Freaky Monday Read online

  “Say,” I ventured, trying to sound as breezy-casual as possible, “what do you think of Hadley and Tatum Fox?”

  Ms. Kenkel stood up and turned, adjusting her shirt awkwardly. “You mean the former student Tatum Fox?”

  I nodded. She turned around and went back to her fridge inspection. “Tatum Fox was a delight. A gem. A ray of sunshine, truly.”

  I looked down at my Dolly Madison fruit pie wrapping, defeated.

  “Few students radiate like that girl. Few people. In fact, I’ve never known anyone quite like her. And gorgeous, good grief! You couldn’t help but stare!” She paused reminiscing. “We sure do miss her.”

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t even stay to hear what she thought of me. Who needed it? I bolted.

  CHAPTER 7

  Just as I exited the teacher’s lounge with a strong desire to flee coursing through my body (or…Ms. Pitt’s body I guess is more accurate), I ran smack into myself. I mean Hadley. I mean Ms. Pitt.

  This was the most confusing day of my life. Seriously, I felt like I might spontaneously implode at any moment.

  “We need to speak to a healer,” Hadley said breathlessly.

  “A healer? No, no…we need something WAY beyond the self-help aisle for this weirdness,” I asserted.

  “But obviously our souls are confused and we need some metaphysical guidance! I know lots of people who would be happy to help,” Hadley pleaded.

  “Look—all I want is to switch back…. I’m really not in the mood to talk to those freaky-deaky, your-aura-is-violet friends of yours!”

  “They’re not freaky-deaky.” She paused, obviously stung. “And do you honestly think I don’t desperately want to switch back, too? You seriously think I want to jeopardize my big interview today?” said Hadley. “So. I’m ready for your brilliant suggestions, since mine seem to be so substandard and ‘freaky-deaky.’”

  “I have no idea.” It was the unfortunate truth. I truly was clueless. It was possible I could spend the rest of my days with a closet full of peasant skirts.

  Hadley narrowed her eyes a bit and said, “Teaching is harder than it looks, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. I’ll grant you that. But thank goodness Zane wheeled in that DVD player. I had your classes watch CNN all period.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t know what else to do!” Standing up in front of a class of eighth graders made me realize teaching was harder than it looked. We paused, uncertain how to proceed. I mean, seriously, how do you go about switching bodies back with someone? You don’t know either? Exactly my point.

  Across the hall Milly waved and then pointed to her watch.

  “Oh. You Rock! Self Matters! There’s a meeting now,” Hadley said with a serious lack of enthusiasm. “You’re the chairperson.”

  “I am?”

  “Yup.” Hadley took my arm and made me wave back to Milly. I then put up a finger to indicate I’d be there in a second. “It’s in the library.”

  “You sure do head up a lot of groups, huh?” I asked.

  “Four of them.”

  “Why so many, Ms. Pitt?” I almost felt bad for her.

  “Because.” Hadley paused. “I’d do anything for you kids.”

  For a moment, I was truly taken aback.

  I touched Hadley’s arm and nodded my head. “I know.” It was so strange—here I was in the adult’s body but I felt compelled to take care of the actual adult, Ms. Pitt! It seemed like I was becoming the adult after all.

  “We’ll figure it out. For now I’ve got a…Rock Yourself…You Matter—”

  “You Rock! Self Matters!” Hadley corrected.

  “Right. I have a meeting to hit,” I said, and went to join Milly and her probably too-upbeat supporters. Please tell me Kaya Tisch won’t be there. It would be entirely too much sunniness for my delicate system.

  I figured we’d talk about our Feelings with a capital F and I’d slather their self-esteem with some positive reinforcement. If I told Milly I liked her jean jacket, I’m sure that would be enough….

  Because I REALLY had to get back to the business of figuring out the big switchback-eroo.

  The library was garishly lit and the walls were covered with those lame posters celebrating Earth Day and seasons and literary figures. Milly had some chairs set up in a circle and a meager few students had shown up to pay homage to their all-important teenage self-esteem.

  “Ms. Pitt!” Milly announced with a super smile. “We’re running a bit late today.”

  “Well, sorry, gang. It’s been a weird day…. Seriously, you have no idea.” I sat down and managed a smile to the few in attendance. And they all just stared back blankly in response. Crickets. It was obvious I was not getting Ms. Pitt’s style right.

  I realized I had no idea what to say, despite the fact that I knew all too well the precarious internal shelf on which self-esteem balanced. However, I was also sane enough to realize that sitting in a circle in the library with Milly Albright and friends was NOT going to help me feel one ounce better. Or make me feel more confident about having a supermodel-to-be for an older sister.

  “So,” Milly offered, trying to get the self-worth ball rolling. “What’s on the agenda today?”

  “Well,” I heard myself say, “I guess…you should just go ahead and recap last week’s meeting, Milly. How about that? Cool?”

  “Okay…I can do that.” Milly seemed a little suspicious when she reached into her backpack and pulled out a balloon.

  I almost had to laugh. “What—did you all make balloon animals?”

  Milly looked crushed. “No! This balloon is a metaphor for the fragile self-esteem of the average teenager.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “It was YOUR idea. And it made a lot of sense to me.” Milly looked down, embarrassed and confused. I instantly felt horrible, like I was stomping on poor Milly’s self-esteem and squashing it to pieces.

  “So…tell me again how it works.”

  With that, Milly rebounded with enthusiasm. She blew up the balloon, taking big deliberate breaths. When the balloon was full, she displayed it proudly.

  “This is positive self-esteem. Full and complete.”

  Milly let some air creep out of the balloon, causing a slow hiss. “And when other people say negative things about you, they affect your self-esteem and cause it to leak away.”

  “Oh, now I get it!” I blurted. Everyone stared quizzically. Right, right. I should know this information already.

  Milly continued. “Like, take me. Last week I was feeling okay about myself. Not great, but okay. Normal, at least…and then something happened. I went to see my brother Trey’s baseball game. I mean, he’s the pitcher at high school and he’s all cool and everything…. He drives a Jetta.” Murmurs of acknowledgment…Jettas are terrifically awesome. “And I’m really proud of him…and if he’s cool, maybe somehow I am, too, you know? So I was really excited. I wanted everyone to know that the star pitcher was MY brother. I even wore a button with his picture on it and a jersey of his. You know, to show support,” Milly said, her voice on the verge of cracking. You just knew this wasn’t going to be good. “And when Jake Hinkle asked my brother if I was his sister and pointed to me, Trey saw me in the stands, you know, with my dorky sign and stupid button on, wearing his jersey, and he said no. He shook his head and told him no. That I was not his sister.” She paused and couldn’t continue.

  Instead, she just released the air of the balloon and it all hissed out until it was empty, a limp plastic strip in her hand. No one said a thing and tears welled in Milly’s eyes.

  “He said I wasn’t his sister,” she softly repeated.

  It was tragic and every fiber of my being related to her story—of wanting to be cool by association, of feeling like the lame consolation prize of the family, of despair. I guess the day was already a bit on the dramatic side and this Milly episode unleashed an emotional beast within me.

  I felt tears springing to my eyes (or,
technically, Ms. Pitt’s eyes, but it was my Hadley heart that was feeling this so intensely). “God, that is just so awful, Milly. I’m just really really sorry.” I had to cover my face as the tears were coming so fast.

  The other kids looked at me as if I had sprung a second head—I guess Ms. Pitt didn’t usually weep in the Truth Circle.

  “I can also really relate to what you’re saying,” I managed.

  “You can?”

  I looked Milly dead in the eye. “More than you’ll ever know,” I said with total genuineness. “Thanks for having the courage to tell the truth today. We all should be so brave.” My voice cracked on that last part.

  Milly was a bit confused by this turn but I did sense she felt validated. I snagged the balloon out of her hand and blew it up with a vengeance. Soon the balloon was a happy red orb again, suggesting children’s parties and proms, not woeful self-esteem.

  “This was MY self-esteem last week. Let me tell you what happened. I could just die…. I was in between classes and in a rush, especially between third and fourth period, because the classes were on opposite sides of the school. Anyway, I’m dashing down and I completely have to pee. Like, I won’t be able to concentrate at all unless I hit the bathroom, you know? So I bolt into the john, do what I do, and dash out.” I’m really getting into this story.

  “But why would you have to dash to the opposite side of the school? You teach all day in room fourteen B, right?” Milly asked.

  Oh. Right. “Well, I had to pick something up from Mrs. Bird.”

  This seemed to make everyone feel a whole lot better, despite the holes in logic.

  “Anyway, I dash out of the bathroom and fly down the hall…and I can hear some people laughing, pointing, whatever. Which on some level I’m completely used to. But the laughs are getting louder and I realize it’s directed at me. No shock, right? And that’s when I realize that MY SKIRT HAS BEEN TUCKED INTO MY UNDERWEAR AND I’VE BEEN MOONING THE ENTIRE SCHOOL.”

  To punctuate this story, I let all the air out of the balloon and let it deflate in my hand.

  Gasps of no! chorused the library.

  “Oh, and I’m wearing lame-o days-of-the-week underwear. Wednesday is on full display!”

  “NO!”

  “Oh, yeah. And I had to do this in front of Zane Henderson, can you believe it?”

  “Um…Why would Zane Henderson matter so much?” Paul Canaan asked pointedly.

  Oh, right. Teachers don’t usually tell stories like this. And teachers aren’t supposed to have crushes on their thirteen-year-old students…. “He doesn’t, I guess. I’m just saying…Anyway, it was awful. Just awful.”

  “It’s kind of weird that we didn’t hear anything about it,” Milly said as if she didn’t quite believe me.

  “I think I heard something about Hadley Fox doing that,” a rigid boy stated.

  There was silence. Milly cleared her throat. “Everything that is spoken in the Truth Circle is valued and true.” She looked over at me. “That sounds so embarrassing, Ms. Pitt.”

  I locked eyes with Milly and felt—as Oprah as this sounds—our souls connecting. Like we really saw each other. It just felt natural to get up and offer her a hug. On cue, Milly stood up, too, and we embraced, like old war veterans who hadn’t seen each other for years.

  “I apologize if I haven’t been as nice to you as I could be,” I whispered to Milly.

  “Oh, Ms. Pitt, you’re the best! You’re always SO nice!”

  I smiled. “I am, aren’t I?”

  At that very moment, Mr. Wells was passing by the library and managed to get a glimpse of this lovefest through the door window.

  I hugged Milly again, really holding her, trying to relay my earnestness. “It’s time we all stop wearing the masks and start talking the TRUTH,” I heard myself say, voice cracking. Okay, I admit the weirdness and stress of today was making me more than a little bit unstable.

  I wasn’t letting go. At all. I was clinging to her like she was my life vest. And this bear hug may have been a BIT too much for Milly. She looked at the other incredulous students and gestured with her eyes that this had migrated into a weird territory. Milly tried to pull away but I held on for dear life, clinging to her for reasons I’m not sure even I understood.

  Mr. Wells entered the library. “Ms. Pitt. Might I have a word with you?”

  I finally pulled away and Milly looked relieved. “A word?”

  “My office. Now.” He turned and left, and I knew I had to follow.

  CHAPTER 8

  I sat Ms. Pitt’s posterior down into a seat across from Mr. Wells and peered around the room. The room’s greatest offense was definitely bad decor. Think fake wood paneling and lots of plaques and diplomas up on the wall. A few photos of Mr. Wells shaking hands with men in bad suits. Plus weird pictures of pointy-nosed creatures. His pet gerbils? The “Trust” and “Honesty” posters with the ubiquitous eagles and shots of mountain streams didn’t help the overall effect.

  Regardless, being in the principal’s office was terrifying. I had worked so hard my whole life to avoid this exact spot and now I was here—IN MY TEACHER’S BODY!

  It was anxiety inducing, to say the least.

  Mr. Wells stared at me with angry slits for eyes. I have no idea what Ms. Pitt had done prior to this to make him so hostile.

  “Ms. Pitt,” he started. I guess I didn’t respond immediately—after all, it’s not my name. I stared blankly for a second and snapped to.

  “What? Oh. Yeah?”

  “This morning I have seen you in two different circumstances in which you were acting decidedly…off.” He took his time with the “off.”

  “Yeah, well…it’s been a rough morning.” Which was the biggest understatement of the year, I thought bitterly.

  “Are you particularly nervous about the English department interview today? Perhaps that is jangling your nerves?” I know he wanted to sound diplomatic and concerned, but he was mostly suspicious.

  “The interview is the least of my problems, trust me,” I said.

  “Is it?”

  A weird silence followed, which was broken by a small tap on the door. Mr. Wells wasn’t used to being interrupted, that was obvious. “Yes?”

  Mr. Hudson opened the door a crack and popped his head in. He gave a nice smile to me and I thought he had such sweet eyes. Or maybe that was just in comparison to Mr. Wells’s snakelike stare.

  “Hey there. Sorry to interrupt…but I just wanted to make sure everything was okay in here.”

  “I’m having a chat with Ms. Pitt. Does this concern you?”

  “Well, you see…” Mr. Hudson got red in the face again. It was kind of adorable. “Not really. No. I guess it doesn’t concern me directly but I had heard, you know, that Ms. Pitt was having a bad day and a little stressed and that you wanted to see her…”

  Mr. Wells was about to explode but Mr. Hudson continued with his rambling explanation. “And I just wanted to say that for the record, Ms. Pitt is a terrific teacher.”

  “I’m sure Ms. Pitt appreciates your vote of confidence, but this is a private matter between Ms. Pitt and myself. Thank you.”

  Mr. Hudson had no choice but to close the door. He gave a heartfelt little grin on his way out. At least some adults were civil!

  “It seems you have a loyal following, Ms. Pitt.” Mr. Wells smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile at all. “Is there anything wrong, anything you’d like to discuss or share…a grievance or concern?”

  “Not particularly…” I think he’d be happy if I admitted I like the taste of bat blood or something—he WANTED something tragic or a big admission on my part.

  “You’ve always struck me as an…emotional person—”

  “Is that a bad thing?” Ms. Pitt was emotive, sure, but it wasn’t like she was a bad person, which was the serious undertone of this conversation.

  “Not necessarily, but a propensity for emotion can lead to uneven teaching styles.”

  Uneven teaching sty
les? How mean was that?

  He just half smiled and I felt my temples pound. He was like a cat with a mouse and he wanted to pounce, it was clear….

  “Mr. Wells, please, what do you really want to say to me?!” My voice was cracking and I was teetering on the edge. I didn’t know who (whom?) I felt worse for, Ms. Pitt or myself.

  “It just seems that perhaps of late you have been more than uneven, Ms. Pitt. You seem…scattered. Spread. Too. Thin.”

  With that, the dam broke.

  “You know what? Maybe I am spread too thin! Maybe I do too much! I mean, have you ever had six hours of homework in one night? No?! I didn’t think so!”

  Now Mr. Wells was REALLY nervous.

  “Do you know that having a 4.0 isn’t enough to get into an Ivy League school anymore? You have to get a 4.5 or a 4.6 and basically be a genetic freak? You think Stanford cares if you’re on the softball team? Oh no! You have to be captain of the softball team and translate books for the blind and speak nine languages AND—”

  Mr. Wells was beyond freaked. “All right, this is confounding—”

  “Confounding? Oh, you think you know confounding? No, no—you don’t know confounding like I know confounding…. Because me and confounding?! We go way back.” I felt a little bit of spittle on my lip from this crazed outburst. I stopped just short of telling him what was the most confounding of all (answer: switching bodies with your eighth-grade English teacher).

  Mr. Wells ran his hand over his head, slicking back his hair, totally unnerved. He looked down as if to regain his composure. “Ms. Pitt. Frankly, you are not making any sense. I would like you to please go home at once to get some rest. And if I were you, I would definitely reschedule that interview.”

  I tried to take some deep breaths but wasn’t exactly successful.

  There was a small knock at the door. It did not open but behind it, I heard Mr. Hudson’s hesitant voice: “If you need a ride…”

  Mr. Wells’s eyes rolled and he gestured to the door. It was clear he wanted me to leave and fast. So I did just that.