The school seemed okay once everything got settled. Only thing was, as soon as we learned something, the teachers decided to have a little review test - they called it - so we were always doing tests. I did pretty good on most of the tests, but not in French. I hate French. And I think Mr. Levesque knew it because honestly, why did he always pick on me? He knew I didn’t know the answers, so why didn’t he ask one of his little pets, who did?
About those tests. It was really awful the way some of the kids cheated. They wrote things on little bits of paper, or real small on their erasers or rulers or even the underside of their wrists. I wouldn’t and neither did most of the other kids. Sally was just about the worst. She had the nerve to lean over to the kid next to her to see the answers she didn’t know, and that was almost all of them. She never got caught. She was never very careful about it so I couldn’t understand why she never got caught. I just knew if I tried something like that I’d be sent right to the office. I asked her why she cheated and she got real huffy, like I was accusing her unjustly or something.
“You’ve got your nerve”, she said. “Calling me a cheat. I don’t have to cheat. I know all the answers.”
“Sally, who’re you kidding? Everyone knows you look over at Paul’s or Marilyn’s worksheets to cheat. I’m not the only one who sees you doing it”, I told her.
She laughed at me. Laura was with me, but she never liked to say anything at times like that. She just stood there, listening, but apart from everything. She didn’t like it when people fought. Sally had the most awful laugh. It made you feel like shrivelling up inside.
“Well, Jennifer”, she said frostily “you just continue being the good little girl you are. Your mummy will be happy with you.”
“What’s my mother got to do with that? It’s my own self-respect that’s involved. If you know all the answers like you say, why do you bother to get them from other peoples’ answer sheets?”
“That’s my business, child. Grow up, why don’t you?”
She liked to call me child. She thought she was so grown up. Her mother let her wear makeup and she always had the latest fashions. Even those strappy chunky shoes with heels Mom wouldn’t let me wear. Not that I’d have wanted to, of course.
Laura came home with me after school, like she often did and we talked about Sally. We couldn’t figure her out. Sometimes she was nice and easy to get along with and other times she was a real creep.
“Did you hear what she called her mother this morning?” I asked Laura.
“You mean when she was talking about their weekend camping trip?”
“Yes, that’s it. Would you call your mother a stupid witch? I mean, would you even think like that?”
“Of course not. Sally is different though. I’ve been to her house and they all talk funny like that to each other. They yell at each other and I sometimes hear the mother swear at the little brother.”
“Hey, you never told me you went over to her house”, I said. Guess I felt kind of jealous. “Do you go often?”
“No”, she said casually, like it didn’t matter. “I’ve been over a few times on the weekend. Don’t forget, she just lives one street over from me. Anyway, you’re too hard on her. She can’t help the way she behaves. She’s always sorry later.”
I couldn’t help feeling betrayed, as though Laura had done something behind my back, never telling me before that she’d been to Sally’s house. I mean, sometimes we go over in a bunch to one house or another, all of us, but it was different, just her going over. Like special. I felt cheated. We dropped the subject because neither of us wanted to talk about Sally any more, and I showed Laura some new beading patterns I’d been working on.
Daddy made me a bead loom from construction plans we got at the library. Just a small one, and now I can make patterned chokers and bracelets. I showed Laura how to make a bead ring with a new cross-over stitch I taught myself, using two needles, and we stayed upstairs until five, making rings.
Mom offered Laura a fresh-baked roll out of the oven to eat on her way home. That’s kind of funny. Laura eats more than anyone I know, more even than Larry, but she’s so skinny. Not like me.
At the dinner table I told Mom and Dad about what happened with Sally at school this afternoon. There was a new girl in our class and she kind of hung around us. She was kind of nice, a little shy. I don’t know why, but Sally doesn’t like her and she started calling her Fats. We told her to cut it out, but she wouldn’t, she called the girl (Donna Collins was her name) Blubber, and things like that and the girl started to cry.
After that we kind of walked away from Sally whenever we could. Me and Laura that is, the others didn’t seem to care, and we kept Donna with us. Even though we didn’t like her either all that much, I told her I’m fat too (actually plump) and I don’t care if someone stupid feels like calling me names. I told her I’m a better person than anyone who has to resort to name-calling.
“Is that the girl you told us about who comes from Calgary?” Daddy asked.
“Yes, that’s her. You met her before, she’s blonde and thin and she talks a lot.”
“What’s her father do?”
“I don’t know, but I think he works for some government department or something. Sally said they’ve lived all over the place, England, France and some other places, I don’t remember. She says her father's a diplomat, whatever that means. I've met him once, he didn't seem very diplomatic, I thought.”
“Sounds like a cushy job. Spreading Canadian goodwill no doubt. Why do you bother with the girl if she’s so objectionable?”
“I don’t, not really. It’s the other girls, my other friends who bother with her. Besides, I really do feel badly for her sometimes. She’s not always rotten.”
And Daddy told us he had to go to New York for a week. So we were all glum about that. And it’s not just because us kids have to help Mom with the dishes when Daddy’s away, because he always wipes when he’s home. The whole house seems to wind down when Daddy goes away on a business trip. Mom goes around with a long face and the rest of us don’t feel so great about it either.
“I’ll only be gone for a week, Dear”, he said to Mom.
“That’s just one week too long. Do you have to go?”
“Would I go otherwise? You’ll have to find something to keep busy with so you won’t miss me, that’s all.”
“Busy? Are you serious? You don’t think I’m busy?”
“That’s not what I meant. I know you’re busy cooking and cleaning - I mean something to keep your mind busy.”
Mom hates it when someone hints that being a housewife is no kind of occupation, but she won’t go out to work and leave us poor little kids on our own. She thinks kids should come home from school to freshly-poured chocolate milk (by a mother, kids are too delicate-wristed to pour their own) and chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven.
And that reminded me that Mrs. Barker, the school librarian, had told our class during a lecture on library sciences that she’s looking for parent volunteers to work in the resource centre, so I said so.
“Is that right? Well, I’ll call tomorrow morning and see about that”, Mom said. And Dad looked relieved.
Then Larry had to tell us about some of his teachers - ‘inept’, he called them. Dad and Mom said he should have more respect for his teachers.
“If they want my respect, they’ll have to treat me with the same”, he said. “I don’t like to be talked down to, treated like a little kiddie. It really burns me up.”
“Are they all like that?” Dad asked sympathetically.
“Well, no. I’ve got some good teachers who treat us like human beings, but I’m sick of the ones who won’t listen to you.”
“As an example?” Dad asked.
“Well”, Larry said slowly … “like I didn’t get my math homework done for this morning and I got my hide roasted. Mr. Pemberton - that’s my math teacher - could’ve listened to my reason, but he wouldn’t. Now I have to do a double assignment tonight.”
“Why didn’t you get the math done last night?”
“I had too much other homework.”
“But Dear”, Mom said “I heard you playing the Euphonium and your recorders last night for the longest time. Why didn’t you spend more time with your homework?”
“Mother”, Larry said, like he was getting mad, “the music is my homework too. I have music assignments, remember? Besides, I consider the music to be more important than the math.”
And of course both Mom and Dad jumped on him for that. I don’t blame Larry, although he’s a bit of a nut about music. Parents just don’t understand, sometimes. I better make sure I get all my homework done or I’ll have them down my neck. Nothing to worry about when it comes to Brian. He’s a little goody-goody, always gets his done.
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