What Mr. Mattero Did (6 page)

Seemed like all hell was breaking loose, and boy, we hadn't planned on that. Not Jenna, not Suzanne, and not me—none of us even thought our parents were going to get called in to school, never mind overreact the way they did. We just thought Mrs. Fernandez would move us out of that music class. That we'd go to study hall instead and that eventually there would be some sort of a parent-kid conference and that would be it.

“Come on, Claire, we're going home,” Mom said, taking my hand and pulling me toward the door.

“Please! Don't go yet!” Mrs. Fernandez protested, opening her arms like she was trying to herd us into a corner. “I need you both to stay—”

“No,” Mom told her in no uncertain terms. She whirled around. “I'm taking Claire home.” And we left. We didn't even stop at my locker or anything, we just hightailed it on out of there.

Mom put her arm around my shoulders as we walked out of school. I could see our van parked in a visitor's slot. Even though our parents went off the deep end, I have to say it felt nice having Mom rush in and whisk me away like that. But I also felt a little bad that Jenna's dad actually hit Mr. Mattero, and a little guilty, too, on account of I know it's not easy for my mom to just drop everything at home. Because of my little brother mainly.

“Where's Corky?” I asked her as we climbed into the two front seats. I knew my sister, Isabelle, was in nursery school, but I wondered what she'd done with my little brother on such short notice. He didn't have such a good morning and had stayed home from kindergarten.

“He's next door,” she said as we buckled ourselves in.

“You left him with Mrs. Butters?” I asked, unable to believe it. I mean, Mrs. Butters is about ninety years old and deaf as a doorknob.

Mom did not look at me as she started up the van. “Claire, they called and said it was an emergency. What choice did I have?”

And suddenly I had a flash of something else in her voice. Like maybe she didn't think it
was
an emergency. Like maybe she was ticked off about having to come to school. So maybe she didn't rush us out of school for my sake—but to get home quick and get Corky back in the house where he was safe. But why would that surprise me? Everything my family did revolved around Corky. What we needed to do for Corky.

Angrily, I crossed my arms.

“I'm sorry, Claire.” Mom reached over and touched my arm as she slowed our car at the blinking light in front of school. It's like she can read my mind sometimes. “What happened to you and Jenna and Suzanne is terrible. It's awful
.
I mean, I hope they fire that man.”

“Fire him?”
I was, like, astonished that my mother would even suggest such a thing. “Fire Mr. Mattero?”

“Of course.” My mother put both hands on the steering wheel, focused ahead, and took off down the road. “A man like that should
not
be in the position of teaching children—or even of being around them.”

My mouth dropped open as we cruised down the highway. I turned to stare out the window at all the stuff I see every day from the bus, but it blurred by: the animal hospital in the little blue house, the tattoo parlor with the dragon on the window, the sleazy pawnshop next door to the pizza place.

“They don't need to fire him,” I said quietly, pulling the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my hands. “We just wanted to, like, be moved out of his class so we don't have to deal with him anymore.” I swung my head around to look at Mom because I didn't want her to misunderstand. “You know, because of what Mr. Mattero did.”

“But, Claire, look—a person like that cannot be allowed around children because what if he does it again? And what if he doesn't stop with the kind of touching that he did to you girls?”

Suddenly this terrible expression absolutely took over my mother's face. Her brow got all wrinkled, and her lips pressed together, like she was on the verge of crying, the way she looks when Corky does something he hasn't done before, like hitting his head on the floor over and over. Only this time Mom's worry—for once—was for me.

“No, it wasn't very nice,” I agreed with her, fueling the concern. “He really scared me, Mom.”

“Claire, I'm so sorry this happened to you.” She glanced at me, and I could see tears in her eyes. “It really makes me angry.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” I agreed. I mean, I was really egging her on.

“They'd better take some action on this,” Mom insisted. “The school. Mrs. Fernandez. The police. They'd better do a good investigation.”

“The police?” I almost laughed because I thought she was joking.

When Mom stopped at the next traffic light, she turned so we could look at each other. She stuck a finger under her sunglasses, to wipe at her eye. “Claire, we may have to file charges because what Mr. Mattero did was against the law.”

Whoa. I didn't know that either! I had no idea it was
that
serious. You know, touching someone that way? Sure, sure. I knew it was wrong. In fifth grade a policeman came and talked to our class about the good-touch/bad-touch stuff. And how no one had a right to touch your privates. But this wasn't the same thing—was it? And anyway, I sure didn't remember that it could like get you arrested or anything like that.

I blinked, but I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything. I just shut my mouth, pulled back, and stared into my lap. Stunned, I guess. A little stunned, as I bit my thumbnail again, not even caring if I made my finger bleed.

When the light turned green, Mom drove a ways and then turned off the highway into one of the million shopping centers that are in my town. She parked at the Dairy Mart. “Do you want to run in and get a hot dog for lunch?”

Wide-eyed, I looked at her. I loved hot dogs, but I hadn't had one in months, not since I went on my diet. Mom didn't even buy hot dogs anymore. But not on account of my diet. It was because of Corky, who can't eat, like, dairy or wheat or even eggs anymore, and you never really know what's in a hot dog, my mom says.

“It's all right.” I started to shake my head because hot dogs had too many calories—like over a hundred for just one, never mind the bun.

“Here—” Mom shoved a five-dollar bill into my hand. “Run in and get yourself a hot dog and a Diet Coke and whatever you want with what's left. Some gum or something.”

I took the five, but I hesitated. I knew this was sympathy money. Feel-sorry-for-Claire money.

Mom reached over and closed my hand around the money. “Go ahead, honey.”

I figured I deserved something for what I'd just been through, so I undid my seat belt and opened the car door. Inside the store, just like the old days, I bought myself a hot dog, pumped on some mustard, ketchup, and relish from the containers, grabbed a cold can of Diet Coke from the fridge case, and picked out two packs of sugarless gum. Even at that, there was some change, which I put in my sweatshirt pocket because my jeans were so dang tight I could hardly put anything in those pockets.

I knew Mom expected me to eat in the van, before we got home and Corky got a whiff of it. So as soon as I got my seat belt back on, I unwrapped the hot dog, pushed it up between the pieces of bun so I'd only bite the meat part and not the bread, and started eating. When I was done, I wrapped up the uneaten roll really tight in the leftover wax paper so Mom couldn't see and stuffed the wad deep in the trash can when we entered the house.

 

 

At home, while Mom rushed off to pick up both of the kids, I took my soda and went up into my room to change out of my jeans. I put on some loose, comfy sweatpants and flopped on my bed wondering if Suzanne's mother was still blubbering away in the school office and what was happening with Jenna. What was
she
thinking? Did she know her father would show up at school? Did he apologize to Mr. Mattero for hitting him? I shuddered when I thought of that and rolled over to hug my stuffed platypus.

It took Mom a long time to come home. The house was stone quiet without her and the kids. I heard the mantel clock downstairs gong twice for two o'clock. I heard a squirrel scurry across the roof. I heard the heating coils under the baseboard click. I didn't like being alone. It made me think too much.

So I got up to put some music on my CD player and to call Jenna from the phone in my room, but no answer, so I left a message for her to call me back. I set the phone on my bed in case it rang and reached over to pick up a magazine I had dropped on the floor the night before. I was just, like, scanning the stuff on the cover: “The Sexiest New Jeans.” “Shoes, Shoes, and More Shoes.” “The Surprising New Way to Find Your Perfect Guy.” “Could a Cult Be Targeting You?” Then I started flipping through the pages and was checking out those new chrome-colored nail polishes when Mom came home and called upstairs.

A man and woman I didn't know were standing with Mom, Corky, and Izzy in the front hall. Corky made a beeline for me and grabbed me around the knees. “Hey, buddy,” I said. He squeezed really hard.

“This is Mr. Daniels from the police department,” Mom said. “And this is Miss Weatherall with the child welfare department. They need to talk to you, Claire, about what happened at school.”

It didn't look as though I had a choice, so I pried Corky's hands from my legs and went into the living room, where we sat down. “Where's Care going?” Izzy kept asking (that's what she calls me—Care). “She's going to talk with the people,” Mom told her while she brought us glasses of water. “Who those peoples? Where's Care?” Izzy kept asking while Mom dragged her and Corky off to the backyard.

When they were gone, I told Mr. Daniels the same exact things I wrote down for Mrs. Fernandez. Then they asked me a bunch of questions about Jenna and Suzanne, like about how long we had been friends and stuff.

“Don't be afraid or worry about going back to school,” Mr. Daniels said when he was done. “Mr. Mattero won't be allowed back until there has been a thorough investigation.”

“He won't?” I asked.

“No. You're perfectly safe going back to school,” Miss Weatherall said. She wore clothes like my grandmother would wear, only she didn't look that old. When she closed up her little notebook, I swallowed hard. Because I was also thinking, If Mr. Mattero couldn't come back to school, who would teach music?

“Thanks for your time, Claire,” Mr. Daniels said.

Miss Weatherall handed me a little white card. She said it had her phone number on it, just in case I needed to talk to her.

“
My
number is on the back, Claire,” Mr. Daniels said. “You can call either one of us. You know, if you forgot to tell us something—anything. Please feel free to call. Anytime.”

After they left, Mom came rushing back in saying she had forgotten some appointment she had for one of the kids and had to rush off. “Can you make us up a batch of chicken tenders for supper?” Mom asked. “Please, Claire, could you do that while I'm gone? Daddy's late tonight. We'll save him some dinner.”

My dad was almost always late on account of his commute into Washington, D.C. Every day he got bogged down in traffic. Sometimes it took him hours to get home, and we don't live, like, that far away.

“Sure,” I told Mom. “I'll make some tenders.”

Corky was pulling on my hands because he wanted me to go, too.

Mom warned, “I don't want anyone over while I'm gone. Not Suzanne—and especially not Jenna. No one.”

“Why not?” I asked her, pulling my hand free from Corky.

Izzy ran out the door while Mom threw her purse over her shoulder and grabbed my little brother, swinging him up into her arms. He whined and struggled to get down because he hates going places. “I just want to let things calm down a little,” Mom said.

“Okay,” I told her, but in a weak voice and secretly rolling my eyes because it irritated me, my mom's attitude. She is always looking for an excuse why I can't be with Jenna.

Mom looked like she was getting ready to say something else, so I said, “ 'Bye, Mom. 'Bye, Cork. 'Bye Iz,” and closed the door.

First thing I did, I picked up the remote in the family room and cruised the channels until I found an old episode of
Hercules.
Then I put the remote on the counter and went to work in the kitchen, where I could still see the TV.

After I'd cut up all that disgusting raw chicken and cleaned off the cutting board with soap and water, I realized my mother didn't have any flour left for me to roll the pieces in. I moaned out loud because that meant I had to like make it from scratch, the special flour Corky needs, and let me tell you, it is a pain in the butt because you have to mix up like ten different things: rice flour, soy flour, garbanzo-bean flour, tapioca starch, a whole bunch of stuff. There's a recipe on our flour jar.

I got it done though. I made the chicken tenders and put them in a bowl with a snap lid and stuck them in the fridge. Corky loves his chicken tenders. On chicken days he eats them with spinach and yams. I washed my hands to get that chicken and flour stuff off. Then I wiped off the counter. I knew I had saved my mother about half an hour of work.

Still, I was feeling a little bit down over all the stuff that had happened at school and the talk with Mr. Daniels and the fact that police were involved and that Jenna still hadn't called back. So, to cheer myself up, I turned off the TV—
Hercules
was over—and went back to my room to put some eyeliner on and French-braid my hair.

8

Melody

POOR DAD.
He slumped into the big easy chair in our living room, leaned his head back, and, with one hand holding the ice pack against his jaw, used his other hand to cover his eyes. He seemed so defeated, so completely blown away by what had happened.