Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [23]
Naturally, the handouts aren’t missing at all. The truth is, aside from a couple of goofs, the supply teachers gave them to us. They just didn’t get done is all. But we never did them when she was here, so why would we start when she was away? Ms. Graham is too good-hearted. She gives our class credit for giving a shit. Has she really forgotten what we’re like?
While she was away, the guys at the back played cards as always, and the rest of us either caught up on our other homework or stared out the window or wrote in our journals. I also read the book, but only because I wanted to. (It would be nice to have a dad like Atticus instead of the loser I got stuck with. I mean, I can’t even imagine Atticus trading his daughter for a skank like Brenda.)
Anyway, things with Ms. Graham are getting really interesting when Cindy Williams puts up her hand. “Are these the handouts, Ms. Graham?” she asks, all dimples and curls. She holds up a binder full of neatly completed question and answer sheets. (Cindy gets straight As, and she writes with big fat letters and signs her name with a little heart over the i. She makes me gag.)
“So you did get the handouts!” Ms. Graham exclaims, and she’s back on her spaceship to Planet Happy. “Good, good.” She hops to her desk. “That means you’re all prepared for a little content quiz.”
Before you can say “Boo Radley,” Ms. Graham’s handed out this test full of multiple choices and fill-in-the-blanks. It takes about two minutes, and then she collects them and gives us our journals. We’re supposed to write while she marks.
We don’t write very long before Ms. Graham calls us to attention. It seems only four or five people have bothered to read the book. Most of the content quizzes are either blank or have supposedly funny comments written in where the answers should go. Such as: “Jem reads porno to dead gophers.”
That one’s courtesy of Nicky Wicks. Ms. Graham reads it out loud to make him look stupid. But instead, the card players hoot “Aw right!” and Nicky bows as if he’s a hero or something.
Ms. Graham’s losing it. “There are only two of you mature enough to call yourselves grade ten students,” she yells. “Cindy Williams and Leslie Phillips. Because they did their work, they each received a perfect score. I trust the rest of you will learn from their example.”
Waydego, Ms. Graham. I mean, can I die now?
Then the biggest unfairness of all. She announces she’s going to give everyone a second chance, and she tosses the tests in the recycling bin. Unbelievable. She goes and humiliates me, and the test isn’t even going to count!
To make sure everyone is prepared for the makeup test, she says we’re going to read the book aloud, up and down the aisles, half a page each from start to finish. The only good thing is, because Cindy and I read it, we get to write in our journals instead. So for the next ten years while everyone’s mumbling their way through To Kill a Mockingbird, I get to text Jason, think about after-school “studying” and count the days to Friday, which is what I’m doing now.
Fourteen
Friday arrived like magic. Jason buzzed up at seven. I let him in and hey, was he ever a knockout: tanned, gelled and manicured, in a black embroidered shirt, brushed cotton pants and shoes to die for.
“Parents love it when the guy’s well dressed and punctual,” he’d told me. Well, not Mom. When things are perfect, she gets suspicious.
I make the introductions.
“Pleased to meet you, Jason,” Mom nods. She acts polite, the sort of polite that’s almost rude.
Jason ignores the attitude. “Pleasure’s mine, Mrs. Phillips,” he says, shaking her hand. He sounds way mature, like he sells imported cars or something.
“Leslie tells me you’re going to the Pigjam concert. What