Read Online Death by Eggplant by Susan Heyboer O'Keefe - Free Book Online Page A

said distractedly, patting first his shirt pockets, then his pant pockets.
    Beep-beep!
    His phone! My father was looking for his cell phone! No wonder I thought he had looked lopsided. I rarely saw that side of his head. When he checked in at the school office, he must have noticed the sign that read “No cell phones, no pagers, no beepers,” thought it meant him, and turned his cell over to the secretary for safekeeping.
    Now he wanted to answer the call of a digital watch.
    As the guilty student fumbled to turn off the alarm, Mrs. Menendez glared. No beeps of any kind were allowed in class.
    â€œDad!” I waved my hand in the air to get his attention.
    â€œYes, son?”
    â€œYou can stop looking for your phone. That was a watch beeping.”
    â€œOh,” he said. He folded his hands in front of him. “Thank you. I guess I’m done, anyway. Questions anyone?”
    Two dozen hands shot up, no doubt desperate to know more about Head Cracker. One voice jumped in without waiting.
    â€œSo, Mr. Hooks, your job is to pay up when freak accidents happen?” Dekker asked, his smile sneering and suspicious.
    â€œWell, to help
determine
the chances that a payout will be neces—”
    â€œSo how much did you have to pay when your son was born?”
    â€œMr. Dekker,” Mrs. M. said. “I’ll remind you that Mr. Hooks is a parent.”
    â€œOh, and that reminds me that
Mrs
. Hooks is a parent, too. I guess to get your son, you had to cross Mrs. Hooks with a—”
    â€œMr. Dekker, report to the principal’s office at once!”
    â€œWhat? What did I say?” He gave an exaggerated shrug.
    She fixed him with a stare.
    My father shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another.
    â€œIt’s okay, Mrs. Menendez.” He gave a nervous wave. “Really.”
    â€œNo, Mr. Hooks. I have been unforgivably lax of late. As a result, the class has come to believe that the foolishness that goes on among themselves is acceptable elsewhere. It is not. I am so very sorry.” She turned to Dekker.
“Go.”
    For a very long moment, they stared at each other. Then Dekker stood up, shoved the flour bag off his desk, and stamped out of the room. The bag landed with an
oof
and a cloud of white dust.
    Mrs. M. sat down.
    â€œI apologize again, Mr. Hooks,” she said. Her voice had a strange little hiccup to it. “Please, go on.”
    My father didn’t answer, but only looked at her.
    I raised my hand and waved it furiously.
    â€œDad! Dad!”
    â€œHmmm?” He turned to me.
    â€œDad, you said something about how important the decimal is.”
    He nodded.
    â€œSo why don’t you tell us the story about the guy whose pen leaked? And there were decimal points everywhere?”
    â€œThat’s right!” Relief made him look all rubbery. “That’s a good one.”
    Instantly understanding, my father moved inch by inch to the left as he talked. This just happened to be farther and farther away from Mrs. M.’s desk at the right. When he had all the kids laughing, Mrs. Menendez took out a tissue and quietly blew her nose.
    Despite the weakness betrayed by that soggy Kleenex, she recovered quickly. At the end of the story, she stood up, slam-dunked Dekker’s flour sack into his knapsack, andpicked up the bag. Then, in her sternest voice, she said, “Class, I’m escorting Mr. Hooks out. Not a word from any of you. Judy Boynton, you’re in charge.”
    Mrs. M. and my father left. All of us stared at the open door.
    For those last ten minutes, the class was perfect. No spitballs, no notes, not even whispers. Every so often, some frowning face would sneak a glance at me. No doubt people were wondering what Mrs. Menendez would say and do tomorrow, after today’s disastrous parent visit.
    Meanwhile,
I
was wondering how much Dekker’s trip to the principal’s office was going to cost me.

DAY SEVEN,