Sophie Hartley, On Strike by Stephanie Greene

Author:Stephanie Greene
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Chapter Five

“On strike?” Mrs. Hartley repeated after dinner on Thursday.

Sophie glanced quickly at Nora, who raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “It was your idea,” the eyebrows said. “Good luck,” said the shoulders.

Sophie tried not to panic. The strike had been going on for two days, but so far no one had noticed. And now wasn’t the best time for the subject to come up.

Their father had arrived home tired and grouchy from his trip. What little he had said at dinner was about the woman in the family he had just moved. She had stood over him and his crew, insisting that they wrap everything in three sheets of paper before they put it in a box.

Every single thing, he grumbled, down to a vegetable peeler and a three-quarters-empty plastic bottle of cooking oil. The packing bill was “astronomical.”

“Money must grow on trees in some neighborhoods, “ said Mrs. Hartley.

“People are lazy.” Mr. Hartley took a bite of his hamburger.

“Everything?” Sophie asked him. “Even toilet paper?”

“Right off the rollers in the bathrooms.”

“Did you get any good jewelry?” said Nora, who had recently taken to wearing rings on all five fingers and bracelets on both wrists.

“Nora’s going to be a jewel thief when she grows up,” reported John. “I’m going to blow up the safes.”

They went on trying to name things that their father couldn’t possibly have had to wrap until Sophie finally said, “What about air?”

When her father admitted he hadn’t packed air, Thad showed off his high school status by saying, “What about a single proton? Or the nucleus of an atom? You couldn’t pack that.”

John finally got over-excited and named the most daring thing he could think of. “Even underwear?” he shouted, almost falling off his chair. “Even dirty underwear?”

“John,” said Mrs. Hartley. “Eat your dinner.” To the rest of the table she said, “Could we move on, please? You all have homework,” so the conversation petered out.

After dinner, Thad went up to his room and Mrs. Hartley took John up to get his bath started while she put Maura to bed. Sophie and Nora were in the family room watching television when their father came in from cleaning the cab of his truck. He flopped into his recliner with a groan.

There was a loud crackling noise. Mr. Hartley jumped up again and lifted the cushion.

“Nice,” he said. He held up a crumpled plastic container and a fork in the air. “Very nice. Whose job is it to clean the family room this week?”

Sophie’s heart had started pounding the second she heard the noise. “Mine,” she said meekly.

“For heaven’s sake, Sophie.” Her mother came briskly into the room and, in her typical way, figured out the situation at a glance. “Take those to the kitchen this minute.” Her father held them out, clearly expecting her to leap up and do it.

Sophie didn’t think she could even if she wanted. She seemed to be paralyzed.

So, of course, she had to tell her parents what was going on.

“Who’s ‘we’?” asked her mother in the stony silence that followed.

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