Besides, he deserves to wait around wondering where I am. What do you say?”
We drove to Millertown. In the grocery store parking lot we sat on her car hood, eating stolen ice cream and making up stories about everyone walking by.
145
“When we get old, we’ll go grocery shopping together every week,” Julia said after a little old lady (I’d said she was a former snake handler/brothel owner) walked by.
“We’ll bitch about our fake hips and the weather and steal ice cream every time. Promise?”
“Promise,” I said, and she smiled.
I miss her so much.
Giggles appeared after first period had started. As she swept into the room she claimed to have been “occupied elsewhere” and then said, “You know, we feel it’s important to maintain contact with our students because it fos-ters the best atmosphere for education.” Ha! I suppose lurking in the halls trying to find someone to chew out is about creating atmosphere.
Her office was the same as always, plastered with her degree from Crap U and all her certifi cates. (Apparently they give them for something called “Word Processing II.” Pathetic.)
She then “apologized” for “having to bring yesterday’s troubling matter to light,” and said, “I think we should take another look at Amy’s situation. As you know, her record here is spotty at best, and it may be that an alternative school, like Pinewood’s vo-tech program, might be—”
146
“How are her grades?” Dad asked.
“Well, her grades aren’t really the issue. What happened yesterday is why we’re here, and I’d like—”
“You mentioned needing to take another look at Amy’s situation,” Dad said, his voice icy, and now I knew why whenever someone from his work called, they always sounded nervous. “Since you brought it up and mentioned an alternative school, this must mean Amy’s grades are an issue. Grace and I haven’t heard anything of the sort from any of her teachers, or, for that matter, you, so if you know of any academic problems, I certainly hope you’ll share them with us now.”
Giggles looked like someone had shoved a whole sack of lemons in her mouth. “I’m not aware of any academic problems at the moment.”
“I see. So then we just need to deal with Amy’s absence yesterday. A single, isolated incident. Correct?”
“Skipping school is a very serious issue.”
“I completely agree with you,” Mom said, putting one hand on Dad’s arm. “In fact, while we were waiting to see you, I chatted briefly with a very nice woman. A Mrs.
Howard? Halder? I’m afraid I’m terrible with names. I always have my students sit in alphabetical order because of it. Amy, do you know who I’m talking about? She said she works with the principal.”
147
“Mrs. Harris?” There are many things you could call Mrs. Harris, but nice isn’t one of them. Her favorite word is “No,” and even though Mr. Waters is technically the school principal, everyone knows Mrs. Harris runs everything and Mr. Waters spends his time counting down the days until he can retire.
“Right,” Mom said. “Anyway, Mrs. Griggles, Mrs.
Harris told me that twenty-five students skipped school yesterday. She also told me that we were the only parents called in for a meeting because of it.”
“Well, you see—”
“And the really funny thing,” Mom continued, “is that she also told me that Amy missed twelve days of school last year. Do you know how many phone calls Colin and I received about that from you?”
Giggles looked positively full of lemons now. “Well, last year we weren’t as fully staffed as we’d hoped and—”
“Of course. But I think that, in the future, it might be better if you focused less on Amy’s past and more on her current situation. And now—well, surely you need to contact those twenty-four other families, and we don’t want to take up any more of your time. Thank you so very much for seeing us.” And then she and Dad stood up.
148
Giggles didn’t stand up. She just sat there, totally silent for the first time ever. I would have laughed, but I couldn’t actually speak myself.
My parents had told Giggles off. I’d never seen anything like it. Even Julia had only been able to get away with calling her Mrs. Giggles and then saying, “Oops, sorry, Mrs. Griggles.”
They’d stood up for me. After what I’d told them, after they knew what I’d done to Julia, they’d stood up for me. I couldn’t believe it.
They acted like nothing had happened, though. Even when we were out of the guidance office Mom just patted my arm quickly and said, “See you this afternoon.” Dad did the same thing, only he said, “See you this evening.”
Then they left.
That was it. It felt like there should have been something else. I wanted there to be something else. I wanted to run after them and hug them. I wanted to say thank you.
I wanted to run after them and say that after I missed ten days of school last year I brought a letter home for them. They had to sign it, say they knew how often I’d been gone. I gave it to them after dinner, after they’d talked about their days to each other and I’d picked the meat out of my lasagna.
149
They were doing the dishes, which really meant they made out while they loaded the dishwasher. (There are some things no one needs to see. Parents making out is so one of them).
After I cleared my throat a lot, Mom pulled herself away from Dad long enough to sign it. She didn’t read the letter. She just signed it and handed it to Dad, who gave it back to me. He didn’t read it either.
I didn’t run after them. I didn’t say anything to them.
I just watched them go. It was quiet in the hallway, and I thought I could hear the door click closed as they left.
I didn’t really want to go to class after all that, but it wasn’t like I had a choice, especially since Giggles came out into the hall and glared at me until I walked away. I walked through the cafeteria and then cut through the student resource center to reach the hall that led to my first class. Whoever “designed” Lawrenceville High wasn’t much of an architect. Putting the cafeteria, resource center, and auditorium in the middle, and then branching hallways off it—it’s like going to school inside a wagon wheel.
The student resource center was deserted just like always, stacks of pamphlets piled up waiting to be read (it’ll never happen), and Mrs. Mullins off on one of her 150
six zillion smoking breaks. As I pushed open the door that led into the hallway, I saw someone leaning against the far wall, almost hidden by one of the six million trophy cases scattered around the school.
It was Patrick. He was leaning against the wall, only not so much leaning as looking like he wanted to press through and get outside, get away. For some reason, I thought about asking him if he was okay, and even took an almost-step toward him, but before I could he looked at me and the expression in his eyes sent me walking away as fast as I could.
He looked relatively calm, his mouth compressed into a thin line, but his eyes—I can still see the expression in them now. He looked like I feel. He looked sad, like he’d lost something he could never get back.
He looked . . . he looked angry too.
In class, I got a tardy slip despite explaining that I’d been stuck in Giggles’s office. I also got my last test back.
I got an A. Written right below it was, “Only one in the class! Great work!” The last time a teacher wrote anything about me that ended with a ! and was positive, I was in middle school.
After all that, I figured my day couldn’t get any worse.
Or stranger.
151
I was totally wrong.