A Week of Mondays

by Jessica Brody

  8:55 a.m.

  By the time I get to my first-period class twenty minutes later, I’m soaking wet and the class has already returned from school pictures.

  “Do you have a pass?” Mr. Briggs asks as I waltz through the door and drop into my chair.

  “Nope.”

  “Then I hope you have a very good excuse.”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Don’t have one of those either.”

  He flashes me an aggravated look. “Well, then I have no choice but to write you up.”

  I nod. “I would expect nothing less.”

  “Ellie?” he asks, like he doesn’t even recognize me.

  I reach into my bag and pop a piece of gum into my mouth. Chewing gum isn’t allowed in class. “Yeah?”

  “What’s gotten into you?”

  I shrug. “What’s gotten into you?”

  Mr. Briggs’s face turns a faint shade of purple. “You better watch it. Any more lip from you and I’ll send you to see Principal Yates, and that will go on your permanent record.”

  I pop my gum. “I wouldn’t bet on that.”

  The entire class snickers. Mr. Briggs stomps back to his desk, pulling a thick pad of pink slips from the top drawer and scribbling furiously. He rips off the top sheet. “Ellison Sparks. Out of my class. Now.”

  I release a heavy sigh, scoop up my bag, and walk to the front of the room to accept my fate.

  “Well, it’s been fun, boys and girls,” I say to everyone. “Stay in school. Don’t do drugs.”

  Then, with a salute, I disappear out the door.

  There’s a Bad Moon on the Rise

  I make the long walk down to the principal’s office. Normally, I would be freaking out right about now. In my sixteen years of life, I’ve never actually been sent to the principal’s office. My only real exchanges with Principal Yates have been when she hands me another award for making the dean’s list or having perfect attendance. (Well, if you don’t count the run-ins I had with her this week, which I obviously don’t.)

  Past Ellie would be mortified right now. For her, this would be the equivalent of a walk of shame. But not me. Not anymore. That old Ellie is gone. She’s been gobbled up by the universe and spit out like undigested food.

  Now I couldn’t care less what the principal thinks of me.

  When I open the door to the main office, I’m surprised to see a familiar face waiting in one of the chairs outside of Principal Yates’s door. His body is hunched over, his hands clasped between his knees.

  “Owen?” I say in disbelief.

  He picks up his head, a faint smile fighting its way to his lips. “Hey.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought about what you said. About how there are no consequences. How nothing we do or say matters. And I figured, why not? So I gave the teacher a little taste of O-Town Filly.”

  O-Town Filly is the rapper name Owen gave himself in middle school when we were bored one night and stumbled upon an online Rapper Name generator.

  Mine was Luscious E-Freeze.

  Now he uses that name when he wants to think of himself as hard-core.

  I shoot him a dubious look. “You told off Mrs. Leach?”

  “Yes.” His lips say the words, but his eyes give him away.

  “Let the record show that the witness is lying.”

  He bows his head again, his voice losing all the bravado it had only a second ago. “Okay, okay. She sent me here for being more than thirty minutes late to class and I didn’t have a pass.”

  I bite my lip. “I’m sorry, O.”

  He shrugs. “It won’t matter tomorrow, right?”

  “Nope. Not in the slightest.”

  He rubs anxiously at his chin. I can tell he’s still trying to process what I told him in the car. Make sense of it. Basically the same thing I’ve been doing for the past five days. “So. Let me get this straight. You and”—he won’t say his name; he never says his name—“blondie had a fight yesterday.”

  “Sunday. Which was four days ago for me.”

  “Right. And today he’s going to break up with you. But yesterday—or yesterday for you—you were able to stop him from breaking up with you because you dressed up like a stripper?”

  Okay, when he puts it that way, it does sound kind of ridiculous. “In a nutshell, yes.”

  “But today you woke up and it was still the same day.”

  I nod. “And I have no idea why.”

  “But,” Owen argues, biting his lip, “wouldn’t he have just broken up with you anyway?”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because that wasn’t you. You were playing a part. You said so yourself. You would never have been able to keep that act up forever and eventually he would have ended it anyway.”

  “You don’t know that,” I say quickly.

  He shrugs. “No, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “No. Finish your statement, counselor.”

  I sense another fight coming on and I really really don’t want to argue with Owen again.

  “What happened after he didn’t break up with you?”

  I have a feeling that’s not what he started to say only a minute ago but I don’t object. “I left the carnival, Tristan went to hang out with the band, and then…”

  Tell him, I urge myself. Tell him the truth. We hung out. We had a blast. He hustled a carnival employee at the ring toss game. And then we got into the worst fight of our friendship.

  “And then?” he prompts.

  “And then … nothing,” I finish.

  Why did I say that? Why can’t I just tell him? He deserves to know the truth.

  He gets very quiet, staring at his hands. Then finally he says, “Ellie. Can I ask you something?”

  I have no idea where this is going, but for some reason I feel a lump form in my stomach.

  “Sure” is what I say, but it’s a big fat lie. I’m most certainly not sure about anything anymore. If anything, I’m one hundred percent unsure about everything.

  He runs a hand through his hair. It’s not a casual gesture. It’s a conflicted one. He looks like he wants to tug the strands out by the roots. “Do you think you could ever—”

  The door to Principal Yates’s office swings open and her large frame fills up the entire doorway. She looks at each of us in turn, seemingly deciding which one she wants to deal with first.

  She sighs. “Mr. Reitzman.”

  It was a wise choice. Save the most difficult for last.

  He stands and follows Principal Yates, but before he disappears into the temple of doom, he catches my eye. I notice something in his gaze. An intensity I’ve never seen before. It stirs up emotions deep in my chest. Emotions I don’t even recognize.

  I don’t like it.

  I don’t approve of whatever invisible electricity is surging between us right now.

  “Behave in there,” I tease with a suggestive raise of my eyebrows. “The pool is only a few steps down the hall, you know.”

  We both stifle a laugh as Owen continues into the office and Principal Yates shuts the door behind them.

  Just like that, Owen is Owen again. The boy who convinced me to climb a telephone pole at summer camp seven years ago.

  And I’m …

  Well, the jury is still out on that one.

  Hold On! I’m Comin’

  9:32 a.m.

  Principal Yates gave me detention. She looked all torn up about it, too. Like it pained her to do it. Owen, I discovered from a text message later, skated by with a warning, but since I was late and talked smack to Mr. Briggs, I’m apparently the bigger threat to school security.

  When Principal Yates asked me what I had learned from this morning’s events, I told her I’d meditate on the question and get back to her.

  She gave me detention for tomorrow, too.

  To this, I snorted. “Wouldn’t that be nice? If there actually was a tomorrow?”

  Then she
tacked on detention for Wednesday.

  Wow, I really am John Bender from The Breakfast Club.

  Ellison Sparks: Wanted Criminal. I kind of like the sound of that.

  I don’t meet Tristan at his locker before third period because there’s really no point. I could argue and plead and change my look and follow all the commandments in the world and it wouldn’t matter. He’s either going to break up with me or he’s not and tomorrow it won’t make one bit of difference.

  I ignore him all through Spanish class. When that stupid, suicidal bird flies into the window and everyone makes a big stink about it, I yell, “Oh shut up, he’ll be alive again in the morning.”

  Throughout the whole period, I sense Tristan trying to get my attention. But I’m too busy sleeping on my desk to be bothered with relationship drama.

  Can’t he see I’m tired?

  I’ve had a very long week.

  When the bell rings, I grab my stuff and disappear into the hallway. He catches up with me a few seconds later and grabs my arm, pulling me into an alcove between lockers.

  “What’s up with you?” he asks. “Are you still mad about last night?”

  “Nope. Not mad.”

  I try to walk away, but he blocks me. “Then what’s gotten into you? And what did you do to your hair?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He sighs, shifting his weight. “You are mad. Look, I want to talk about what happened. About the fight.”

  “Tristan. I’m not mad. I just don’t give a crap. Okay?”

  I push past him and walk away. This time, he’s too stunned to try to stop me.

  11:20 a.m.

  In third period, I fail my American history quiz, but that’s probably because instead of circling one of the multiple choice answers, I write in my own.

  Britain met its manpower needs during the Revolution by:

  A) Raising the recruiting bonus

  B) Lowering physical requirements

  C) Hiring foreign troops

  D) All of the above

  E) Selling Erotic Harry Potter Fan Fiction Online

  12:40 p.m.

  During lunch, I make a bunch of new friends outside in the parking lot. They sit in their cars and smoke cigarettes and talk about TV shows I’ve never even heard of, but definitely need to record on my DVR. Who knew this was where the cool kids were hanging out the whole time?

  When we sneak back into the cafeteria before lunch is over, I notice the cheerleader bake sale in the corner and the long line of people waiting to hand over their money.

  Daphne Gray is at the microphone, announcing that this is the last chance to buy baked goods to help support the team.

  I excuse myself from my new acquaintances, strut over, and grab the microphone from her hand.

  “Um, excuse me,” she protests. “What are you doing?”

  I ignore her. “I would like to make a public safety announcement. It really pains me to be the one to tell you this, but unfortunately Daphne Gray had explosive diarrhea yesterday when she was making some of these yummy treats, and she did not wash her hands before handling the ingredients. I just thought you should all know. The banana bread is delicious though. Bon appétit!”

  I step off the stage and do nothing to hide my smirk as I watch the long line of people scatter. Daphne calls my name, but I don’t respond. I have nothing to say to her so I keeping walking.

  I’m almost to the hallway when I hear Daphne’s voice come back over the loudspeaker. “You little skank!”

  I stop, still facing the door.

  “Everyone knows Tristan Wheeler only started dating you because of how desperate you were to get into his bed.”

  The cafeteria suddenly gets very quiet. Or maybe that’s just the ringing in my ears drowning everyone out.

  I slowly turn around and stalk purposefully back to the table. I just remembered I do have something to say to Daphne Gray.

  She sees me coming and crosses her arms over her chest, like she’s challenging me to come closer. I climb the three steps up the tiny stage, cock my fist back, and shove it into her face.

  We Gotta Get Out of This Place

  1:08 p.m.

  I’ve never been in a fight before. It’s kind of anticlimactic. I was expecting epic throwdowns and slow-motion spin kicks, but it’s actually just a lot of hair pulling and screaming and hands in faces.

  “That night was supposed to be about us!” Daphne growls as she rolls me over and straddles me. “I threw that party for Tristan and me! Not so you could swoop in and steal him!”

  Well, that makes a lot of sense. At least now I know why Daphne Gray hates me so much.

  I push her off me and jump to my feet. “Then why was he sitting outside by the pool bored out of his freaking mind?”

  She roars and charges me, shoving me into the circle of students that have surrounded us. They’re all yelling and egging us on. I can’t exactly make out what they’re saying, but I think most of them are rooting for Daphne.

  Surprise, surprise.

  A dozen hands push me back into the ring just as Principal Yates breaks the whole thing up.

  “Thank God you’re here!” Daphne cries. “Ellison Sparks attacked me out of nowhere!”

  I roll my eyes. How original.

  “Sparks!” Principal Yates bellows. “Back into my office.”

  “I have a speech to give in like two minutes. I have students to inspire,” I protest, slightly breathless from our skirmish.

  Principal Yates drags me by the elbow into the hallway. “Not anymore you don’t.”

  1:30 p.m.

  Rhiannon Marshall is going to be livid. I’ve been in the principal’s office for the past fifteen minutes. She’s probably tearing her hair out wondering where I am. The mental image does kind of make me smile.

  Principal Yates has been yammering on, but I haven’t been paying a lot of attention. I’m too busy contemplating what I should do with my hair next. I was thinking maybe a really crazy spiral perm. Or maybe I’ll dye it purple. I’ve always wanted purple hair.

  “I have no choice but to suspend you from school for a week,” I hear the principal say.

  I lazily turn my attention back to her. “Only a week? Why not a month? Why not forever?”

  She sighs like she’s completely given up. “What has gotten into you? Last week you were one of my most promising students, and today it’s like you’re an entirely different person.”

  “A lot can happen in a week,” I mumble.

  1:50 p.m.

  I’m supposed to wait for my parents to come pick me up. Apparently suspended students are not allowed to drive themselves home. But as you can probably guess, I’m not really inclined to do what I’m supposed to.

  Instead, I wait for Owen outside his seventh-period class. When he rounds the corner and sees me, his eyes go all wide. Before he has a chance to say anything, I grab him by the elbow and pull him into a nearby janitor’s closet.

  It only takes me a few seconds to realize it’s the same closet Tristan and I made out in yesterday. Not that it matters.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, glancing uneasily around the small, cramped space. “Why do you smell like cigarette smoke?”

  “Never mind that.”

  “And why is Daphne Gray spreading some ludicrous rumor that you started a fight with her?”

  “Oh, that’s not a rumor. That’s true.”

  He drops his bag to the floor with a thud. “Ells, what’s going on with you?”

  I groan. “We’ve been through this. I told you what’s going on with me.”

  “Yeah, but you? Fighting?”

  “Look, it doesn’t matter. I need to get out of here and you need to come with me.”

  He presses his lips together, looking very torn. “I don’t know, Ells.”

  “C’mon! My parents are going to be here any second!”

  “Your parents? Why?”

  “Principal Yates suspended me.”

>   I think Owen’s head might actually explode. “What? For how long?”

  “Does it matter? Let’s go!”

  He hesitates. “Ditching school? I don’t know. I’m already on Yates’s watch list today. I can’t get into any more trouble.”

  I let out a frustrated growl. “Owen. Have you not listened to a single word I’ve said? There is no trouble. There are no consequences!”

  He shifts his weight, clearly conflicted.

  I rest my hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at me, but instead he looks at my hands. “O, what would you do if there was no tomorrow? If you could do anything and it wouldn’t matter?”

  “I don’t know, Ellie. What if you’re wrong?”

  “Objection. I’m never wrong.”

  “Objection. I can think of plenty of times you were wrong.”

  “Like when?”

  “I have two words for you: spray tan.”

  “Withdrawn. But listen, Owen, I’m not wrong this time. You’ve gotta trust me on this. How long have we played by their rules? Done everything we’re supposed to do? Don’t you think it’s time for O-Town Filly and Luscious E-Freeze to have a little fun?”

  I can almost hear the wheels clicking into place inside his mind. I can almost see his inner rebel pushing its way to the surface.

  A cunning smile finally breaks through his hesitation. “What did you have in mind?”

  Money (That’s What I Want)

  2:05 p.m.

  “I’d like to make a withdrawal please,” I say sweetly to the bank teller. I can tell my ratty, stained hoodie is making her nervous. Not to mention the bruise that’s forming under my left eye from Daphne’s mean right hook.

  I slide my debit card across the counter along with my driver’s license. She double-checks the picture against my face several times, looking extremely skeptical. “I got a haircut,” I tell her, primping my choppy, uneven locks. “Do you like it?”

  “How much do you want to withdraw?” she asks, ignoring my question.

  I’ll take that as a no.

  “All of it,” I tell her.

  She frowns. “All of it?”

  “Yup. Every last cent.”