Hate Mail

by Polak, Monique;

  Hate Mail

  Monique Polak

  O R C A B O O K P U B L I S H E R S

  Copyright © 2014 Monique Polak

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Polak, Monique, author

  Hate mail / Monique Polak.

  (Orca currents)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4598-0776-1 (bound).—ISBN 978-1-4598-0775-4 (pbk.).—

  ISBN 978-1-4598-0777-8 (pdf).—ISBN 978-1-4598-0778-5 (epub)

  I. Title. II. Series: Orca currents

  PS8631.O43H38 2014 jc813’.6 C2014-901563-1

  C2014-901564-X

  First published in the United States, 2014

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014935381

  Summary: Jordie has a hard time going to school with his cousin with autism.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Cover photography by iStock

  Author photo by Studio Iris Photography

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO Box 5626, Stn. B PO Box 468

  Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA

  V8R 6S4 98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  17 16 15 14 • 4 3 2 1

  For my friend David Riverin,

  who loves to read

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  “Are we out of juice boxes?” I call out.

  Mom walks into the kitchen. She’s on the phone. I can tell from the way she keeps shaking her head she’s upset. She must be talking to Aunt Anna. I bet they’re talking about Todd.

  Just before the school year started, Aunt Anna, Uncle Fred and my cousin Todd moved back to Montreal from a small town in upstate New York. We have more services for kids like Todd here, and Mom thought it would help Aunt Anna if they lived closer to us.

  “Who would write something like that?” Mom says into the phone.

  “Juice boxes?” I whisper.

  She opens the cupboard under the sink, pulls out a packet of juice boxes and hands it to me.

  “I hate orange,” I mutter. But Mom isn’t listening.

  I toss a box of orange juice into my lunch bag. Maybe Tyrone will trade me.

  Mom follows me to the front hallway. She tucks the phone between her ear and her shoulder so she can hear Aunt Anna while she kisses me goodbye. “Have a good day, Jordie,” she calls out after me.

  As Mom closes the door behind me, I can still hear her talking to Aunt Anna.

  “What I don’t understand is how anyone could be so deliberately cruel. Not only to think those awful things, but to put them into a letter.” There’s a pause, and then she adds, “Thank goodness Todd doesn’t know.”

  What letter? I wonder.

  When I get to our locker, Tyrone is checking his cell phone—Tyrone is always playing with his phone. “What’s good, bro?” he says, high-fiving me.

  Samantha and Isobel walk by. They’re both wearing tight striped T-shirts and short skirts. “Looking good, ladies!” Tyrone says, and they laugh. Samantha gives me a little wave.

  I spot Todd coming down the hallway. I look away, pretending to search my locker.

  The bell rings, and I slam the locker shut. The hallway is filling up with kids moving in every direction. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t see Todd now.

  “Where’s your babysitter?” I hear a guy call out.

  I know without looking up that he must be talking to Todd. Correction: not talking to Todd. Talking at Todd. Except for the teachers and Darlene, Todd’s aide, hardly anyone at school talks to Todd. Not even me.

  “Aren’t you a little old for a babysitter?” the same voice asks.

  I don’t hear Todd answer.

  “Quit bugging him,” a girl’s voice says.

  Then I hear a loud “Oops!” It’s probably Todd.

  When some kids start snickering, I know for sure it’s him.

  “Leave me alone!” He is shouting now. “Go away!” Up the hall, I see Todd is on his back on the floor, his arms flapping. Kids are backing away. When Todd loses his temper, he really loses it.

  I feel bad for Todd, I swear I do. I know I should go over and help. Except no one—not even Tyrone—knows that Todd is my cousin.

  Where’s Darlene anyhow? She gets paid to look after him.

  As I’m thinking that, I spot the top of Darlene’s head. Her curls make her look like a walking mop. “Todd! Are you hurt?” Darlene is one of those loud, slow talkers. It probably comes from spending her days shadowing kids like Todd.

  I can’t see Todd through the crowd of kids now, but I can hear his labored breathing as he picks himself up from the floor.

  “Okay then,” I hear Darlene say. “Up you go. It’s a good thing you’re not hurt. You’re just a little dusty.” She looks around at the kids still watching. “Did one of you push him?”

  “I’m just a little dusty,” I hear Todd say. If he was pushed, he doesn’t tell Darlene.

  I need to pass Todd and Darlene to get to history. I move as quickly as I can, elbowing my way past the other kids, hoping Todd won’t notice me.

  From the corner of my eye, I see the back of Todd’s head. He has the same copper-colored hair as me. We got it from our moms. If I get too close to Todd, someone might figure out we are related. My life sure was less complicated before Todd turned up at my school.

  Mr. Dartoni is at the whiteboard. “This morning,” he says, “we’re going to be looking at one of the most famous letters in Canadian history. It’s a letter Louis Riel wrote to his followers. This letter was later used to convict Riel of treason.”

  It reminds me of the letter Mom and Aunt Anna were discussing on the phone. The cruel letter Todd is not supposed to know about.

  Chapter Two

  I try getting out of it. I tell Mom my English essay is due Tuesday and I haven’t started yet.

  Mom is pinching dead leaves off a houseplant. I can tell from the way she’s concentrating—collecting leaf bits so they don’t land on the carpet—that she isn’t going to budge. “It’s important to make time for family, Jordie,” she says. “You’ll write your essay tomorrow.”

  My dad is in the living room, reading the paper. “It’ll be fun, bud,” he adds without lifting his nose from the sports section.

  It won’t be fun, and we all know it.

  We’re going to the Pierre Elliott Trudeau Airport because Todd is obsessed with airplanes. Ask him how his day is going and Todd will start jabbering about wingspans, fuselage and vertical stabilizers.

  It’s part of Todd’s condition, like going ballistic when he’s angry and being unable to read other people’s feelings. Most people can tell when
someone’s bored. A bored person yawns, looks out the window, checks the time. But even if you do all those things while Todd is talking about airplanes, he won’t notice. He just keeps jabbering.

  On our way to Aunt Anna’s, I ask about the letter.

  Mom and Dad exchange a look. “What letter?” Mom says.

  “The one I heard you and Aunt Anna talking about. You used the word cruel. I figured it had something to do with Todd.”

  “I’d rather not discuss the letter,” Mom says.

  “Was it from school?”

  “Jordie.” Dad’s voice is stern. “Your mother said she’d rather not discuss it.”

  Mom sighs. “And for god’s sake, Jordie, please don’t mention it in front of Todd. All I will tell you is that it’s a disgusting letter—and it’s about your cousin.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Dad sighs. “Why would your mother kid about something like that?”

  Dad turns onto the street where Aunt Anna, Uncle Fred and Todd live. Todd is pacing on the sidewalk outside the apartment.

  “Be kind,” Mom says.

  “He’s your cousin,” Dad adds.

  I slide open the back door of our van to let Todd in. “Hey, Todd.”

  It’s as if he hasn’t heard me. He doesn’t say hi. He doesn’t make eye contact. He just gets into the van, leaving this huge space between us. Then he starts bouncing in his seat. I get dizzy watching him bounce like that.

  “Hi, Todd, honey,” Mom says, flashing Todd a smile, which of course he doesn’t notice. “How you doing?”

  “We’re going to the Pierre Elliot Trudeau Airport,” Todd says. He’s looking at his shoes.

  As if we didn’t know we were going to the airport!

  Todd keeps bouncing. “The Dash 8 series was introduced in Canada in 1984.”

  The Dash 8 is Todd’s favorite airplane. Thanks to our family visits to the airport, I’m getting to be kind of an expert in planes myself. “The Dash 8’s the one with a twin engine, right?” I ask Todd.

  “The Dash 8 is a twin engine turboprop,” Todd says.

  Mom pats Todd’s hand. Just for a second, before he can object. Todd hates when people touch him, especially strangers. Mom is trying to help Todd work on that. “I hate to interrupt when you boys are bonding, but where’s your mom and dad?” she asks.

  Todd’s bouncing again. “Inside.”

  Except for when he’s babbling about airplanes, Todd uses really short sentences.

  “I’ll go get them,” I offer. It’s one way to get a break from Todd. He’s not a bad kid, but, well, it’s hard not being able to have a normal conversation.

  I hear Aunt Anna and Uncle Fred coming downstairs. “I’ll need to get footage in the arrivals area,” Uncle Fred is saying. “Families meeting up after long absences. Guys holding bouquets and looking nervous.”

  “Can we discuss this later, Fred?” Aunt Anna sounds tired.

  Uncle Fred jumps down the last two steps.

  “Look who’s here,” he says when he sees me. “My favorite nephew.”

  “I’m your only nephew.”

  “Technicalities!” Uncle Fred ruffles my hair. “I was just telling your aunt about my idea for a documentary film.”

  A man walks into the lobby. He stops to look for something on the shelf near the mailboxes.

  “Hi, George,” Uncle Fred says to him.

  George doesn’t answer. He just mutters something about his newspaper. “That kid of yours didn’t take it, did he?”

  “Why would Todd take your newspaper?” Aunt Anna sounds annoyed.

  “Well, I know he’s got that…that…” George doesn’t look at either Uncle Fred or Aunt Anna.

  “Autism,” Aunt Anna tells George. “Our son Todd has autism. I’m sure he didn’t take your newspaper. In fact, I don’t appreciate your making those kinds of remarks about Todd. You obviously don’t know a thing about autism.”

  “We better go,” I say quietly. I don’t want Aunt Anna getting into a fight with this guy. Besides, Mom, Dad and Todd are waiting for us.

  Uncle Fred doesn’t seem to notice there’s a problem. “Hey, George,” he says, “when you have some time, I’d like to talk to you about this idea I have for a film…”

  We park in the lot and then walk to the terminal. Mom and Aunt Anna are up ahead, followed by Dad and Uncle Fred. Uncle Fred is telling Dad about his idea.

  Which leaves me with Todd.

  I know I have to make an effort. Todd is my cousin.

  “Think we might see a Dash 8?” I ask him.

  “Do you mean the Bombardier Q400 turboprop?”

  “I guess.”

  “The Dash 8 Bombardier Q400 turboprop arrives at 2:07 pm from Radisson. The Dash 8 Bombardier Q400 turboprop was released in 2000. It has the longest fuselage in the series.”

  “How do you know stuff like that?”

  “Fuselage is the tube-shaped body of the plane.”

  “You memorized that, right?”

  “Uh-huh,” Todd says to his shoes.

  “You don’t think that’s a little weird?”

  “The Dash 8 Bombardier Q400 turboprop is more fuel efficient than the Dash 8 Bombardier Q200.”

  At the observation area, I don’t have to worry about what to say to Todd. All he wants to do is watch airplanes. He presses his face against the glass when a jet taxis in our direction.

  “The Boeing 777 has the biggest tires on any commercial jet,” he says when the plane comes to a stop.

  I like planes too. But after twenty minutes of watching them and listening to Todd rattle off specs, I’m done.

  Todd doesn’t notice when I walk away.

  Mom, Dad, Aunt Anna and Uncle Fred are sitting on benches, sipping coffee from paper cups. Uncle Fred is talking about his documentary. Aunt Anna rolls her eyes.

  “Hey, bud,” Dad says to me. “Having fun?”

  “Sure,” I lie.

  Mom looks over to where Todd is. “You shouldn’t leave your cousin alone like that.”

  So much for getting a break from Airplane Man.

  I’m heading back to do my cousinly duty when I feel a light tap on my shoulder.

  Before I even turn around, I know it’s Samantha. No one else smells that good.

  “Jordie!” she says. “What are you doing here?”

  “I just came to watch airplanes with my—” I stop mid-sentence.

  Samantha looks at me and then over to the window where Todd is standing, his face pressed against the glass.

  “—with my parents. That’s them over there.” I point to the benches.

  “Samantha!” a woman’s voice calls from down the corridor.

  “I better go,” Samantha says. “We’re picking up my grandmother.”

  “Well, good to see you…” It’s not easy making conversation with a girl who smells as good as Samantha.

  “Have fun,” Samantha says.

  I’m watching her walk away, when she turns around and adds, “With your parents.”

  Chapter Three

  “Mind if we sit here, ladies?” Tyrone says to Isobel and Samantha.

  Today’s assembly must have been scheduled on short notice because there are no chairs out. The girls make room for us on the floor.

  I’m sitting so close to Samantha our elbows touch. I owe it all to Tyrone. I might get better grades, but when it comes to talking to girls, Tyrone is at the top of the class.

  There’s static as Mr. Delisle, our principal, adjusts the microphone.

  The teachers are seated on two long benches at either side of the gym. They make shushing sounds to signal the assembly is about to begin. Todd and Darlene are sitting on one of the benches too, but as long as I look straight at Mr. Delisle, they are out of my range of vision.

  “Good morning,” Mr. Delisle says. “I want to begin by saying a few words about bullying. It’s a topic you’ve already heard a lot about, but I like to think I have something fresh to add to the discussion.”
<
br />   Some kids make shuffling noises at the back of the room, and somewhere closer to me, someone is whispering. Mr. Delisle waits until the room is quiet.

  “As I’m sure you’ve all observed, each one of us is different. We come in different shapes and sizes. We like different flavors of ice cream. My personal favorite is double fudge.”

  A few kids laugh when he says that. “We all have different abilities, and we face different challenges,” Mr. Delisle continues.

  I think about how good Tyrone is at talking to girls and how terrible Todd is at talking to anybody.

  Mr. Delisle clears his throat. “A lot of people speak about the need for tolerance. How we have to tolerate those who are different from us. But I don’t think tolerance is enough—not for our community here at Riverview High School.”

  “I want you all to consider the word tolerance for a moment.” Mr. Delisle pauses. I try thinking about the word, but I’m distracted by Samantha’s smell and the feeling of her elbow against mine.

  “We tolerate things we don’t especially like. We tolerate rainy days and bruised apples. Don’t tell my wife if you meet her, but I tolerate my mother-in-law.”

  This time, everyone laughs.

  “This year at Riverview, we’re not just going to tolerate each other. We’re going to aim for something better. Acceptance.” Mr. Delisle looks around the room, his gaze taking in each of us and stopping for the briefest moment in the far corner, where Todd and Darlene are.

  He picks up a sheet of paper from the podium. “A few more announcements before you return to your classes. I know you’re eager to hear about this year’s class trips. The grade elevens are going to Quebec City. Grade tens will visit the Biodome and the Insectarium. The grade eights and nines are going to a flying school. And grade sevens, you’ll be attending this year’s Blue Metropolis Literary Festival.”

  There is some excited whispering after that, but Mr. Delisle isn’t finished. “I nearly forgot to tell you—I’m implementing a new policy: Saturday-morning detentions. Students who are rude to their teachers, who skip classes, who miss their regular detentions or who engage in any kind of bullying behavior can expect to spend their Saturday mornings here with me in this gym. Now I want to wish all of you a pleasant day. I expect you to give serious thought to the matters we’ve discussed this morning.”