The Trouble with Mark Hopper (7 page)

“What?” Mark said.

“What is wrong with you today? Did you do badly on that math test or something?”

“Of course not,” Mark said sharply. “I have to stay after school for a little today. Can you wait to walk home?”

Jasmina shook her head and her braids clicked together. “Nope,” she said. “I'm going to Kylie's house after school.”

Mark snorted. “Fine,” he said. He took another bite of his sandwich and chewed it angrily.

Jasmina stared at him with her eyebrows raised. “Timmy will be home this afternoon. I'm sure he'll want to hang out with you.”

“I don't want to play with your stupid six-year-old brother,” Mark said, spewing turkey and bread.

“Suit yourself.” Jasmina shrugged, turned away from him, and starting chatting with Kylie.

“I'm going to finish my lunch in the library,” Mark said to no one in particular. He packed up and left, making sure to go by Mark's table and look purposely straight ahead as he passed, as though he didn't even notice Mark was there.

The Mark who needed to speak to Miss Payley about his poor test grade would normally have put off their meeting as long as possible. He would have dawdled at his locker, turning the lock slowly and pausing on each number for a few seconds before leisurely selecting the books he'd need for homework and placing them carefully side by side in his backpack. Then he'd have walked at a turtle's pace all the way around the square-shaped building so as to take the longest path to Miss Payley's room, probably stopping in the boys' bathroom—and moving at the same snail-like speed in there—on the way. But today he rushed straight over from art to get it over with as soon as possible. Partly he wanted to be done with it quickly so that he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore, and partly he wanted to finish in time to go to the art club meeting, since Jonathan was saving him a seat. But mostly he wanted to be in and out before the other Mark Hopper arrived for his detention. He was so relieved to find only Miss Payley there when he arrived that he realized he was more upset about the other Mark than about his grades.

“Mark,” said Miss Payley. “What happened on that quiz?”

He took out his test so quickly he almost ripped the paper. “I don't know,” he whispered, his large blue eyes apologetic. “I think I'm just off to a shaky start, but I will get better. I'm trying.”

“I understand.” Miss Payley smiled. “It is a big adjustment from elementary school to middle school.”

Mark nodded. She sounded like his mom. It is a big adjustment, she'd said, and you're going to have to work very hard, especially in honors classes. He was not looking forward to showing the test to his mom that night. “I think I will definitely do better next time,” he promised. “My sister is going to help me. She's really smart.”

“Beth?” asked Miss Payley.

“Yeah,” said Mark, wondering if Miss Payley was thinking of his sister or the other Beth Hopper, and if the other Beth Hopper was as awful as her terrible, life-ruining brother.

“In class,” Miss Payley said gently, “do I go too quickly for you sometimes?”

Mark didn't know how to answer. If he confessed that she did, she might suggest that he move down into the regular class. But maybe she thought she was going too quickly for everyone, and she wanted to know so that she could slow down. “A little,” Mark said, compromising. “Sometimes.”

At that moment the other Mark entered the room. “Miss Payley, I want to apologize,” he announced loudly.

Miss Payley turned. “One moment, Mark. We're talking here. Take a seat.”

Mark slumped down into a desk. Each Mark tried to avoid looking at the other.

Miss Payley paused and then turned to the Mark who had just walked in. “All right. I think you should apologize,” she said to him.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“And to Mark.”

“I'm sorry, Mark,” Mark grumbled.

“For . . .” Miss Payley prompted.

“For announcing your grade to the class, especially because it was a bad grade.”

“And . . .” continued Miss Payley.

“And?”

“And . . .”

“And it wasn't a nice thing to do? Which is why I'm sorry. And I hope you do better on the next test?”

“Thanks,” mumbled the Mark who just wanted to get to art club.

“Thank you,” said Miss Payley. “Tomorrow you will apologize to the rest of the class.”

Mark almost argued with her because what he just did was bad enough—
How many freaking times did he need to apologize?
—but decided to keep quiet. He tightened his lips and crossed his arms.

Miss Payley turned back to the other Mark, who was tracing the outline of the floor tiles with his foot. “This is going to be a fast-moving class, Mark,” she said to him. “I know this is only the very beginning, but I don't want you to fall behind.”

“I won't,” promised Mark.

“Well, just in case,” Miss Payley continued, “I think it might be a good idea to set you up with a study partner. That way you can be sure to keep up right from the start. I think that's a better idea than waiting a few weeks and seeing how it goes, because then it might be harder to catch up.”

Mark's eyes widened at the idea. Maybe Jonathan could be his study partner. Then they would definitely become friends. Or maybe Jasmina—she seemed really nice and smart, and he was pretty sure she had Miss Payley a different period. “Okay,” Mark said. “I'll do that.”

“Great,” said Miss Payley. “Mark,” she said to the other Mark. “Putting your behavior this morning aside for a moment, you really seem to be catching on to the work quickly . . .”

“Thank you, Miss Payley,” called Mark as he started out the door.

“Wait!” said Miss Payley. “Hold on one second, Mark. Mark, I would really like it if you and Mark would be study partners.”

Both Marks froze.

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“Yes, I think you two will work wonderfully together,” Miss Payley said with a playful smile.

Mark thought he'd work better with someone he actually wanted to like.

Mark thought he'd work better with a dead dog.

“You can have your first study session tomorrow afternoon. You can use this room.”

“Um—”

“But—”

“That's all, Mark Hoppers,” Miss Payley said. She put on her jacket and picked up her bag. “I'll see you tomorrow,” she said.

The two Marks stared at each other—one seething with anger and one consumed with worry—but they both could have sworn that from the corner of their eye they saw Miss Payley do a little jig on her way out the door.

That night, Mark made a list:

Then, just so it didn't seem like he was complaining about something that could not be changed, he made another list:

His handwriting got heavy and messier while writing that last suggestion, and by the end of the sentence, it was so heavy that his period made a hole in the paper. He knew he couldn't show the list to Miss Payley with that suggestion on it, but writing it did make him feel better. So did scribbling it out quickly and wildly. When he took out a fresh piece of paper to copy the list over, he felt a bit calmer. If he presented his case rationally and reasonably, he was sure to make Miss Payley understand. He would even present it after class when the other Mark had left already, so as not to hurt his feelings. That would show Miss Payley that he was a caring person.

When he finished double-checking his math homework (it was perfect as usual, but he figured his case would be stronger if it was extra perfect), Mark took out the Mastermind tournament rules. Beth had brought home the information last year but wrapped her gum in it and dumped it in the kitchen garbage bin with a “yeah, right.” Mark had taken it out of the trash, smoothed out the pages, removed the gum and food particles stuck to it, and put it in his desk. He'd been studying the rules and planning ever since.

He looked at the components of the competition and the notes he'd been keeping beneath each item:

When he got to the bottom, his eyes traveled back up to item three. He was a great bassoon player, but it was that second note that always worried him: “Evidence of talent in two areas is welcome.” That meant he
could
just send a CD of himself playing the bassoon, but if he wanted to win, he needed something else, too. He thought about singing a song on the CD, but decided that was kind of a cheesy idea; besides, what song would he sing? He considered taking opera-singing lessons. He also considered including his certificate that said he did ten chin-ups for the presidential fitness test in fifth grade. He could easily take that out of its frame and photocopy it. But that wasn't really Mastermind material. His mind drifted to the drawing the other Mark was showing his friends at lunch and the sketch on his math test. Even though Mark thought art was for people who weren't good enough to play instruments, and even though he was sure the other Mark must have traced the really good drawing, he wished just for a second that he had something like that to submit with his name on it.

“Mark! Your father is on the phone!”

Mark forgot about the other Mark instantaneously. He jumped up from his desk and barreled down the stairs. His parents had separated a few months ago, and his father had only called three times since. He hadn't visited at all. “Dad!” he said into the phone.

“Hi, Mark. What did your mother say about me when she told you I was on the phone?”

“Nothing, she just said you were on the phone. I'm doing really well in school.”

“Nothing? I thought she said, ‘Your father is
actually
on the phone.'”

“No, Dad. I got a hundred on a math test this week.”

“Be sure to tell your mother that she has no right to comment on how often I talk to you and your sister because
she's
the one who won't let me come visit.”

Mark tightened his lips. He didn't know if that was true or not. “Dad, I got a hundred on a math test this week. And I got an A on an English essay.” He didn't mention that the essay was just about what he did over the summer.

“Not an A-plus?”

“No,” Mark said, silently cursing Mrs. Quigley. “My teacher doesn't
give
A-pluses.”

“What kind of an idiot doesn't give A-pluses?” his dad said. “Have you entered the Mastermind tournament? You know I won that every year in junior high.”

Mark knew. He had spent hours looking at the trophies with his dad's name on them in the family room, before his dad left and took the trophies with him. “I haven't heard anything about it yet,” Mark said. “But don't worry. I've got it made. Dad, guess what? There's this other kid named Mark Geoffrey Hopper—”

Mark's mother shouted that dinner was ready.

“I'm on the phone!” Mark shouted back.

“Then get off of it. It's dinnertime.”

“What was that? What's your mother on about now?” his dad asked.

“Nothing,” Mark said bitterly.

“Let me talk to your sister.”

“But we just started talking,” Mark said quietly.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Hold on.” He started to feel funny, like he was going to cry. Rather than give in to it and get made fun of by Beth and his mother, he gave his dad his I-don't-like-you-either look through the phone. He wasn't sure if he was glad or not that his dad couldn't see it. He put the phone down and walked into the kitchen, where Beth and his mom were starting to eat pork chops. “You're eating without me?” he asked.

Beth shrugged. “You were on the phone,” she said with her mouth full.