My Time as Caz Hazard (3 page)

This time, when she turned her head toward me, her hands kept working.

“Your dad talk to you?”

I nodded. I guess I must have looked mad, because her jaw set the way it does when she's refusing to extend my curfew.

“It's hardly the end of the world. You're just going to have to adjust.”

“Whatever,” I shrugged.

“Get me some newspapers from the recycling bin downstairs, will you? I need more packing material.”

When I turned to go, my eyes slid past the dresser, a jumble of keys, lipsticks, mints and a fifty-dollar bill. Without looking back at Mom, I whisked the bill off the surface and stuffed it in my pocket. I don't know why. It wasn't like I usually stole money from my parents. This time, it seemed like she owed me something.

Ignoring Mom's newspaper request, I made for Ted's bedroom. There was no answer when I knocked, so I slowly pushed the door open. He was sitting on the end of the bed, bouncing a basketball off the opposite
wall. His headphones were on, the music playing so loudly that I could hear a garbled version of it from the doorway. I walked over and flicked one of his ears. He jumped.

“What do you want?” he grumbled, turning down the music only slightly.

“To see if you're okay.”

“Perfect,” he said.

“I thought you might want to talk.”

“Did you know that at the Sydney Olympics, Vince Carter slam-dunked the ball over the head of a guy who was more than seven feet tall?”

“That's thrilling.” My twisted brain couldn't remember how to spell, but Ted could remember years of basketball facts. Genetics were totally unfair. “You're changing the subject,” I told him.

“We weren't talking about a subject.” Welcome to the world of little brothers. They're entirely annoying. I suddenly remembered the chocolate bars I had in my pocket. I pulled one out and threw it on the bed beside him.

“Where did this come from?” he asked.

“I stole it,” I said, trying not to sound too pleased with myself.

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“I don't want it then.” He tossed it back toward me and I let it fall on the floor as I left. Ted was still throwing the basketball at the wall. I saw a flash of the future — one Hallard kid becomes a famous TV sportscaster. The other ends up illiterate, unemployed and enormous from eating stolen chocolate bars.

We progressed to the “sh” sound in Ms. Samuels' class.

Her blank box of a classroom was starting to show traces of our existence. There were the badges pinned in one corner, around the Golden Gate Bridge poster. A couple of days before, she had hung clouds from the ceiling in celebration of “cl.” She'd even posted this crazy picture of a stripper that Amanda drew to represent “str.”

We were also learning rules of spelling that applied to all sorts of words. It was actually kind of cool, when I could remember the rules. For example, when a one-syllable word had a short vowel sound, the end consonant was always doubled. There was a trick to help remember that one — “Buzz off, Miss Pill.”

When I got to class, Rob and Dodie were the only ones there. Dodie was sitting with her collage — our latest homework assignment in the “sh” category — displayed in front of her. I could see she had done it wrong. She had potato chips in it. As if they were spelled “potato ships.” Of course, it was probably hard to think while wearing such hideous clothes.

“Nice cardigan.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, without looking up from the table.

“Do you buy your own clothes?”

She shook her head.

I started to suggest that she ask for an allowance, but Amanda swooped in.

“Caz Hazard and Dodie Doorknob, you both look smashing this morning,” she
chirped, exaggerating the “sh” sound in “smashing.”

“My last name's Hallard,” I told her.

“I like Hazard,” she said. “As in hazard to your health.” At that moment she spotted Dodie's collage on the table.

“Did you actually do that piece of crap assignment? I've never heard of something so stupid. I swear that woman thinks we're in kindergarten.”

“No, that woman doesn't,” Ms. Samuels said from behind Amanda as she entered the classroom and closed the door behind her.

Amanda didn't even flinch. She just smirked.

A second later, Ms. Samuels was the one to flinch as the door banged open. Jaz slammed it shut again behind him and dropped into a chair. He pulled a rolled-up piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jean jacket and flicked it onto the table. As far as I could tell, the only thing glued to it was a giant picture of a turkey. I couldn't help grinning.

I had kind of liked doing the collage. My mom decided to pick up some more things for
her new apartment the night before, so cutting up magazines was a good escape from the sounds of moving furniture. I found a woman's shoulder. (The poor
Cosmo
model never even saw my scissors coming.) I added pictures of a cruise ship and seashells and snipped a tiny piece of our living room shag rug.

Ms. Samuels picked up Dodie's collage from the table. “This is very good, Dodie,” she smiled. “I like your use of color.” I rolled my eyes. It was obvious Ms. Samuels couldn't think of anything else nice to say.

“Caz? Did you finish your collage?”

As Ms. Samuels spoke, Amanda turned to look at me. Her raised eyebrows said, “Don't desert me now.”

I shook my head. “Didn't get it done,” I said.

Ms. Samuels looked disappointed for a moment. “Maybe by tomorrow,” she said. Then she turned to the blackboard and began the class.

When we left the room at noon, I made sure Amanda and Jaz both left before me. Then I dropped my collage facedown on the table. It wasn't really like handing it in.

I finished my lunch early and headed for my locker, thinking that I could grab my sketchbook and put some finishing touches on my work before class.

It was pouring outside. The hallways were so crowded that I had to elbow my way through. When I finally got close to my locker, I found drug-dealer Brad and a group of his friends in my way. I tried to skirt around them, but no luck.

“Sped alert,” I heard one of them say.

“Hey, it's Caz, right?”

I looked up, surprised to see Brad speaking to me.

“Want to go out with me some time?”

It wasn't like I was going to say yes. Not even if the universe was about to end and Brad and I were the only hope for the survival of the species. But when a guy like Brad suddenly asks you out, your jaw automatically drops. Then the entire circle of guys erupted in laughter.

“Go out with a sped! Nice one, Brad!” They were slapping him on the shoulder as if he were a stand-up comedian. Feeling my
face turn more and more red, I backed away through the crowd and headed for the girls' washroom.

Amanda found me just as I got there. I swiped the tears from the edges of my eyes, not wanting to explain what happened. She didn't notice. Instead, she pulled me into the bathroom with her as the bell rang.

“Hey, Hazard, come and hang out with me,” she whispered. “I can't stand the thought of going to math today. If that guy makes me do ratios one more time, I'm going to dip myself in oil and light a match. Really. I'm going to wrap myself in foil and throw myself into a deep freeze. I'll take…”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” I stopped her, laughing. “I'm not exactly in the learning mood either.”

I sat at one end of the bathroom counter while Amanda perched on the other. She tugged off one sock and balanced her foot on the edge of a sink, pulling nail polish from her purse.

“What do they do when you skip out?” I asked her.

“Who?”

“The school. Do they send notes home or something?”

Amanda shrugged. “If they do, they probably send them to the wrong address. I changed foster homes twice this summer.”

“You're in foster care?”

“Don't look so shocked. I'm not the only one. Even Dodie Doorknob's a foster.”

My eyes widened. “Why?”

“Her mom's psychotic or something. Aren't they all?”

Thinking of my mom's behavior lately, I was inclined to agree.

Amanda launched into stories about her new foster sister, who kept sneaking out of the house at night. After a while I tuned out. I started writing on the mirror with my finger, watching the lines appear and disappear.

“Skipping out,” I wrote. Then, “Caz HAZARD.” When I turned back to Amanda, she was dabbing lipstick on her lips, then smearing it around with lip-gloss.

“Want some?” She tossed me the lip- stick tube.

I opened it and turned to the mirror again. “Dodie Doorknob,” I wrote in big pink letters. It seemed childish. After a minute I added, “does Dogwood.” It wasn't any less immature, I admit, but I thought Ms. Samuels would be proud of my consonant use.

“Executed with true creative flair,” Amanda grinned, hopping off the counter to give me an elaborate bow. “Now let's blow this Popsicle stand.”

We padded out through the deserted hallways, past the stoners smoking along the school fence and toward the mall again. It was windy and the air blew through my sweater, chilled my skin and sent my hair flying over my face. I suddenly felt carefree, as if the worst had already happened. I was already skipping out. I'd already written mean things on the mirror. What else could I possibly get in trouble for?

When we got to an accessories store, I nudged Amanda. “This time you provide the distraction,” I said. Then I strolled inside and
began trying on scarves, checking myself out in the mirror each time.

I heard Amanda yelp. “Ouch! Okay, you've got to help me,” she whined to the clerk. “I tried this ring on and it won't come off.”

With a quick snap I tugged the tags off a silky red scarf and shoved it down the front of my sweater. Then I walked right past Amanda and the saleswoman, glancing at them as if casually curious. Amanda now had oil on her finger, and the ring was sliding slowly off.

She met me outside, as before.

Exhilaration coursed through me. “I can't believe I did that,” I squealed. We were just tapping our fists together in congratulations when a man stepped up behind us.

“Excuse me, girls,” he said. I turned just enough to see a hint of a paunch, a black leather belt, a blue shirt. Without waiting to hear more, without even glancing at each other, Amanda and I started running.

“Hey! Stop! You girls come back…” his booming voice bounced through the
half-empty mall after us. We didn't stop. We didn't stop until we were two blocks away. Then we collapsed on a bus stop bench.

“Was he a security guard?” I gasped.

“I don't know. I think he was wearing a radio,” Amanda said.

“Maybe he was just some guy who wanted to ask the time.”

“I don't think so.”

“But he didn't chase us,” I said.

Amanda started laughing. “He might have had a heart attack. I could hardly keep up with you. Did you run track in a past life or something?”

As I caught my breath and started to relax again, I remembered the scarf inside my sweater. I pulled it out slowly, like a magician pulling handkerchiefs from his sleeve. It seemed even brighter in the sunshine. It would look great on Mel, but I hadn't exactly been seeing her much since I switched schools. When I remembered Ted's reaction to the chocolate bar, I decided against offering it to her.

“It's gorgeous,” raved Amanda.

I shrugged. “Red looks terrible on me. Might look good on you, though.”

I wrapped it loosely around her neck. “Was it worth the run?” I asked.

She smiled. A real smile, not her usual smirk. “Definitely.”

I got home late and found Ted sitting on the floor of the kitchen, eating handfuls of cereal out of the box. A dusting of broken flakes covered his baggy sweatshirt. Not exactly a fashion statement.

He was smarter than he looked, though. Lately he'd been proofreading my homework for me. On Ms. Samuels' advice, I'd asked him to circle any errors in pencil, but not
correct them. Then I would go through and fix everything, erasing his pencil marks as I went. For a grade nine kid, he had pretty good spelling.

From his slouch on the floor, he motioned me to silence and pointed to the vent above him. We could hear voices echoing down from the upstairs bedroom. I sank down beside him and helped myself to a handful of his cereal.

“That's pure stupidity,” came my mom's muffled shout.

“I simply assumed,” my dad said.

That's how my mom and dad fought. Mom yelled and Dad answered in his I'm-so-much-more-reasonable-than-you voice. A voice that obviously made Mom even more angry.

“Well, you can unassume. You're an unmotivated lump. You can barely pay for their food, let alone their education. I can't believe you would even consider…”

“What are they talking about?” I whispered to Ted.

“Us.”

“What?”

“They're talking about which one gets to keep us,” he mumbled.

“I thought we were staying here!” I said, forgetting to whisper for a minute.

Ted put a finger to his lips. “So did I. So did everyone except Mom, apparently. She says she has an extra bedroom in her apartment for us.”

“There is no way I'm sharing a bedroom with you,” I told him.

“It's not like I want your putrid perfume in my bedroom,” he said, “but no one's asking us.”

“We'll see about that.” Leaving him cramming more cereal into his mouth, I stomped my way upstairs. I tried to make extra noise to warn them, but when I got to the hallway I could still hear them yelling at each other. I swung open their bedroom door without knocking.

“What do you call having the same job for ten years?” my mom was yelling. “That warehouse is going to kill you one of these days.”