Goodbye Mr. Terupt Read online

  The runner’s job was to scurry around the mats until he decided to slide down next to any one of the pairs lying on their bellies. If the runner slid in on the left of the pair, then the guy on the right side became the new runner and had to jump up and take off. Everyone wanted to see someone get smacked, so a lot of times the runner would let the tagger get close before sliding down. The new runner wouldn’t have a chance to get away. He was a sitting duck. He’d get whaled and everyone would cheer.

  The one blessing was, after getting tagged the roles reversed, and the guy with the now-red back got a chance to get revenge. Slap Back was a game of painful fun. You loved it until you felt it. But the game went from fun to borderline scary when the counselors decided to join. The last thing you wanted to do was wallop one of them because then you were dead meat.

  Sure enough, the inevitable happened. Rex got his turn as tagger. He chased down a squealing camper, looking to deliver a fatal blow, but before he got his chance the squealer slid down next to me, which meant Peter was now the runner. Peter scrambled to get out of the way, but there was no escape. Rex hovered, his sights locked on the camper who was number one on his hit list. He delivered a blow on Peter’s back that echoed throughout the gym, sending the campers into a wild hysteria, screaming and cheering. To his credit, Peter didn’t die. He rose from the ground and tore after the big man, but the damage was done.

  At the end of the game the Cornell guys had the campers who got smacked line up like you would for a bodybuilding contest, so that the rest of us could judge their backs. The guy with the reddest, nastiest, most painful-looking back was declared the winner—and that was Peter.

  Rex was cool and came up to us after all the fun to check on Peter. “You okay, Penn State?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t being a wiseass,” Peter said. “I didn’t know the guy you lost to was from there.”

  “Yeah,” Rex acknowledged.

  “I hope you beat him this year,” Peter said.

  “Thanks. I’m gonna try.”

  Peter and Rex fist bumped and then Rex left with his buddies.

  In the end, it was another successful and memorable camp experience. I learned some new techniques and felt like I got better. I was ready for a killer season.

  Peter had a good camp too, but man, did he ever get it bad during Slap Back. Almost hard to believe Lexie could manage to get him even worse, but she was ready when she got her chance.

  I was in a much better position entering eighth grade than I had been before the start of seventh. For one thing, I knew the layout of the school and where my classrooms were located. And for another, I already knew what classes I was taking. I’d done exceptionally well in seventh grade and had been placed in all of the accelerated courses. This was a significant achievement because accelerated sections in eighth grade didn’t simply mean advanced this or advanced that. It meant I was on the accelerated track, taking my first high-school credits—specifically, geometry and biology.

  That was precisely why I was so excited about the Babysitters Gang. Not only was it a great project for us, it was the perfect preparation for biology—the study of life. Taking care of baby Hope was true hands-on science. On top of that, it was also a situation where proofs could be applied, and proofs were a big topic in geometry. I was looking forward to proofs because I liked proving things. Proofs relied on truths and theorems and often incorporated if-then statements. The other cool thing about proofs was that they didn’t only apply to geometry, but you could use them in science—and in life, too. For example:

  IF Peter tries to do anything stupid to Lexie, THEN Lexie will be determined to get even.

  IF the gang gets together for babysitting, THEN that will be the perfect opportunity for Lexie to enact revenge.

  We arrived at Mr. and Mrs. Terupt’s house early in the morning. They were on their way to district faculty meetings, in preparation for the start of school next week. Mrs. Terupt went over everything we needed to know. She showed the girls where to find Hope’s supplies: diapers, wipes, bottles, milk, blankets, clothes, toys, books, etc. Peter, Jeffrey, and I stayed back out of the way because that was the part of the project we weren’t really interested in, but Mrs. Terupt made sure we were paying attention when she covered the strict guidelines and rules for performing a diaper change and prepping a bottle. NEVER leave a baby unattended when she’s on top of the changing table or any other elevated structure, and NEVER heat a bottle in the microwave. I could tell she was feeling uneasy about leaving her daughter, so I tried reassuring her.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Terupt. We’ve got it under control,” I promised her. “We love projects.”

  She made a funny face. Maybe referring to Hope as a project wasn’t the best idea.

  “Luke’s right,” Jessica said, coming to my rescue. “What he means is, you’ve got all of us here working together to keep Hope happy and safe. So don’t worry.”

  Mrs. Terupt flashed a small smile. Jessica was better with words.

  Mr. Terupt gave us his phone number in case we needed anything and then he gently guided his wife out the door. They were going to be late if they didn’t get going. We watched them drive away and then we did nothing. Hope was still napping, so there wasn’t anything for us to do. I’d been so excited and this project was boring. Peter agreed.

  “I’m bored,” he complained.

  IF Peter gets bored, THEN he will try to get creative to pass the time.

  IF Peter gets creative, THEN that can spell trouble.

  The girls headed upstairs to the family room to watch TV. They took the baby monitor with them so they could hear Hope if she woke up. Meanwhile, I hung in the kitchen with Peter and Jeffrey. Mrs. Terupt had baked cookies for us and we were already getting started on them.

  “Hey, what’s this thing?” Peter said, noticing a soft black case that was on the floor near one of the kitchen chairs.

  “It looks like my mom’s scrapbooking case,” I said. “Maybe Mrs. Terupt is a scrapbooker? She could be making a baby book for Hope or something like that.”

  Peter unzipped the top and pulled out a weird-looking funnel that was attached to a length of clear tubing, the sort of hose you’d find on an aquarium filter. “Not sure this is for scrapbooking,” he said.

  “No,” I agreed. I’d never seen such a contraption, and it was obvious Peter and Jeffrey hadn’t either.

  Peter held the cone over his ear like he was playing telephone. Next he stuck it on his forehead and pretended it was erasing his brainpower—the little he had. Then he put it over his mouth and talked into it, making funny noises. That was when silly turned into exciting.

  Jeffrey spotted a switch inside the black case and flipped it. All of a sudden the thing started making noises and the funnel Peter held over his mouth turned into a vacuum. It grabbed onto his lips and sucked them inside. Peter squealed and yanked the sucker off his face. “What the heck!” he yelled.

  Jeffrey and I couldn’t stop laughing. And after he got done freaking out, bonehead Peter found it funny too. So what did he do? The goofball took the cone and stuck it on his mouth again and made all these crazy fish faces and noises while the cup suctioned his face. Jeffrey egged him on, encouraging him to stick it on his forehead. Of course Peter did. And when he got bored of that, he grabbed me in a headlock and stuck the cone on my cheek. I kicked and squirmed and weaseled my way free, but not before I had a dark red circle on my face to match the red rings Peter wore around his mouth and on his forehead.

  “Better give me that before you two break it,” Jeffrey said, turning the machine off and taking the funnel and hose from us.

  “What in the world do you think that thing is?” Peter asked.

  “Not a clue,” Jeffrey replied. “Do you know, Lukester?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it made me thirsty,” Peter said.
“I need something to wash down Mrs. T’s cookies.” He got up, walked to the refrigerator, and peered inside. “Think Mr. T will miss this smoothie if I drink it?” he asked, but he didn’t give us a chance to respond. “You know what, I’m drinking it. I’ll count it as my payment.”

  Peter came back to the table and sat down with his vanilla shake. Then he tipped his head back and gulped down half of it.

  “Dang, that’s sour,” he said, grimacing. “Think it’s expired?”

  “I don’t know, but your milk mustache looks stylish with those red lips,” I teased.

  Peter sneered. Then he slugged down the rest of the sour shake and slammed the container on the table, doing his best tough-guy act. “Careful, Lukester,” he warned. “You don’t want me to attack you with the sucker again. Next time I’ll use it to pull out your eyeball.”

  “Shhh—what was that?” Jeffrey said.

  We listened. There it was. The first noises coming from Hope’s room. The girls came running downstairs into the kitchen—and that was when Lexie proved my proof. Revenge!

  Teach was cool and let me bring Margo when it was time for the Babysitters Gang. Maybe Hope liked poetry, but she was going to like Margo even more. Mrs. Teach was cool with it too. She was more concerned about going over everything we needed to know before she had to leave. She gave the girls and me the rundown on where to find all the supplies when it was time for diaper changes and feeding Hope. Peter should’ve paid attention, but he never did. His mistake was my blessing.

  After the Teaches left, the girls and I hung out upstairs in the family room, playing with Margo and watching reruns of Friends. The guys stayed down in the kitchen. They were busy stuffing their faces with Mrs. Teach’s cookies. But you can’t eat your cookies without milk.

  We were halfway into our second episode when we heard the first noises coming from the baby monitor. Jessica muted the TV and I didn’t even have a freak-out. We froze and listened, and there it was again—Hope was awake. We jumped and hurried downstairs, and what should appear to my wandering eyes but Peter, with a thick milk mustache and an empty container in front of him.

  “Peter!” I screeched.

  “What?”

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Mr. T had a smoothie in the fridge.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I said.

  “I did,” he replied.

  “No, you didn’t,” I repeated.

  “Didn’t what?” he snapped, getting short with me. He turned to Jeffrey and Luke, but, like, they just shrugged. They were clueless—all three of them.

  “Ohmigod!” I cried. The girls and I lost it. We were dying. This was unbelievable.

  “What’s going on?” Peter yelled.

  “Peter, that wasn’t a smoothie,” Anna managed to say in between laughs.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was Mrs. Terupt’s breast milk,” Jessica explained, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “You idiot!” I squealed.

  Peter didn’t believe us. “Yeah, right. Whatever,” he scoffed. “How does she get her boob juice into a bottle?”

  “With that,” Danielle said, pointing to the soft black case sitting near the kitchen table. If anyone knew about milking, it was her.

  Peter’s mouth fell open. He reached up and rubbed the red circle on his forehead.

  “You’re such an idiot!” I exclaimed.

  The look on Peter’s face was priceless. I couldn’t stop laughing. Even Jeffrey and Luke started cracking up.

  “Wait until Teach finds out you drank his wife’s breast milk!” I teased.

  “No!” Peter cried. “You can’t tell him. Please. No,” he pleaded.

  His whimpering was music to my ears. I had him right where I wanted him. It was time for some fun. “Get down on your knees and beg,” I said.

  He didn’t even hesitate. The boy was desperate. Putty in my fingertips.

  “Kiss my feet,” I ordered next.

  “You’re pushing it,” he growled.

  “I’ll tell,” I promised.

  He puckered up and planted his lips on my toes. Oh, the power I had over him. I would’ve kept going, had him bark like a dog and roll over, if it weren’t for Hope’s cries growing louder.

  “That’s good for now,” I said, satisfied. “We need to take care of Hope, but don’t worry, I’ll let you know when you can wait on me next—and you will, or else your secret won’t be secret anymore, Mr. Boob-Juice Drinker.”

  Peter slunk against the wall and I skipped off to help the girls with Hope. We got the little princess changed and swaddled, and then we fixed her a bottle using Mrs. Teach’s extra breast milk from the freezer. Once we had everything, we went back upstairs to the family room where the guys were chilling now too. Peter and Jeffrey were playing with Margo and Luke had the remote.

  Anna sat on the sofa and we propped some pillows around her to help her hold Hope. We were doing great, but then, like, Hope got fussy and wouldn’t take the bottle. Jeffrey helped us reposition her and showed us what to try with the bottle and then Hope started sucking away. We giggled. She was so cute.

  “Guess I learned a few tricks with Asher,” Jeffrey said and shrugged.

  “Guess so,” I said. “Apparently, not all boys are as dumb as Peter.”

  “Ha ha,” Peter groaned.

  “What’re you watching?” Jessica asked Luke.

  “CNN. Catching up on the news,” he said.

  That was the last thing I wanted to watch and I was about to say so, but then, like, something came on that changed everything. It was a commercial for this home kit called GeneLink that you could use to test your DNA to see if you had the genes that put you at risk for certain diseases. I didn’t even know that was a possibility. I mean, I could use that kit and find out if I had the gene for breast cancer, like Mom had. But then what?

  The commercial ended and Luke changed the station to PBS for Hope, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d just seen. I scooped Margo into my arms and hugged her tight.

  But then what?

  Ode to Hope

  The Babysitters Gang took care of you

  without incident,

  except for Peter

  stealing your milk.

  Shhh!

  That’s our secret.

  “How’d everything go?” your anxious mom asked

  the moment she returned.

  “Fine,” a devilish Lexie replied.

  “Only one small mishap with your milk.

  But like, we found more in the freezer.

  So no biggie.”

  “A small mishap, huh?” your ever-wise know-better father replied,

  eyeing Peter.

  Jeffrey snickered. “That’s right.”

  “This was the best project ever!” Luke exclaimed.

  (No offense, but he refers to you as a project.)

  “I learned so much,” he carried on.

  “I can’t wait to do it again.”

  That sentiment

  was shared by all.

  We couldn’t wait to spend

  more time

  with you.

  And we didn’t even know

  time

  was short.

  One thing sucked about eighth grade right from the start. The school had made some changes over the summer and T was stuck teaching seventh-grade science, so none of us had him. I didn’t think I’d ever be happy about that, but I didn’t know what was coming, either.

  We tried visiting T after our first day of school, but he was already on his way out when we got to his room.

  “Hey, gang,” he said.

  “You’re sure getting out of here in a hurry,” I replied.

  “No c
hoice. I need to get Hope from daycare. If I’m late we pay more.”

  “I heard that stuff is expensive.”

  “Very,” he admitted, “so we try to minimize Hope’s time there. Sara takes her in the morning since Snow Hill’s school day starts later than ours, and I pick her up because I get done earlier.”

  “So that means you’ll be rushing out every day,” Luke said, putting two and two together.

  “That’s exactly what it means, genius,” I replied, annoyed.

  “For now,” T admitted, “at least until wrestling starts. But don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”

  What? I thought.

  Bummed, we turned around and left. Everyone headed to the lobby to catch their rides, but I’d forgotten my hat in my locker, so I marched back upstairs.

  The weather at the beginning of September had been so hot and sticky that the copy machine on the second floor kept jamming. The teachers got smart and moved the machine from their work room into the hall, where it was less humid, and the dumb thing cooperated. Their mistake was leaving it out, unsupervised, after school.

  What do you do when you see an unguarded copy machine in the school hallway? Answer: If you’re me, you have fun with it. I dropped my backpack to the side. There wasn’t a soul around. I lifted the top and stuck my mouth and face on the glass and pushed the green button. The light inside a copier is way brighter than I realized. It about blinded me, but that just made the photocopy even funnier. I was gonna do another one but then I heard footsteps coming, so I grabbed my bag and booked it out of there. The last thing I needed was some teacher seeing me messing with their machine. Next thing you knew I’d be getting blamed for it not working. Turns out I got blamed for something anyway. When you have my kind of rap sheet, that stuff happens. Good thing I knew how to handle Mr. Lee.

  Mrs. Francine, our school secretary, buzzed my classroom the next day, requesting I report to the office. I was stoked to be getting out of math, but I knew something was up.