn’t want to spend any more money. I figured Tracie’d be out with her friends, so I went home and found the place totally empty, except for Sammy, who twisted around my ankles, purring, while I made a grilled cheese and ketchup sandwich.
I took it out to the living room and plopped down on the couch to read while I ate. I’d just pulled a blanket over my lap when the phone rang. I had it in my hand to answer when I saw the caller I.D.—an unfamiliar Vancouver number. I let our old-fashioned answering machine get it. (Dad was too cheap to pay for voicemail as long as it kept working.)
A minute later, Caroline’s voice filled the little apartment. “Hello, there. This is a message for Susan and Tracie.”
Suze.
“This is your mother calling.”
Ha.
“Just wanted to say hello and let you know the movers are here and…well…I’m now officially living in Victoria again. I’d love to see you both. So…well…call me back.”
After she hung up I picked at my sandwich, pulling it to pieces and feeding bits to Sammy, trying to decide what to do. I hadn’t really seen Dad yesterday because he’d worked the closing shift, so I didn’t have a clue what he thought about all this.
In the end, I read my book and tried not to think about Caroline. She called back four more times over the next two days, but Tracie was home every other time and she stood between me and the phone, daring me to answer it. She even took the handset to bed with her so I couldn’t secretly call her back.
As if I would.
Well, maybe I would.
I mean…I was considering it….
^^^
I was so lost in the story that when I turned the page of Graduation Day I must’ve let out a little shudder, and possibly some sort of worried noise, which apparently gave me away. Baker turned from the board and shot me the “stern teacher” look. “Suze, we finished silent reading fifteen minutes ago.”
“Yeah, okay. Sorry.” I’d blown through the first two books in the trilogy and was only twenty pages from the end of the last one. How could I stop now? I made a show of closing the book, but held my finger in my place and kept reading under my desk. I just wanted to finish the paragraph, at least. Shouldn’t Baker be glad I was reading books voluntarily?
Apparently not. He cleared his throat, so I shut the book, sighing at the unfairness of it all, and opened Strunk & White instead. Grammar. So exciting. While Baker diagrammed a sentence on the board, I leaned over Mike’s shoulder to see the page number and quickl
y flipped to it. I tucked my hair behind my ears and stared up front. Baker could force me to look like I was concentrating, but he had no control over my brain.
I’d been reading, not only because it was more exciting than verbs and adjectives, but also to keep my mind off of Caroline…and because Tracie’s smugness was driving me crazy. She thought she was so smart, saving that stupid contract. When the phone rang at seven o’clock this morning, and the caller I.D. showed Caroline’s number, she’d waved the agreement in my face for the last time. I grabbed it and tore it into tiny pieces. Of course, she’d screamed bloody murder until Dad came stumbling out of his room (on his day off), and then she’d stormed into the bathroom and locked me out until I was so late I had to run for the school bus without a shower.
Typical Monday already.
If this was what life with Caroline was going to be like, I’d be happy to live up to my end of the destroyed pact. I imagined Tracie sitting in study hall, taping it back together so she could frame it for me. I wouldn’t be surprised to see it hanging over my bed when I got home.
When the bell rang for lunch I bolted out of my seat, but I wasn’t quick enough. Baker was waiting for me at the door. “Suze, may I talk to you for a minute?”
I stopped, shuffled back to my seat, and dropped my backpack on the ground with a loud thump. I figured Baker was going to give me detention for reading instead of paying attention.
I figured wrong.
“Suze, I’m a little concerned about you,” he said, once everyone had cleared out. “Is everything all right?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Good.”
I got up.
“The thing is—”
I sat down.
“The thing is, I didn’t hand back the exam on Great Expectations, because I wanted to talk to you first. I remember you finished the test in record time, except you didn’t answer all the questions.”
“Yeah….”
“You read it though, right?”
“Yep.”
“Well, why didn’t you answer the one about the endings?”
“I didn’t get the last question,” I mumbled.
“What didn’t you get?”
“The thing about two endings didn’t make sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just didn’t get it. I don’t know what the question meant.”
“Do you have your book with you?”
“Probably. I guess.”
I dug through my backpack and produced the tattered remains. Because of budget cuts, we all had to buy our own copy of Great Expectations. Now he would know I’d bought a used copy I found at the Salvation Army, so I’d have more money for phone minutes. He took the book and thumbed through it. The spine was loose, and a chunk of pages fell out onto the floor. He picked them up and tried to tuck them back in, but the book had pretty much had it.
“You know we read the abridged edition in class, right?”
I shrugged.
“Abridged means it’s a shortened version of the book. This is the whole thing.”
I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but I nodded anyway.
“Dickens wrote two different endings for Great Expectations. The edition I asked you to buy was abridged, but it still included them both. This one only has the original.”
How was I supposed to know there were two endings? “Well, it was a really old book,” I said. “I didn’t see why I should waste money on a new copy.”
“Why didn’t you say anything when we discussed it in class?”
Probably because I didn’t care. Probably because I was thinking about lunch. Like now. “I don’t know.”
“Suze, you know that’s never an acceptable answer in my class.”
Why was he bugging me? Didn’t he have enough to worry about without causing me grief? I sighed heavily to let him know what a pain he was being. “When you were talking about the two endings in class,” I said, “I looked at my copy again and there was only one. I didn’t ask because I thought maybe you were talking about the movie or something. Okay? Can I leave now?”
That was the longest speech I’d ever made to Baker, and he surprised me by saying I could go. I must’ve thrown him off or something. Apparently he didn’t really mean it, though, because on my way out he stopped me again. “Suze?”
“What?” I was really getting tired of him.
“Why don’t you take my copy, read the other ending, and I’ll let you finish the test.”
“Did I pass already?”
“Well, yes. But the essay question was twenty percent of your grade, so you got a C-minus without it.”
“Good enough. I gotta go.”
And I was out of there. And this time he let me leave in peace.
When I got downstairs to the dungeon, which the teachers call the cafeteria, my lunch group was already at our usual table: Leigh, Amanda, and Jessica. Also, Brendan was there. He’s the guy Amanda’s kind of going out with, but not really because she says she’s not interested in boys yet. All they ever talk about is baseball, and he won’t even hold her hand in the hall, so it’s not like it’s a great romance or anything, but everyone kind of thinks of them as “together.” Luckily, he only sits with us on the days his friends go to Robot Club, because having him around makes lunch kind of weird. I mean, we can’t talk about anything good with him there.
A sandwich, an apple, and two brownies sat in a neat little pile on the table in front of my usual chair. “Hey, thanks, I’m starved,” I said, plopping down in my seat.
Yummy egg salad, straight from Amanda’s kitchen. I can never get my act together enough to pack a lunch, even though Dad makes sure we have stuff in the fridge. Last year Amanda had finally gotten tired of me drooling over her food and started bringing me lunch every day. Sometimes she’s an awesome friend.
“Where were you?” Leigh asked.
“Baker wanted to talk to me.”
“What’d you do this time?”
“I keep telling you,” I said, smirking, “he’s got a big crush on me.”
We all laughed, and I rolled my eyes and made kissy noises.
“Well, I hope he doesn’t get a crush on me.” Amanda said. “I can’t stand him.” We all knew she said that for Brendan’s benefit, but he didn’t seem to notice because he was stuffing his face.
Leigh sighed. “Oh, I think he’s a tall drink of gorgeous.”
“Gorgeous?” I pretended to choke on my brownie, which I was eating first, just in case. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Long, tall, and handsome,” she said, probably quoting some old country song. Leigh always used what she called southernisms, which she supposedly got from her “mama” and the summer visits back to Tennessee to see her “kinfolk.” Sometimes I think she just makes up her own, though. Leigh’s all right, but she’s totally boy crazy, which can be annoying. She practically goes with a different guy every week. Not that she ever actually talks to them in person. They just text.
“I think he’s okay,” Brendan said.
“You think Baker’s gorgeous too?” I asked him, making red creep up the back of his neck. Good. Maybe he’d join the Robot Club and leave us alone.
“I meant he’s a good teacher,” he said, stuffing the rest of his lunch in his backpack. He mumbled something about the library and got away from us fast. Amanda barely noticed. Like I said, no great romance there.
“Mr. Baker’s really nice to me,” Jessica said.
“You guys are crazy,” I told them.
My English teacher obviously had a bigger crush on me than I thought, though, because during last period I got a note asking me to come to his classroom for about fifteen minutes after school. Normally I would have told him I had to catch the bus, but I knew Baker wasn’t going to give up until he’d said what
he wanted to say.
When I walked into his classroom he wasn’t there, but Amanda was leaning against the windowsill, looking out at the drizzly sky. “What? He has a crush on you too?” I asked her.
She jumped, startled. “Oh, hey, Suze. What’re you doing here?”
“I told you, he can’t get enough of me.”
“Yeah, right.”
“He sent me a love letter asking me to stop by after school.”
“Me too. I mean he sent a note, not a love letter.” She blushed, making me question what she really thought of Baker.
“He loves us both,” I said.
“Well, well, ladies. Nice to see you,” he said, coming into the room. Amanda blushed harder, and I laughed, looking meaningfully at her as Baker strolled over to his desk. I flashed her an evil smirk and puckered up. I swear her face turned purple, she was so embarrassed. My suspicions were confirmed. Gross, he was really old! At least thirty.
“I’m glad you both could come,” Baker said.
As if we had a choice.
“Sit down, sit down.” He gestured at the hard plastic seats, like he’d invited us to the Empress Hotel for tea. Not that I’ve ever been to the fanciest hotel in Victoria for tea or anything else. Baker seemed a little too cheerful to me, and worry began to creep up my spine like mold on bathroom tile.
“I have a little project I thought the two of you might be interested in,” he said.
Uh-oh. This can’t be good.
Chapter 6
“Have a seat up here.” Baker indicated the front. I’d never voluntarily sat there before, but I grabbed a chair anyway. “I know you’re probably anxious to get out of here, so I’ll be brief,” he said.
Thank God for small favors.
“We start our speech unit tomorrow in class,” he told us. “I’m breaking everyone into pairs, and each team is going to choose a subject to research. A couple of weeks before winter break you’ll all present them to the class.”
I stared at the ceiling while he talked to us. I noticed Amanda looked right at him the whole time. Maybe that’s why she gets straight As.
A Month of Mondays Page 3
