A Month of Mondays Read online

  “And?”

  “And write me an essay on the two endings.”

  “And?”

  “And you’ll have to keep up in class. No shirking when I ask you a question.”

  That wasn’t all, and we both knew it. “And?” I asked, my heart racing.

  “You and Amanda will have to do something worthy of an A for your project. An outside presentation. Something above average. Something like, oh, I don’t know…giving your presentation to the school board?”

  I knew it! Amanda had told him. She’d enlisted his help to try and get me to do something I couldn’t do. I looked him in the eye, and he beamed. Why was he so nice to me? Why did he care how I did in English? Who was I? Nobody. Why should he lose sleep over me?

  “I’ll have to think about it,” I said.

  “Excellent choice,” he told me.

  With my backpack slung over one shoulder I stood up and headed for the hallway. At the door I turned to Baker. “You got the book with you?”

  He pulled Great Expectations out of his back pocket and lobbed it across the room. I made a one-handed catch. “No less than three pages,” he said. “Why one ending works better than the other.”

  “We’ll see,” I said, and made my escape.

  Chapter 14

  The bell rang, and two girls from grade six scurried out of the washroom. I tousled my hair with my hands, fixed my lip gloss, and studied my fingernails. I had all kinds of time. The way I figured it, I’d need to wait at least fifteen minutes or it would just look like I was late. It had to be obvious I was skipping. It was all in the name of Honors English. Not that Farbinger would see it that way, but hopefully he wasn’t the one who would catch me.

  Amanda was such a chicken. She claimed she wanted to make the extra effort, but where was she? Sitting in her algebra class while I took all the risks. Last night, I’d spent half an hour on the phone trying to convince her the only way to really test the custodians was to skip class and see if they noticed students in the halls who shouldn’t be there. But she wouldn’t do it. She didn’t want to break any rules. Now that we’d decided to save Yoda’s and the other jobs, getting in trouble was a chance SuperUnderdog was just going to have to take. With or without her chicken sidekick, OverAchiever! After about ten minutes I began to wish I’d chosen a better hiding place. For one thing, it was freezing in the washroom. For another, it didn’t smell too good.

  I tried reading The Night Gardener while I waited. Our latest English assignment was a free choice from the grade 7 summer reading list that we hadn’t already read, and this book was seriously freaky in a good way, but it was hard to turn the pages with icicles for fingers. After a million years or so I decided I’d stuck it out long enough. Poking my head into the hallway, I scoped the scene before I committed myself. Coast was clear. I ran down the hall to two groups of lockers perfect for hiding between. More waiting. Ten minutes later, a familiar whistle warned me my plan was about to take off.

  I peered around the lockers and there was Yoda, early to work as usual, carrying a bucket. When he was practically in front of me I dropped my book. He stopped whistling and looked around, confused. Then he saw me.

  “Hi, Sooooz Tamaki.” He picked up the novel and handed it back with hands pink and puffy from years of cleaning chemicals.

  “Hey, Yoda.”

  “What you doing out of class?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You skipping?”

  I smirked.

  “No skipping, Sooooz Tamaki. You go to class now so you be smart like sister, Tracie Tamaki.”

  Great. Bring Tracie into it. “All right, Yoda. I’m going.”

  I pretended like I was heading to class, but when I got to the side door I ducked outside. We’d been blessed with one of those rare dry days in November, and I’d seen Mr. Franklin and Morty outside earlier cleaning gutters and thought they might still be out there. Walking around the school grounds gave me a whole bunch of new problems, though. All the classrooms on the south side looked out on the schoolyard, so if I crossed the grass everyone inside would see me.

  I glued myself to the wall while I strategized. Before I could make a decision, Mr. Franklin and Morty came out the same door I’d just slipped through. I couldn’t have looked more guilty if I’d tried.

  “What’re you doing out here?” Mr. Franklin asked.

  “Uhh…”

  “Smoking?” He sniffed the air, scanning the ground for butts.

  “No. I wasn’t smoking. How dumb do you think I am?”

  “Skipping, then? What’s your name?” Franklin said. I made a mental note that he didn’t know my name.

  “Suze, right?” Morty asked. “Oh, she’s all right. She’s that floor hockey star’s sister. You know, Tracie Tamaki. The one who always made sure the gear got put away after practice.”

  Jeez. I didn’t know Tracie was so popular with the janitors. Especially since she hadn’t gone to my school in years. I should’ve been dropping her name all along.

  “You’re her sister?” Franklin asked.

  “That’s what my dad says.”

  “Huh. Well, get to class.”

  “I’m going. I’m going.”

  As I walked away I overheard Franklin say to Morty that I sure was surly. Cool. I’d always sort of liked that word to describe me. Surly Suze. It had a nice ring to it.

  ^^^

  I couldn’t actually skip too much or I really would get in trouble, so over the next few days I pretended to be queasy in six different classes and took extra-long washroom breaks, instead. As soon as whatever teacher I could con into giving me a pass would let me out, I’d wander around, pretending to be skipping to see if anyone would notice.

  Three times I got caught by Yoda, twice by Morty, and once by Franklin. He was going to drag me down to Farbinger’s office, but lucky for me we were outside again and a big gust of wind caught his toupee and tugged at it. He could feel it flapping around and saw me trying to keep a straight face.

  “Get to class!” he screamed at me, clutching his head, and I ran off practically doubled over with laughter.

  By Thursday night I was feeling convinced that A) the custodians notice when kids skip, and B) I was pressing my luck if I tried it again. That’s when I got the brilliant idea of going to the high school. I waited until Dad was watching his fishing show on cable. When he was good and into it I approached him.

  “Hey, Dad? I need a note to go on a field trip.”

  “You write it, I’ll sign it.” As predicted.

  “Oh, sure. Okay.” I pulled a blank piece of paper and a pen out from behind my back and handed it to him. “Sign this now and I’ll write it before I go to bed.”

  He didn’t even look up. He signed the blank piece of paper like he’d done so many times before. I used to feel guilty about tricking him like this but not anymore. I figured if he was slacker enough to sign a blank piece of paper, well, that was his problem. He should pay more attention to his kids.

  At my desk, in my best handwriting, I wrote myself a note. Please excuse Susan from first through fourth period. She had a dentist appointment. I added Dad’s work number so they could call him, because I knew they wouldn’t.

  ^^^

  On Friday morning I left before Tracie got up and went to the doughnut shop near the high school for breakfast. My plan was to roam the halls, both between classes and during, to see if any of the custodians noticed. If I saw Tracie or any of her friends, I’d tell them I’d prearranged it for my English project. They’d probably believe me. For a second I worried I was becoming a liar, but then I remembered I had to get an A or go back to Lame-o English. Plus, I needed to save Yoda’s job.

  The plan had seemed pretty easy in my bedroom the night before, but as I walked into the high school I was obviously smaller than everyone else and also alone, which
really made a kid stand out. And not in a good way. Unfamiliar faces crowded around me, laughing, yelling, pushing. Amanda should’ve been here with me. It wouldn’t have looked so suspicious. Especially since she’s so tall.

  I hadn’t actually mentioned it to her in case she turned me in, but I knew she wouldn’t have come anyway. After a while it seemed pretty clear no custodian was going to notice anyone in that crowd, so I found a washroom and hid out until homeroom began.

  First bell rang and an eerie silence filled the school. I thought about aborting my plan and heading back to Maywood. But no! I had done this for a reason. SuperUnderdog was up to the challenge. I was not going to be conquered. I stood up straight, pulled my shoulders back and marched out of the washroom and oof!

  I ran smack into Farbinger!

  “What are you doing here?” we both demanded.

  “You, young lady, are in a whole lot of trouble.”

  Farbinger made me sit in the high-school office under the evil eye of the receptionist while he had a meeting. One glance from her, and I didn’t even bother pulling my book out of my bag to read. I was afraid the troll would eat it.

  After about an hour, Farbinger came back and marched me to his car.

  Dead silence on the drive back to the junior high.

  Chapter 15

  Farbinger called my dad at work. Since it wasn’t technically an emergency, I had to sit there in the office until Dad could take his break and come to get me. About four o’clock, he dropped me off in front of our building.

  “Sorry,” I said again.

  His face was stony. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  When I walked into the apartment, the landline was ringing. “So how much trouble are you in?” Amanda asked when I answered it.

  I shifted the phone to my other ear because my earrings were poking me. “How do you know I’m in trouble?”

  “You weren’t in class. And Leigh’s sister saw you in the office at the high school and sent her a text. It only took me about two seconds to figure out what you were doing. So? Did you get expelled this time?”

  “Suspended,” I said.

  “For how long?”

  “Two days. Monday and Tuesday.”

  “Did you tell Mr. Farbinger it was research?”

  “He didn’t ask.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He didn’t ask,” I said again. “Farbinger assumed I was up to no good, so I let him assume.”

  “Suze, why would you do that?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  Why had I sat there silently while he told me what a rotten kid I was? Because I didn’t care what he thought. If Amanda had been caught doing everything I’d done this week, someone would’ve expected an innocent explanation from her, but not from me. I was always guilty without a trial.

  “So what are you going to do?” Amanda asked.

  “About what?”

  I was totally sure I was home alone, so when a hand reached out from behind me and spun me around, I screamed bloody murder. “AHHHHHHH! HELP!”

  Tracie grabbed the phone and pushed the End Call button, disconnecting Amanda. By then, my heart had totally stopped. After a second it made a feeble attempt to start pumping again.

  “Oh, my God! Where did you come from? I didn’t think anyone was home.”

  Her eyes narrowed more than I thought possible. “I want to talk to you.”

  If looks could kill, I’d be one of those cadavers that they experiment on at the university (because my dad wouldn’t be able to afford to bury me on his hourly wage). “How come you’re not at hockey practice?” My rapid heartbeat made my voice shaky.

  “It was cancelled today,” she said, glaring at me. “And because it was, you’re dead.”

  By now I was starting to feel a little bit more like myself, as in, I could breathe normally, and my heart had slowed down to its regular speed. “Why? What’s your problem?” I tossed my hair like I didn’t care and tried to get around her, but she blocked my way. That’s when I noticed the giant red basket filled with food and wrapped in cellophane sitting on the couch.

  “What’s that?” I asked, curious.

  “Oh, let’s see…” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm all over the floor. She pulled a card off of it, and read aloud, “Susan, just a little something to say I’m sorry I had to work last Friday and messed up our dinner plans, but happy you agreed to give me another chance. I’ll pick you up at seven on Saturday night. Invite Tracie, too. Love, Caroline.”

  Oh, crud, crud, crud, crud, crud.

  “You talked to her again?” Tracie demanded in this really evil, low voice she reserves for when she’s about to beat me up.

  “You read my card?” I said, trying to divert her from throwing a punch. “That’s private!”

  “I thought you cancelled dinner last week. I thought you were the one who blew Caroline off. Doesn’t look that way to me.”

  There was no denying it. I put my hands on my hips. “Okay, fine. She had to work late, but I’m still the one who called it off when—”

  “Obviously you only did it because I was sitting right there!”

  Dang. She had me. The best thing to do was to get out while I could. I grabbed my gift basket, which was surprisingly heavy, off the couch and lugged it off to our room. The phone rang. Amanda. Too bad. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. I heard the machine pick up. One of the many problems with sharing a room with Tracie is I can never get away from her. She followed right on my heels.

  “You said the pact was a good idea,” she said. “You signed it. Remember?”

  “No, I don’t remember. I was a little kid.”

  “You do, too. I know it.”

  I pulled my books out of my backpack, one at a time, concentrating on stacking them perfectly on my desk, so I wouldn’t have to look at her.

  “I can’t believe last weekend you stood there and lied to me and Dad and Uncle Bill like that. You told us to our faces you were done with her.”

  I thumbed through my notebook, pulling out old notes and putting them in my recycling bin.

  Tracie made a fist and knocked on my head. “Don’t you get it? I’m trying to help you. Caroline’s only going to mess you up, and then you’ll be like me and you won’t trust anyone to stick around.”

  Did Tracie really not trust people? That was just stupid.

  “Hello? Is anyone home? Suze? Are you listening to me?” she yelled directly into my ear.

  It hurt, but I didn’t even flinch. Instead, I tested my pens on a scratch pad, throwing away the dry ones. Tracie grabbed the little jar out of my hand and flung it across the room. I pushed past her and picked the container up off the floor. Meticulously I collected all the pens I could find.

  “Suze, she left us.”

  I sat down on the bed and unzipped my boots.

  “She didn’t ask for custody. Or even weekend visits!”

  Taking off my black jeans, I folded them neatly. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, but I didn’t care. I climbed into bed and pulled the comforter over my head. Tracie yanked on the covers. I balled myself up and held on with all my might.

  “Come out of there, you little brat. I’m talking to you.”

  She tugged. I held on. “Leave me alone,” I said. “Just go away.”

  She tried grabbing down by my feet. I kicked at her as hard as I could through the covers. “Ouch!” she screamed. “I think you broke my finger.”

  “Good. Get away from me or I’ll break them all!”

  Tracie was practically snorting with anger now. She grabbed hold of me around the middle and tried to pull me off the bed. Blankets and all. The whole time she yelled the word traitor over and over and over.

  “If you hate me so much, then go away!” I screamed b
ack at her.

  I tried to grab the sides of my mattress, while holding on to the covers, but I could feel myself sliding. With a loud thump I hit the floor like a landed fish. As I fell there was this huge ripping sound. The fabric gave way. My poor comforter—the only thing I owned that wasn’t black. I peeked out from underneath it. Tracie stood over me, her hair loose from its ponytail, her face flushed, a large strip of pale green fabric in her hand. A piece of my comforter.

  When I saw her standing there like that I snapped. I reached under my bed, located a hardback book and hurled it straight at her head. She saw it coming and ducked out of the way. I threw the covers off and put my face right in hers. For a second I wasn’t sure if I was going to scream, cry, or kill her. Or all of the above. I must’ve looked mad because she took a step back, something Tracie never does. She’s the toughest person on her hockey team and girls all across the league are scared of her. When she stepped back like that I knew she was mine.

  “I’m calling a PST,” I shouted at her. “Get out. I want PST.”

  She stared at me long and hard, grabbed her coat and backed out of the room. I heard the apartment door slam behind her. I sunk down onto the bed deflated, shaky.

  It worked. I couldn’t believe it. She actually left.

  Shivering, I pulled my torn comforter around me and squeezed my eyes shut. I think I was in shock or something, because a minute ago I was sweating but now I was so, so, so cold. Maybe someone needed to slap me like on TV. What was weird about the whole thing was that from somewhere deep in my childhood, my reflexes had yelled out about the PST. I didn’t even know I remembered that.

  Private Susan Time.

  Dad had come up with the idea when we were in grade school. The rule was if the fighting, or the sadness, or the frustration or whatever got so bad we desperately needed to be alone, we could call private time. If we did, then everyone else had to leave the room for one hour. Dad had never called one. But he had his own bedroom, so he could hole up there whenever he wanted. I think I’d only ever called PST the time my kitten died.

  And the time Caroline showed up at Christmas.