The Report Card (11 page)

Todd pretended to be sick about once a month, usually about three days after he got a new computer game. Todd knew how to make himself throw up. He could make his face break out in red blotches. He could seem to come down with a sudden fever, and he could manufacture toilet noises that made Mom or Dad pound on the bathroom door and shout, “Todd? Todd! Are you all right in there?!” Todd was the master.

I only faked being sick when I absolutely had to, and that's how I felt on Monday
morning. I couldn't deal with Stephen or Mrs. Hackney or my mom or dad or anybody. I needed to be alone.

So first I waited until Dad left for work because he's always more suspicious than Mom. Then I got myself nice and hot by stepping up and down on my desk chair about thirty times. Then I climbed into bed, pulled up the covers, and called, “Mom? Could you come in here? My stomach doesn't feel so good.”

One hand on my forehead was all it took. “You feel a little feverish, too. Poor dear . . . probably one of those bugs that's going around. This is such a miserable time of year!”

A few minutes later Mom brought me a tray with a glass of Sprite and some dry toast. As she fluffed my pillows and tucked in my quilt, she said, “I've got three appointments this morning, Nora, but I'll check in by phone, okay? I called Mrs. Faris next door, and she's at home all day today. She'll come over to check on you in an hour or so—she's got a key. And I'll come home at lunchtime. If you need anything at all, you call me or your dad, all right? And you stay right here and rest.”

I only nodded. I was too weak to speak.

Five minutes later a beautiful silence settled over the house. And finally I felt like I could actually think.

Except I didn't. I went downstairs to the family room and did the opposite of thinking: I turned on the TV. I flipped to The Learning Channel and toured castles in Ireland for a while, then explored the Great Barrier Reef, and then went digging for dinosaur bones in Wyoming. I was on vacation.

At about nine-thirty Mrs. Faris opened the front door and called, “Yoo-hoo, Nora, it's me, Mrs. Faris.” She came into the family room, fussed around for a few minutes, and then left.

I was just beginning a submarine journey to the wreck of the
Titanic
when the phone rang. I hit the mute button on the remote, and using my sickest voice, I said, “Hello?”

It wasn't Mom. A lady said, “Hello . . . may I speak with Mr. or Mrs. Rowley?”

I've always been told never to let a caller know that I was home alone. So I said, “My dad's out in the backyard with Rolf—that's our German shepherd. May I have your name and number so
my dad can call you back in a few minutes?”

There was a pause and the lady said, “Nora? Is that you?”

And then I knew that voice—it was Mrs. Hackney. I gulped and said, “Yes.” And to stall for time I asked, “Who is this?”

“It's Mrs. Hackney, Nora. I need to speak with your mother.”

The tone of her voice told me that this was not a social call—probably about the meeting for getting me into the gifted program.

I said, “Well, I stayed home sick today—and my dad's not really here right now. And we don't really have a dog, either. And my mom had to go out for a little bit. But she has a phone with her.” Then I gave Mrs. Hackney the number.

She said, “Thank you,” and she hung up before I could even say “You're welcome” or “Good-bye,” or anything. Seemed pretty rude, but I didn't think about it because I went right back to my exciting undersea exploration.

Just as the first submarine was getting its remote camera into the dining room of the
Titanic,
my mom came bursting through the front door. She was halfway up the stairs to my
bedroom before she heard the TV, and then in two seconds flat she was standing in front of me.

With her eyes flashing and her voice down low in the danger zone, Mom said, “Shut off the TV. Go upstairs and get on your school clothes. Now.”

“But I'm sick.”

Mom said, “I doubt that, but frankly, right now it doesn't matter. Get dressed. We've got to be at school in ten minutes. So move it.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “Hush. Hurry.”

Three minutes later we were backing out of the driveway. I hadn't even brushed my teeth. I said, “How come we have to have a meeting about the gifted program today? What's the big rush?”

My mom kept her eyes on the road, both hands tight on the steering wheel. She shook her head. “That's not what this meeting is about. Not by a long shot.
This
meeting is about
zeroes,
Nora. Like the ones you got on those tests on Friday.”

My heart started pounding. “I . . . I was going to tell you about that, Mom. That was just a crazy idea I had. But it's all over now. I'm not going to do that anymore. Honest.”

My mom darted a sideways look at me, then back at the road. “Well, that's fine for you. But what about all the other kids?”

“The other kids? What are you talking about?”

Glancing at me again, Mom said, “Don't play dumb with me, Nora.
That's
never going to work again. I'm talking about the social studies quiz that Mrs. Noyes gave this morning. Mrs. Hackney just called me and said that all but two students on the whole Blue Team got zeroes on the quiz—that's
forty-two zeroes.
And because of what happened on Friday, Mrs. Hackney would like to have a little talk with you. And with me . . . and your father.”

Mom was done sharing. She pressed her lips together into a thin, hard line and drove the car. It was about another two minutes to the school.

Mom hadn't given me a lot of information, but I processed all the available data.

Three seconds later I knew. I knew exactly what had happened:
Someone
had had a busy weekend.

And I knew something else, too: When Stephen had tried to call me on Saturday and Sunday, I should have talked to him.

T
he principal's office looked way too familiar to me. The one big difference was that today there were so many people in the room that they couldn't all fit at the round table.

One lady was sitting at Mrs. Hackney's desk. I knew who she was because I'd seen her on cable TV. It was Mrs. Tersom, the school superintendent.

Mrs. Byrne sat on a folding chair next to the principal's desk. Mrs. Drummond, the guidance counselor, was there too, and beside her was Mrs. Anderson, the school secretary. She had a notepad on her lap, ready to keep track of who said what.

Mrs. Hackney sat at her usual spot at the table. Dr. Trindler sat on her left, and then there were Mrs. Noyes and Mrs. Zhang.

My mom's eyebrows went up when she saw Stephen and his mom and dad sitting at the table. I wasn't surprised at all—I'd have been
amazed
not
to see them. But then came Merton Lake and both his parents, and I had no clue why they were at the meeting.

Stephen caught my eye as I took a chair at the table, and I saw the slightest flicker of a smile. I looked away. There are times when nothing is more dangerous than a smile. This was one of those times.

About ten seconds after Mom and I sat down, my dad came rushing in, nodded a few quick hellos around the table, and took the seat next to me.

Then Mrs. Hackney said, “It's been quite a morning here at Philbrook Elementary School. Mrs. Noyes, please begin by telling us what happened during your third-period social studies class.”

Mrs. Noyes nodded at Mrs. Hackney and said, “I had prepared a twelve-question quiz from the weekend reading assignment in the social studies book. We talked about the chapter, and then I passed out the quiz—it was just one page. When everyone was finished, I had the students exchange papers, take out their red pencils, and we began discussing the answers.
There was a lot of laughing as we corrected the quiz, so I began walking around the room. And I saw that almost every student had written a nonsense answer to every question.”

Mrs. Hackney said, “A nonsense answer?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Noyes. “For example, on the question, ‘Who was the president of the United States at the start of the Great Depression?,' students wrote answers like, ‘Donald Duck' or ‘Elvis' or ‘my uncle Lenny'—very silly. And wrong.”

Mrs. Hackney said, “And what grade did most of your students get on this quiz?”

Mrs. Noyes glanced at me before she answered. “Zero. All but two of them got a zero. And then during fourth period, when the other half of the Blue Team has social studies, I warned the class before the quiz that there was to be no funny business. But when the quizzes were graded, it was the same thing—all zeroes, except for two of the students who didn't participate in the . . . silliness.”

I'd have bet anything that one of those two kids was Merton Lake. But it wasn't important at the moment.

Mrs. Hackney said, “Who wants to start explaining this?”

Stephen and I both said “I do” at the same moment, but I was the one who kept on talking. “It's all my fault, Mrs. Hackney. I got this idea that if I got some zeroes on tests, and then if we talked some of the other kids into getting some zeroes, we could get people to notice how everybody is so crazy about grades and test scores all the time, and how that's kind of a problem. So this whole thing was my fault.”

Stephen shook his head and said, “That was my idea, the part about getting zeroes. And then we worked on the plan some more together. But that part was my idea, remember?”

At that moment I wished Stephen could have been a little less honest—because then he would have seen that I wasn't trying to steal the credit for his idea. I was trying to keep us both from getting run out of town by an angry mob of teachers and parents.

But Stephen wasn't clever that way, and there wasn't a sneaky bone in his body. Which is one of the things I've always liked best about him.

So I said, “Okay, yes. That part was your idea, but
I
was the one who was putting the idea into action. I was the one who started things off by getting some zeroes last Friday,
and then we didn't talk this weekend, and I guess you must have called a bunch of kids, right? And that's why everyone else got zeroes today. But it's still really my fault. And I'm sorry. And now it's all over.”

Mrs. Hackney said, “I wish it were that simple, Nora. But it's not. First, there's the matter of this handbill that Stephen was trying to pass out in the halls today.” She passed sheets of paper to her left and right. I stared at my copy as Mrs. Hackney read the words out loud.

Mrs. Hackney looked at Stephen and then around the room. “Rebellion,” she said, “is not something we need or want at Philbrook Elementary School.”

I was stunned. I couldn't believe Stephen had done something so bold. And he'd put his
name
on that thing! And then he'd gotten all but two of the kids on our team to actually
do
it, too! Stephen must have talked on the phone the whole weekend.

Mrs. Hackney continued, “And then there's the matter of Stephen and Merton's fight.”

Mr. Lake raised his hand and said, “I don't accept that. It was
not
a fight!” He pointed at Stephen. “
That
child attacked my son, and Merton was forced to defend himself. And don't forget that Merton is one of the two students who did
not
go along with this . . . this conspiracy!”

I'd never seen Merton's dad before, but I was guessing he was a lawyer.

Mrs. Curtis glared at him and said, “Stephen has never
attacked
anyone in his life!”

Mrs. Hackney said, “Please. Let's stay focused here. There
was
a shoving match in front of the school this morning, and it looked like trouble
to the teacher who was out there on bus duty. And Mrs. Byrne had to pull
both
boys apart to stop it. Isn't that right?”

Mrs. Byrne nodded. “Yes. It wasn't exactly a fight, but it was certainly headed that way. It was a definite skirmish.”

I almost smiled at that. Leave it to Mrs. Byrne to find the perfect word—
skirmish.

Mrs. Hackney said, “Very well. I'd like to summarize our situation. We have two students who have admitted that they organized and encouraged rebellious behavior. And we have two boys who were nearly fighting. But our most serious problem is that half of the fifth-grade class decided to treat two quizzes as if they did not matter at all. They treated their schoolwork like it was a big joke.” Mrs. Hackney glanced around the table. Then she looked right at me and said, “A disobedient attitude has been set loose in our school. And we have got to
stop
it. Now.”

The lady sitting at Mrs. Hackney's desk stood up. Everybody turned to look at her and she said, “I'm Julia Tersom, Superintendent of Schools. When I spoke with Mrs. Hackney an
hour ago, I advised her to isolate the Blue Team students from the other children in the school. That's why they've all been in the library for the past forty-five minutes. The nurse and the custodian are acting as emergency substitutes so their regular teachers could be here at this meeting.”

Mrs. Tersom paused.

There's a special way that presidents and mayors stand and tilt their heads and hold their hands when they give important speeches. That's how Mrs. Tersom looked.