“Well, not all the way, obviously,” Nora said in a low voice.
“I heard that, Nora!” Sophie called.
Deep in her heart, Sophie was glad. This time, she wouldn’t back down, she thought as she walked along the hall. She would stick to her guns. Their parents were sick of this, too. They would negotiate calmly so life could go back to normal. They’d get rid of the family job list . . . their mother would start cooking again . . . and doing the laundry . . . . Sophie was so deep in thought as she walked into the family room that at first she didn’t understand what she was seeing. And then she did.
Her father was about to chomp on the slice of pizza in his hand. Her mother was halfway out of her seat, reaching for the pizza box on the table in front of her. The expressions on both of their faces were as amazed as Sophie felt.
They looked like statues in a wax museum. The “Guilty Parents Caught in the Act” display.
The feeling of betrayal that flooded Sophie’s heart knew no bounds.
“Pizza!” she cried. “You traitors!” and burst into tears.
Chapter Nine
“. . . and half the time nobody would listen to me . . . and Nora and Thad are always competing with each other . . . and Thad’s only nice to me when he wants something . . . he uses me!” Sophie wailed. “Even John was mean to me, and John’s never mean. But that’s not the worst thing,” she went on. “We were putting our beliefs on the line, and you and Dad were cheating!”
Sophie took a deep, shuddering breath and paused. It felt wonderful to be sitting between her parents on the couch. It was as if a dam inside her had burst and all the worries and sorrows of the past few weeks were flowing out. Remembering how many there had been, and how things had ended up, she felt tears rising in her eyes again. Except now, she was more indignant than sad.
“Everybody in this family is selfish,” she said. “Even you and Dad. It’s not fair when you say we don’t know about family, because you don’t know about family, either. All you do is work, and then you come home tired and grumpy and get mad because the house is dirty.”
“I have to work. We need the money,” said Mrs. Hartley.
“But you like it, too,” said Sophie.
“Yes, I do.”
“You never used to care about everything being so clean,” Sophie sniffed.
“I still don’t,” Mrs. Hartley said. “But you children expected me to do everything unless I nagged you. I got tired of it.”
Sophie liked it better when her mother agreed with her. “Well, it still wasn’t right to eat pizza behind our backs,” she said.
“No, it wasn’t. You’re absolutely right.”
Sophie had never had such a string of successes in her life. It was only because her parents were feeling sorry for her, she knew. They were feeling guilty, too. Sophie recognized a great opening when she saw one.
“You won’t even let me get a tattoo,” she said, burying her face in her mother’s side and sounding as pitiful as she could.
“Faker!” Mr. Hartley shouted. He grabbed Sophie and tickled her in the stomach until she shrieked.
“Crisis is over!” he called. “You can come out now!”
Nora and Thad and John filed sheepishly into the room. They stood just inside the door, as if waiting to make sure it was really safe.
“Does anyone have anything to say in response to Sophie’s comments?” Mrs. Hartley asked, sweeping her eyes over them severely, as though they were in a police line-up.
“Sorry, Sophie.” John scooted across the room and burrowed down between Sophie and their mother.
“Who put the dirty dishes under your bed, Sophie?” Nora protested. “I did it for you, didn’t I?”
“With a friend like that, you don’t need enemies,” said Mr. Hartley. He looked at Sophie and winked.
“Sophie’s right,” said Thad, nodding at the pizza. “That’s pretty low.”
“Help yourselves,” said Mr. Hartley.
It was a tight fit, with all six of them on the couch. There was a friendly silence for a few minutes while they ate. Sophie sat squished between John on one side and Nora on the other. She sighed contentedly between bites.
“The only one missing is Maura,” observed Mrs. Hartley.
“I don’t want the strike to be over,” said John. “I like going on strike.”
“Too bad. It’s over,” said Sophie. “Our side says: No more Hartley Family Job List.”
“Then we’re back where we started,” said Mrs. Hartley. “I don’t want to go there, as you children would say.”
“Any suggestions?” said Mr. Hartley.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I like it better when the house is clean.”
They all (except for John, who went on eating) looked at Thad in astonishment.
“What?” he protested, holding up his hands. “I do. It’s easier to think. The family room was getting a little grotty, if you know what I mean. I’m talking foot smell here, people.”
Thad cowered against the couch, covering his head with his hands for protection, as the girls and Mrs. Hartley pummeled him with pillows. John grabbed one of Thad’s legs and pulled, shouting, “Leave him alone! Thad, run!”
“A bit hard to do on one leg, John,” Mr. Hartley said. He had sat back and was watching the riotous scene from the sidelines.
Thad’s attackers finally left him under a pile of pillows and fell back against the couch, laughing. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when Thad said he likes the house clean,” Mrs. Hartley said breathlessly.
“I never thought I’d live to hear him say he thinks,” said Nora.
There was a lot of good feeling in the room. No one seemed inclined to argue, so after a bit of discussion, they agreed to go back to the rules of everyone picking up after themselves, and pitching in when their mother asked.
“And Thad, if any dirty clothing is left around the house for more than twenty-four hours,” Mrs. Hartley said, “I’m going to throw it out. You can pay to replace it.”
“Why are you only looking at me?”
Mrs. Hartley wisely ignored him. “Nora,” she went on, “I’m afraid you have got to accept the fact that you have a higher standard of cleanliness than your siblings. If you have to do more in your bathroom to raise it to your standards, so be it.”
“I should have been born a slob like the rest of them,” Nora said.
“Cooperation.” The sound of Mr. Hartley’s deep voice made everyone look at him in surprise. He usually left household cleaning discussions, along with every other kind of household discussion, up to Mrs. Hartley.
“That’s what we’re talking about here,” he said when he had everyone’s attention. “Pulling together for the good of the family. Plain and simple. Got it?”
“Got it,” everyone chimed enthusiastically.
“Are you sure you got it, Thad?” Nora asked, leaning across her mother to give him her “transparent” stare.
“I have a firmer grip on it than you do,” he said. He made a muscle.
“That’s not the muscle you need to use.” Nora tapped the side of her head. “Try this one for a change. It could use a workout.”
“Oh, so now the brain’s a muscle? Better check your biology, Nora.”
“All right, you two.” Mrs. Hartley stood up and fluttered her hands at them briskly, as if rounding up chickens. “Before we totally lose every gain Sophie led the effort for, let’s get this cleaned up. John, it’s time for bed.”
They started clearing the coffee table. “I guess this means no more family job list,” John said glumly.
“I’m afraid so.” Mr. Hartley rubbed the top of John’s head consolingly. “But you can clean out the garage any time you want.”
“Way to go, little sister.” Thad stuffed the dirty napkins into a glass. “No more job list.”
“I guess that’s something,” Nora agreed.
Coming from Nora, it was a compliment. Sophie jumped at the cha
nce to take advantage of it.
“We can still all clean together,” she said eagerly. “We can turn Saturday mornings into family fun time and have pillow fights and Thad can teach us how to dust and—”
“No can do, Soph, sorry,” Thad said. “This boy’s headed for the state finals. Gotta practice!”
“If you wake me up on Saturday morning, I’ll kill you,” said Nora.
“Oh, well,” Sophie said philosophically as they filed into the kitchen. “At least we can tear up the family job list.”
The space where it had been taped to the refrigerator was empty. They heard shouts coming from the mudroom and discovered Mrs. Hartley with her finger in John’s mouth, removing the last bits of the job list he’d torn into pieces and had been attempting to swallow.
“That’s what spies do when they’re captured!” he shouted as she wadded the wet, slimy pieces into a small ball. “You better never get caught by the enemy, Mom!”
“Why would you wish that on the poor enemy?” said Thad. He was rewarded, by his mother, with a wet fly ball on the side of his head.
Chapter Ten
“What else are we doing besides spending the night?” Jenna asked on Saturday afternoon as she and Alice dumped their things on Sophie’s bed.
“I’m sure Sophie has something planned,” Alice said, “don’t you, Sophie?”
“No,” Sophie said. “It’s more fun if we get together and then think of something to do.”
“I like it that way, too,” Alice admitted. “I was running out of beauty ideas.”
“My mother had to cut some of those beads out of my hair, they got so tangled,” Jenna said.
“What’d your grandmother say?” Sophie asked.
“She’s going to wait until I’m thirteen. She said I’ll care about hair then.”
“Thirteen.” Sophie shuddered. “You don’t have a sister who’s thirteen,” she said. “It’s scary. All kinds of weird things happen.”
“You make it sound like a horror movie,” said Alice.
“Thirteen-year-old boys are pretty horrible, too,” said Jenna.
It made them all feel very cheerful, knowing they were still nine and didn’t have to face horrible old age for what felt like many years. They sat in a row on the back steps to think up things to do. There was hardly enough time in the afternoon to fit them all in.
First, they put on a play in Mr. Hartley’s van. He had cleaned it out, and when he heard what they wanted to do, he hung up a moving pad to act as a curtain. The play roughly involved a queen (Sophie wearing her tiara), whose princess daughter (Maura, being dragged around like a sack of potatoes by her loving nursemaid, Alice) was frequently and noisily rescued from all kinds of vague threats by a brave horse rider, Jenna.
John wanted to be in it, too, as a spy. The girls wouldn’t let him, but they did allow him to stand on a box and sell tickets. Mr. and Mrs. Hartley were the only ones in the audience, but they both applauded enthusiastically.
Thad came home as the play was ending. Mr. Hartley told him he had to mow the lawn before he went back out, so he took turns driving Sophie and Alice and Jenna around the yard in a breathtaking display of skills. Alice’s face was beet-red with the glory of sitting next to him.
After that, they had a cookout and a formal family-job-list burning that Sophie insisted on. They had to burn a plain piece of paper because John had ruined the real one, but it felt every bit as good to watch it disintegrate into little charred pieces that floated into the sky. Everyone clapped and cheered, even Jenna and Alice. When the last bits of paper had disappeared, Mr. Hartley took the boys to a movie, leaving the house entirely to the girls.
They took turns soaking in lavender bubble bath in Mrs. Hartley’s huge tub, and then applied generous amounts of wonderful-smelling body powder that left their white footprints on the bathroom floor.
As a grand finale, Nora gave them all facials.
“Five dollars for all three of them?” she was saying under her breath to her mother as Mrs. Hartley followed her into the bedroom. “Do you know how much I’d be paid in a real spa?”
“You’re paying her?” Sophie protested.
“For heaven’s sake, Sophie, lie down!” said Mrs. Hartley. “We’ll let her experiment on you first, in case your skin turns green.” Jenna and Alice giggled.
Sophie lay down on her bed and put her hands on top of her chest. Nora covered her with a towel and pulled her hair away from her face with a terry cloth band, just like a real spa.
“Stop moving your mouth,” she commanded as she smeared what felt like cold mud over Sophie’s cheeks and nose.
“I can’t help it,” said Sophie. “It tickles.”
“Hold still, or I’ll plug up your nose holes.” It was a very unprofessional threat. Luckily, Sophie started laughing so hard, Nora had to join her.
“Oh, Sophie, you should see yourself,” said Alice and Jenna, giggling.
When Sophie finally got up to look in the mirror, her face was a blue mask with perfect circles for her eyes and mouth. Nora put masque on Alice and Jenna, and then Mrs. Hartley took their picture before they washed it off.
Nora went to spend the night at a friend’s so they could use Sophie’s and her room. After Mrs. Hartley helped them set up the small TV from the kitchen, she went down to pop them some popcorn. The girls piled all their sleeping bags on the floor between the two beds for Jenna, who said she loved sleeping on the floor.
They ate popcorn and drank soda and watched a movie, and it was with great satisfaction that Sophie could yell, “No boys allowed!” when John jiggled the doorknob.
“You can say that again,” said Jenna.
“Some boys aren’t so bad,” said Alice. “I think Thad’s cute.”
“Don’t start getting all mushy,” said Sophie.
“When was I mushy?” asked Alice.
“You’re always mushy,” said Jenna.
“Mushy, mushy, mushy,” said Sophie.
“It sounds so funny, when you say it like that,” said Alice.
“The mushy mushroom mushed in the mouse’s mouth,” said Jenna. “Say it five times, fast.”
The more they tried, the funnier it sounded. Mr. Hartley finally had to knock on the door and say, “Time to settle down in there, girls,” which sent them into gales of stifled laughter. They buried their faces in their pillows to muffle the sound.
If the success of a slumber party can be measured by the number of times the parents have to knock on the door and tell everyone to be quiet, then Sophie’s slumber party was a great success.
In the middle of the night, two raccoons ambled across the Hartleys’ backyard and stopped at the garbage cans next to the back porch. One of them sniffed around on the ground, looking for scraps, while the other scrambled nimbly up the steps and reached out with its paw for the lid of the closest can.
The bungee cord Thad had stretched across the top was securely fastened under the edge of the lid. On top of it was the pile of bricks Sophie had run out to collect from the garage, in her pajamas, right before she went to bed.
Disappointed and still hungry, the raccoons moseyed down the driveway and out into the street, looking for a house where the people weren’t cooperating for the good of the family quite as much as the Hartleys.
About the Author
STEPHANIE GREENE is the author of Queen Sophie Hartley and six books about Owen Foote, as well as Falling into Place and Show and Tell. Although her family never went on strike, some of the scenes in this book were inspired by personal experience. In fact, her own son had a hard time distinguishing between his sheets and his blankets when he was in junior high school. She says, “I maintain it was a ruse, and hope he’s got it straight now, because he’s making his own bed in college.”
Ms. Greene is the recipient of the Anita Silvey Scholarship at the Vermont College MFA program in Writing for Children and Young Adults. She lives with her family in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.
Stephanie Greene, Sophie Hartley, On Strike
Sophie Hartley, On Strike Page 8