Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [2]
Last year after Dad left was pretty bad. I couldn’t be around anybody. Sometimes I took off to the mall to see how many movies I could sneak into at the multiplex, or to watch music videos on the wall of big-screen TVs at Laserama Electronics, or to panhandle beside the bank machine to see if I could make a living if I ever had to run away from home. But mostly I just hung out in the far cubicle of the girls’ washroom on the second floor east wing and cried.
Needless to say, whenever I did show up for class there was a note telling me to report to the vice-principal. In fact, me getting hauled down to the office turned into what my drama teacher would call a “Ritual.”
At first Mr. Manley tried to smarten me up by giving me after-school detentions. No way for that. So guess what he’d do when I’d skip detentions? Give me two-day suspensions. Is that funny or what? I skip school and my punishment is that I get to skip more school. Mr. Manley is a genius in the Stupid Department.
Which brings me back to getting caught in the parking lot. It turns out Brainiac hadn’t seen my cigarette after all. Instead, he wanted to talk to me about my “in-appropriate dress.”
“It’s not inappropriate,” I say when we’re in his office. “It’s retro.” What it really is is a black vinyl micro-mini with fishnets, platforms and a crop top. Since last May I’m happy to say I haven’t needed padding.
“You know what I’m getting at,” Mr. Manley snaps back, all eyebrows.
“I’m afraid I don’t.” I smile sweetly. “Perhaps you’d like to explain it to me.” Teachers hate that smile, because they know exactly what I’m thinking but they can’t do anything.
Mr. Manley gives me his famous silent routine. It’s deadly. He stares down at a person without any expression, like they’re a bug or something, and he just keeps staring. Finally the person goes crazy and starts to twitch. That’s when he has them.
Well, he doesn’t have me. Last year, maybe, when I was a niner who thought getting sent to the office meant something. But I’ve been called down so much by now I’m inoculated. Instead of getting scared, I look him straight in the eye. “Mr. Manley, are you saying I look like a slut?”
“That’s not what I said,” he chokes.
“But it’s what you meant, isn’t it? Unfortunately, I’m only a junior. I don’t know anything about sluts. Perhaps you could tell me about them. For instance, how exactly do sluts dress?” (And here I give him an even sweeter smile.) “In your experience.”
We stare at each other hard, him really trying to break me down, me keeping cool by counting his nose hairs. Mr. Manley has hair growing out of his nose and his ears and all over the back of his hands and fingers. I picture him naked. I nearly barf.
Suddenly, for a split second, he looks away. I win. “You will go home, change and report back to this office when you’re decent,” he mutters. “That will be all.”
Go home? I don’t think so. I have some baggy clothes in my locker I can put on. They’re what I leave the apartment in; otherwise, Mom wouldn’t let me out the door. I wear them over top, take them off as soon as I get in the elevator and stuff them in a plastic bag. It sounds dumb, but it saves a fight, and we fight enough as it is.
I tilt my head, smile at Mr. Manley, get up and roll my eyes. “Have a nice day.”
I step out into the main office. There’s this senior lounging on the counter waiting for a secretary. I walk towards the hall staring straight ahead, but I can tell his eyes are following me. Not just following me—they’re burning into the back of my head.
At the doorway, I stop and turn. “What’s your damage?”
I expect him to go all red. But he grins, winks and keeps staring. I give him the finger, toss my hair and make an exit.
What a jerk!
Three
Katie was shocked when I told her what I said to Mr. Manley.
Katie is always shocked. That’s one of the things I like best about her. Whenever I’m bored, I go up to her and say, “Hey, Katie, guess what I just did?” and before I can