A Month of Mondays Page 8

  “You are too.”

  “Am not,” I said, like we were little kids.

  “You lie.”

  Lie…of course! Why didn’t I think of that? It’s the one thing I’m really good at! I sighed, trying to set the right mood, one of resignation. “Okay, you’re right,” I said. “I’m a little stressed.”

  “Let me guess. Caroline?”

  Bingo! “Well, yeah. The thing is…she talked me into going out to dinner with her tonight.”

  Tracie’s hands tightened on my shoulders, making me flinch. “Uh…ow?” I said.

  “Oh, sorry.” She relaxed her grip a little, but not much.

  “Don’t be mad, okay? I was just curious.” I rushed on before she could dislocate my neck. “Anyway, I said I’d go with her, but in the end I decided you were right. I blew her off.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I said, warming to my lie. “She’s a poseur. All fake and glittery and wanting to take us out to dinner, but in the end I realized I don’t need her.”

  Tracie began to knead my shoulders again, this time a lot more gently. And as I said it, I thought maybe I was actually right about Caroline.

  “I hate to say I told you so.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Tracie laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. Hey, wait a minute,” she said, seeming to remember something. Her hands squeezed me hard again. “Did she call here tonight? When we were watching TV?”

  I tried to nod, but Tracie’s grip on my neck was pretty tight. What had I actually said to Caroline and how closely had Tracie had been listening? “Yeah,” I said. “That was her. She was begging me to go out, but I said no.”

  “Good for you.”

  This was turning out to be most excellent! Now when Dad came home, I could tell him the same thing, and no one would ever know Caroline stood me up. Tracie moved around the table and took one of my feet in her hands, stripped off my sock and started rubbing it. I almost purred like Sammy, it felt so good. “You know, Suze,” she said. “I’m really proud of you. You stuck to our pact. I knew I could count on you.”

  That’s the problem with lies. They seem harmless enough at first…but then your sister says something like she’s proud of you, and then you feel like the total loser you are. But I couldn’t back down now. Besides, this was better than having her hate me. The door rattled and I bolted up, the cushions flying out from under me. “Dad’s home early, and I’m naked!”

  I clutched at the blanket while Tracie got my sweater off the couch. “Chill, Suze. You’ve got your bra and a skirt on.”

  “Like I want Dad to see me in my bra.”

  “Why not?” she said, laughing. “You haven’t got anything anyway.”

  I threw a couch cushion at her. “Shut up. You should talk.” Tracie was only an A-cup herself.

  “Better for playing hockey.”

  I was yanking my top over my head when Dad and Uncle Bill came in carrying pizza and a six-pack. They took a look at me sitting on the table and raised their eyebrows in unison.

  “I don’t want to know,” Dad said. “But get down, Suze. That’s where the pizza goes, not your butt.”

  “I was giving her a massage,” Tracie explained.

  “That doesn’t make me feel better about seeing her on the table.”

  “You do massage now? Excellent,” Uncle Bill said. “My neck’s got this weird crick in it.”

  “I can fix that,” Tracie told him.

  God. My family is so weird. I’d climbed down and was about to escape to my room when Dad reached out, laid a hand on my shoulder and said under his breath. “So? How was it?”

  Tracie didn’t miss a thing, though, and she said, “She didn’t go. She blew Caroline off.”

  “You did?” he said.

  “How come?” Uncle Bill asked.

  “I just…changed my mind.”

  “How’d she take it?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t think she cared.”

  That part was true. She didn’t seem that bothered by my saying it was too late to go tonight. Dad glanced over at Uncle Bill, but I couldn’t figure out what his look meant. Maybe I told you so.

  “You know, if you didn’t go because you’re worried what we’ll all think of you—” Uncle Bill started to say.

  “That’s not it,” I said. “I just changed my mind.”

  “We have a pact,” Tracie reminded us all.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Want some pizza?” Dad asked, sounding like he wanted to change the subject.

  “Nah, I think I’ll go to bed.”

  I could feel everyone exchanging looks and I knew they were all about me, but I didn’t care anymore. I’d gotten away with the lie, but it still sucked that I’d had to tell it to keep Tracie from killing me. I think I would rather have gone out with Caroline and then had a showdown with my sister. She looked pretty smug when she’d talked about the pact, like she’d won, and it made me want to come clean. But I didn’t, because I’m pretty much a chicken.

  I went off to brush my teeth, saying goodnight as I passed back through the living room. Dad and Uncle Bill were crowded on the couch with my sister between them, watching the hockey scores and eating pizza. They barely mumbled goodnight back. I couldn’t help thinking, though, that they were my real family, so the lie had been worth it. Caroline was a stranger. A stranger who’d been back for a couple of weeks and had already hurt me. No one who really cared about me would do that. Not Uncle Bill, or AJ, or Dad…or even Tracie.

  I climbed into bed, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I picked up one of Tracie’s novels she’d left on my side of the room. It was called Emma by Jane Austen. I could hardly follow it, though, and after about six pages I was totally and hopelessly lost. I kept reading anyway, but mostly I pondered Caroline.

  Now that I’d told everyone that I’d blown her off, I really couldn’t see her, even if I wanted to. That was the worst thing about the lie—because in spite of everything that had happened tonight, the truth was, I still wanted to get to know my mother. If she called back, I knew I’d give her another chance. And I’d just made things a lot worse for myself by pretending to agree with Tracie.

  I turned a few pages, but didn’t really see the words. That seemed to be happening to me a lot these days.

  “How come you’re crying?” Tracie asked when she came in for bed.

  “Am I?” I swiped at the hot tears streaming down my face. I hadn’t even noticed them. “Sad book.”

  She gave me an odd look. “Suze?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Emma is a comedy.”

  Huh.

  Ten minutes later her familiar snoring reverberated through the air, but instead of giving me that safe, comfortable feeling it usually did, it made me want to throw something hard at my sister. I stuffed the corner of my pillow into my mouth, bit down, and cried myself to sleep.

  Chapter 13

  As usual, I was out of minutes on my phone and all my friends knew it, so it wasn’t until Sunday night that I dug it out of my backpack to listen to some tunes and saw that there was a message from Caroline. She’d left it right after I hung up on her Friday night.

  “Hi, Susan,” she said. “I was hoping you’d pick up if I tried your cell, but I guess you’re probably mad at me, which is totally understandable. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry for the crossed wires. It’s no excuse, but this job…well, it’s a promotion, and it’s really demanding. I’m trying to get settled, and there’s so much to learn. Anyway, I am sorry, and maybe next time we can make plans for Saturday or Sunday, instead. That way work won’t get in the way again. Please forgive me. I’d like another chance. I’ll give you a call later in the week, okay?”

  I stared at the phone in my hand, my finger hovering over delete or save. In the end, I ke
pt it. I don’t know why. But she sounded sorry, and I thought maybe someday I’d need proof for Tracie.

  On Monday Amanda had bombarded me with the third degree, but I mumbled that dinner was fine, and we’d better worry about our project. That got her off on a custodian tangent. She’s so easy to distract.

  After thinking about it for a while, I did decide I’d give Caroline one more chance. Mostly because I was dying of curiosity. Where did she live? What did she do for a living? Did I look anything like her? I mean…if she didn’t color her hair blond and wear so much makeup. Sure she was white, and I had Dad’s Japanese blood, which gave me olive-toned skin, but we still might have the same ears or smile or handwriting. I once read this article in the paper about a kid who’d been adopted, and when he met his birth father, they had the same handwriting. That could be Caroline and me. I hadn’t had a good enough opportunity to check her out, and I wanted to. But she was only getting another shot if she made the effort. No way was I going to call her.

  In English, I thumbed through a well-worn copy of Death of a Salesman. Not a bad play at all. Depressing, but interesting. There weren’t enough copies for all the classes, so Baker had given us two periods to read it, rather than letting us take it home. I’d actually finished it really fast and was thinking I was pretty cool. Some of the smarties in class were still reading the end while we discussed it. And people thought that reading romances was a waste of time. Ha! That’s how I got to be a speed-reader—trying to get to the good parts.

  “Now, let’s move on,” Baker said. He scrawled Theme across the blackboard.

  Oh, no. Not theme. Whatever you do, don’t ask me about theme. Ask me anything else. Ask me about the main guy, the Willy Loman dude. Ask me about plot. But don’t ask me about theme. A person is supposed to be able to pick it out really easily, but I never could. I just didn’t get it.

  Baker ran his gaze over the class and saw me hiding behind my hair. “Suze?”

  Figures.

  “Umm…” What the heck was I doing in Honors English anyway? “Well.” I spit out the first thing I could think of. “The theme of Death of a Salesman is that all individuals are important people, and society should value them for who they are.”

  “That’s certainly a good example of theme,” Baker said, “but I was looking for the definition of the word itself.”

  My face burned. Leaning forward, I let my hair cascade around me. “I’m not sure,” I mumbled, careful to avoid Baker’s nemesis phrase I don’t know.

  “Suze,” he said, “you gave an excellent example. I’m confident you can tell us the definition.”

  I flipped through the script, randomly searching for the answer, willing it to appear so I could read it off the page. But, of course, it didn’t and I couldn’t. All those smart beady eyes bored into me.

  Finally, Baker decided it wasn’t worth it and moved on. Thank God. “How about you, Brett?” he said. “Can you define theme?”

  “Theme is a reoccurring, unifying subject or idea. It’s the message of the play.”

  “Right. Leigh, how does Brett’s definition prove Suze’s statement true or false in regard to the play?”

  I closed my ears to Leigh’s answer. I couldn’t believe I let myself get stuck in this class. Baker told me we were going to work on our projects. He didn’t say anything about my having to participate in the class. The kids in Lame-o English got to watch the play on TV. I could’ve gotten some extra sleep in.

  “Okay,” Baker said over the bell, “we’ll finish up this discussion tomorrow.”

  I grabbed my backpack.

  “Suze?” he said, stopping me. “What’s your next class?”

  Oh, man. Was he never going to let up? “Art.”

  “Can you stay for a minute?”

  “No. I’m working on a—”

  “Give me thirty seconds, okay?”

  I sank back into my seat. There was no use fighting it. As the classroom emptied, Baker walked over to the desk across from me and sat down on top of it. He was lucky it didn’t tip over. I’d seen people fall flat on their butts doing that. I kind of wished he would. Maybe he’d break something and I could escape.

  “So, how’s it going?” he asked.

  My defenses flew up. What was he up to now? Was he still worried about Amanda and me? Or was it because I wouldn’t answer his question in class? “How’s what going?”

  “Honors English. What do you think of it?”

  “I want out.”

  Baker took off his glasses and rubbed a little red mark on the bridge of his nose. Maybe, just maybe, without his glasses he was a tiny, little bit good-looking. But I still couldn’t see gorgeous or hot. “Why?” he asked.

  Because I was choking, that’s why. Because I didn’t have a clue. Because, because— “Because I don’t belong in this class,” I finally muttered.

  “Suze, why do you think I chose you to work on your project with Amanda?”

  “I don’t know.” Oops.

  “You don’t know?” I traced some kid’s initials scratched deep into the desk and didn’t answer. “Suze?”

  “Well, you said it was because Amanda and I know each other.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you bought that?”

  I looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “Does that sound like me?” he asked, smiling. And then he chuckled. He actually chuckled. I didn’t see what was so funny. That was what he’d said when he’d called us in to talk that day. He had no right to laugh at me.

  “I don’t know why,” I said, being purposefully contrary.

  “Try again.”

  I peeked through my wall of hair. Baker returned my gaze. I retreated. “Because I’m stupid, and you thought Amanda could help me?”

  “You’ve got it half right.”

  “So you think I’m too stupid for even Amanda to help?”

  He chuckled again. Argh…“That’s not the part you got right,” he said. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all. In fact, quite the opposite.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Really,” he said. “The reason I partnered you two together is to challenge you to work up to your potential. I thought Amanda’s high standards might encourage you.”

  “What makes you think I’m so smart? I’ll be lucky to get a C in English.”

  Baker wiped his glasses with his tie. “Have you ever heard of kids doing poorly because they’re not challenged?”

  “No.”

  “Well, some kids are so completely bored they can’t pay attention.”

  Like right now?

  I wanted to get to Art. I needed to talk to Jessica. And our mural was not getting done while I was sitting here listening to Baker babble about how smart I supposedly was when everyone knew I wasn’t.

  “Let me ask you something, Suze,” he said. “How long did it take you to read Great Expectations?”

  “A couple of weeks, I guess.” Eleven days, actually.

  “And how long did we spend on it in class?”

  “Forever.”

  “Exactly,” he said. “That’s my point. Most of the kids didn’t even finish reading the book. And they had the abridged version. Most of them probably just rented the movie. Dickens is hard for some of them. Others are lazy. I think it’s different for you.”

  “Different how?”

  “You were bored because you’d finished the book weeks before we ever got to the test, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “But you liked the book.”

  “It was all right.”

  “And you read the whole thing?”

  “Except the second ending,” I said, and smiled a little.

  Baker smiled too. Okay, I’ll admit it—when he smiled I could see a hint of hottie. But tha
t was all. Just a hint.

  “Right. Except the second ending,” he said. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is I think you belong in the Honors English class.”

  I shook my hair out of my face and looked at him. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m completely serious. Now, you can’t tell anyone this part,” he said, “but the project with you and Amanda was a scheme on my part. I cooked it up so I would have an excuse to move you into Honors.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The truth is,” he said, “the administration would have looked at your record and told me I couldn’t move you up. I sidestepped them this way.”

  “So you’re saying after Christmas I don’t have to go back to my regular English class?”

  He grinned. “On one condition.”

  My heart thumped, pounded, crashed. I’m sure he could hear it. “What’s that?”

  “You have to get an A.”

  “On our project?”

  “Yes. But not just on your project.” He paused, wiping his lenses again. If he didn’t stop cleaning them he’d wear a hole right through the glass. “You have to get an A in English for the semester.”

  The breath I’d apparently been holding leaked out. How could I do that? I was barely pulling a C at the moment. “But what if I don’t want to stay in the Honors Class?”

  “Well, then you can get whatever grade you like,” he said. “But I think you do want to stay.”

  Maybe he was right. Maybe I did want to be in the class. And not only because I was afraid of what people might think if I went back to Lame-o English. Maybe I liked Honors. And maybe Baker’s insanity was starting to rub off on me. One thing I did know for sure was no matter what, Yoda was going to come out of this with his job. I’d already worked harder on our presentation than anything I’d ever done for school, and I wasn’t going to let him down. SuperUnderdog was on the job! And maybe with OverAchiever’s help, I really could stick it out in Honors.

  “So tell me what I have to do to get an A,” I said.

  “You can start by taking my copy of Great Expectations home and reading the other ending.”