Monstrato

  Chapter 3

  We knew we were late. No kids were standing outside when we pulled into the parking lot. Calvin stopped his car in front of school so Cassidy and Terrell could hop out—they had to get to Kearns's class. The rest of us waited for Calvin to park and took our time getting out. We had a new teacher who just started who was gonna teach computers and math. Last thing we wanted was her thinking that we were gonna make a big deal about being on time. When we went into school, we opened the door real quiet and kinda slid by the office window, hoping no one would see us. Turned out, no one was in the office or they might've stopped us and made us get late passes.

  We walked into the computer lab like we always do—like we're arriving at a house party and glad to be there, acting like we didn't know we were late. The kids in the room were saying, "What up, dog…My homies are here." We were saying, "Just thought we'd stop by, see what kinda party you got going on in here…" Across the room, I saw the new teacher, Ms. Strauss, glaring at us from behind a computer. I'd only met her in homeroom and in Algebra 2. She seemed like a ball of fun…and boy was she ugly.

  In a real stern voice, she asked, "Why are you late?"

  Calvin said, "Man, we didn't know what time it was."

  Cecil said, "Traffic," as if that was all she needed to know.

  Calvin said, "Yeah, traffic…the traffic was real bad on the way over here. There was like a traffic jam, you see, and then we had to wait for a train…" That's what we'd always do with teachers when we were late—make up excuses, say anything that popped into our heads. The teachers never believed us, but it didn't matter. What you never wanted to do was say you were sorry or admit it was your fault because then they'll jump on you real quick, start lecturing you about responsibility and crap like that. So we kind of played this game where we always had an excuse, and they never believed us.

  Next thing she wants to know is do we have late passes. Calvin says, "Man, we tried, but there wasn't no one working in the office when we went by. You want me go get one? Someone might be in there now."

  Ms. Strauss snapped back, "No. Just find a seat. We're about to get started." She looked at me and asked, "Now, what's your name again?" I told her my name. Then she wanted to know where I was the last two days.

  I said, "Like I told you in homeroom, I've been suspended since Tuesday."

  She scowled and said, "Well, you need to find someone to share a computer with because we don't have nearly enough for everyone to have their own." I didn't like how she talked to me. I already knew we'd have to share a computer because I'd taken the class the semester before. She seemed grumpy, this Ms. Strauss, and I was getting the feeling she didn't like kids.

  When people came into the computer lab, first thing they'd do is start playing music on all the computers, then they'd turn up the volume to keep their song from being drowned out by the others, and the whole place would get really loud. That's what was happening when we came in. Latisha was playing a Twista song, hanging on Jerrell, bouncing her butt up and down with the music. Kids were moving chairs, changing seats, climbing over each other, and tripping over wires as they tried to squeezed in behind the computers. I heard Makayla yelling, "Stop touching me!" She was over in the corner roughhousing with Russ and Kyle like she always does.

  It was too crowded in there for that many kids. This wasn't no rich people's computer lab like you see at other schools—you know, the big computer screen with the remote for the teacher to use, glass table tops with keyboards that slide in and out. Not here. We had the ghetto computer lab—cheap, wobbly tables, sagging in the middle and crammed with so much gear that we'd always get our speakers and mouses mixed up. We had wires and power cables running every which way across the floor, and layers of dust—no room for a vacuum, so it never got cleaned. The computers weren't so hot, either. They had no CD burners or places to plug in a flash drive, so you couldn't take anything you created with you—just had to hope nobody erased it. And the printers never worked.

  I squeezed between some chairs and sat down by Hope Swanson, the same person I shared a computer with the semester before. I said, "Hey, Hope…What's up, girl?"

  "Hey, Macy," is all she said. She was off in her own world, playing computer pinball, and doing her silent thing.

  I still had a good buzz going from lunch and was talking to everyone around me. Lori was sitting nearby, gazing at me with her blue eyes. We apologized to each other for the fight we had in the car and made up and blamed the whole thing on us being so screwed up on vodka. Then I told the kids about me getting picked up by the cops, how I was cussing at them, and how they threatened to put handcuffs on me. I could see Makayla listening to my story, pretending she wasn't. It was the first time she'd gotten quiet since I came in the room. I didn't say anything about her, or about me staying at her house. Later on, I caught her eye and gave her a big smile. The way she smiled back, like real gracious, I could tell she had no hard feelings, so I blew her a kiss.

  Then Ms. Strauss stood up from her desk, told us to turn off the music, and started taking roll. She got through roll all right, but when she tried explaining the day's assignment, kids were talking and not paying attention. I told them to shut up—I was in a bully mood, and I wanted to see what this Ms. Strauss was about—but no one listened to me. Ms. Strauss started talking louder like she was trying to make a point, and so did all the kids. She said, "You guys need to listen to this or you're not gonna know what to do when you get your assignment." I could see her getting mad. She kept telling people to be quiet and started making threats. Then she got the idea to make the kids who were talking move to other seats, but this got everyone stirred up with people climbing over each other, complaining about where they were being moved. By the time she got back to her lecture, it was louder than before. She finally got fed up and put the assignment on the board, told us where to look in the book for the information we'd need, and sat down. Most kids went on talking like she wasn't even in the room.

  I felt sorry for Ms. Strauss. She was short and fat and walked with her head jutting forward and her neck down between her shoulders like an old lady—but she wasn't nearly that old. Now with some people who are overweight, when you see them smile, you can tell they have a pretty face underneath. Mrs. Garrison was like that, but not Ms. Strauss. Ms. Strauss seemed like she'd be ugly even if she were thin, and the way she carried herself, it was like she knew it. And she had something wrong with one of her eyes. It didn't move. It sort of stared straight out like it was seeing things but didn't understand what it was seeing.