want someone to pay.
As I raise my hand again, a teacher shows up and tells us both to go to the office.
Ms. Clooney finds me, alone, outside the staff room. The bully wasn’t so dumb after all, and he’s escaped to push another day. Ms. Clooney doesn’t ask me why I’m there. For once, she seems pleased to see me. She loads me up with a pile of colored paper sheets and leads me to the announcement booth.
The announcement booth is just a little room with a table, a chair, some shelves, a bench, a board with switches, a microphone, and a little window that looks out onto the main hall. It’s a place that I’d mostly ignored until now.
“Our Wednesday announcer has left,” she explains. “We’re running a little late. Just get through what you can.”
She shoves me down into a swivel seat behind a microphone. She says something about switches and pink forms and blue forms and school stamps for authenticity. Then she leaves the booth in a whirl of efficiency and I’m left with a pair of headphones in my hands.
The adrenaline rush from the cafeteria encounter has gone, and I’m left feeling slightly sick.
A sheet of paper on the bulletin board in front of me says “Welcome to SRN—Student Radio News.” Someone has added “where no news is good news.”
The vice principal comes in.
“You’re late,” she says, before flicking a switch.
I don’t bother to tell her I’m not the regular Wednesday announcer. I guess we all look the same in our school uniform. But then, how hard can it be? I lean in to the microphone.
“Umm, good afternoon, everyone. This is Radio—”
The vice principal sticks her head in and hisses, “There’s no need to yell—that’s what the microphone is for.”
“Radio SRN,” I continue, a little quieter. “And today’s notices are . . .”
I read through a list of notices that have been duly authorized by the official school stamp. I announce missing textbooks, blazers, and sports uniforms. I advise that the auditions for the school play will be held next week; that the chocolate drive chocolates and money are due back the next day; that someone called Suzy loves someone called Muffy. (Too late, I realize that last page did not sport the official school stamp.) I move on to the upcoming dance and calls for volunteers.
All in all I do a pretty good job. I can’t resist inserting my own notice into the mix. The notice that says people caught pushing in the cafeteria line will be put on yard duty for a week.
Then the bell rings. I flick a switch and poke my head out of the booth looking for a quick getaway. Ms. Clooney appears from nowhere.
“You’ve got Wednesdays,” is all she says.
21.
J ust tell her you can’t do it,” whispers Margot from behind her science textbook. “Get a note from your mom. Tell her you get claustrophobic.”
“She can’t make you miss out on lunch. It’s a student’s right,” says Desi.
Margot and Desi are devastated. I will now not be available for Wednesday lunch library sessions. I’m not sure how I feel. I want to ask them if they heard me. How I sounded.
Meg Piper slips me a note about the next student council meeting. Something about extra court time for the girl’s basketball team during the next month. I check my day planner and realize that there is a council meeting the next day.
“Just tell her,” says Desi.
I find myself agreeing that I’ll get out of Radio SRN somehow.
22.
W ednesday is Leonard’s day. I go there straight after school, hang around a bit, then go home. On Wednesdays Mom works late, so Bella and I usually have something like noodles or eggs for dinner. I’m thinking whether I will have eggs or noodles, or maybe both, when I cruise into Leonard’s office.
When I get to Leonard’s I usually go straight into his office, which is upstairs. This day, however, the door’s closed, so I sit in the waiting room and check out the posters on the walls. There’s a cute kitten clinging to a tree
As I raise my hand again, a teacher shows up and tells us both to go to the office.
Ms. Clooney finds me, alone, outside the staff room. The bully wasn’t so dumb after all, and he’s escaped to push another day. Ms. Clooney doesn’t ask me why I’m there. For once, she seems pleased to see me. She loads me up with a pile of colored paper sheets and leads me to the announcement booth.
The announcement booth is just a little room with a table, a chair, some shelves, a bench, a board with switches, a microphone, and a little window that looks out onto the main hall. It’s a place that I’d mostly ignored until now.
“Our Wednesday announcer has left,” she explains. “We’re running a little late. Just get through what you can.”
She shoves me down into a swivel seat behind a microphone. She says something about switches and pink forms and blue forms and school stamps for authenticity. Then she leaves the booth in a whirl of efficiency and I’m left with a pair of headphones in my hands.
The adrenaline rush from the cafeteria encounter has gone, and I’m left feeling slightly sick.
A sheet of paper on the bulletin board in front of me says “Welcome to SRN—Student Radio News.” Someone has added “where no news is good news.”
The vice principal comes in.
“You’re late,” she says, before flicking a switch.
I don’t bother to tell her I’m not the regular Wednesday announcer. I guess we all look the same in our school uniform. But then, how hard can it be? I lean in to the microphone.
“Umm, good afternoon, everyone. This is Radio—”
The vice principal sticks her head in and hisses, “There’s no need to yell—that’s what the microphone is for.”
“Radio SRN,” I continue, a little quieter. “And today’s notices are . . .”
I read through a list of notices that have been duly authorized by the official school stamp. I announce missing textbooks, blazers, and sports uniforms. I advise that the auditions for the school play will be held next week; that the chocolate drive chocolates and money are due back the next day; that someone called Suzy loves someone called Muffy. (Too late, I realize that last page did not sport the official school stamp.) I move on to the upcoming dance and calls for volunteers.
All in all I do a pretty good job. I can’t resist inserting my own notice into the mix. The notice that says people caught pushing in the cafeteria line will be put on yard duty for a week.
Then the bell rings. I flick a switch and poke my head out of the booth looking for a quick getaway. Ms. Clooney appears from nowhere.
“You’ve got Wednesdays,” is all she says.
21.
J ust tell her you can’t do it,” whispers Margot from behind her science textbook. “Get a note from your mom. Tell her you get claustrophobic.”
“She can’t make you miss out on lunch. It’s a student’s right,” says Desi.
Margot and Desi are devastated. I will now not be available for Wednesday lunch library sessions. I’m not sure how I feel. I want to ask them if they heard me. How I sounded.
Meg Piper slips me a note about the next student council meeting. Something about extra court time for the girl’s basketball team during the next month. I check my day planner and realize that there is a council meeting the next day.
“Just tell her,” says Desi.
I find myself agreeing that I’ll get out of Radio SRN somehow.
22.
W ednesday is Leonard’s day. I go there straight after school, hang around a bit, then go home. On Wednesdays Mom works late, so Bella and I usually have something like noodles or eggs for dinner. I’m thinking whether I will have eggs or noodles, or maybe both, when I cruise into Leonard’s office.
When I get to Leonard’s I usually go straight into his office, which is upstairs. This day, however, the door’s closed, so I sit in the waiting room and check out the posters on the walls. There’s a cute kitten clinging to a tree
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