Happy Kid! by Gail Gauthier Read Free Book Online

one empty chair each—a table of girls and ours. Luke picked up his backpack and started toward the girls’ table, but another boy beat him there.
    He came back, sighed, and sat down. He was pretty quiet the rest of the period. Or maybe he just seemed that way since Jake was making so much noise whispering hello to everyone.
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    My third-period class was social studies, which is probably my best subject. I was walking down the hall toward the classroom when I realized I was following a blond girl who was nearly as tall as I was. A girl who looked smart and cool even from the back. A girl lots of people were speaking to as she walked along. A girl who was turning into my classroom!
    Chelsea Donahue was walking into my classroom! Right in front of me! I could reach out and touch her! Which I would never do, but that’s how close I was to her.
    Chelsea and I are going to be in the same social studies class again this year, I thought as I followed her. I’m going to sit closer to her this time. I’m going to—
    Chelsea got away from me because I was distracted by the sight of what I assumed was Ms. Cannon, our teacher—a pretty woman in a heavy sort of way. She was wearing a pair of red leather pants that looked as if they were at least a size and a half too small for her and balancing all her weight on tiny red high-heeled shoes with open toes and no backs.
    By the time I was able to take my eyes off her, a lot more people were in the room. Most of them, I noticed, had been in my social studies class—and on the honor roll—the year before. I started to get a bad feeling.
    I hurried up to the front of the room and said, “Hello, Ms. Cannon?”
    I had done it again—said the “H” word. And what was worse, in my rush to speak to Ms. Cannon, I hadn’t noticed that she was busy with—who else?—Melissa Esposito. I hated to interrupt, but I’d sort of already done it with the “hello.” So since I had Ms. Cannon’s attention, I went ahead and asked, “Ah, Ms. Cannon, could you tell me if this is accelerated social studies?”
    She nodded her head, and I said in a low voice, “Would you check your list to see if I’m supposed to be here? My name’s Kyle Rideau.”
    Ms. Cannon froze for a second before looking down at a computer printout.
    â€œYour name’s here,” she said, and I groaned.
    Her eyes narrowed. “Is that a problem?” she asked. “Because if it is, let’s get it taken care of right now. Education is very important to me. I’m working on a Ph.D., and I expect all my students to be as committed to their studies as I am to mine. So if you think you’re going to want out of here, let me write you a pass to the guidance office before we waste another minute of each other’s time.”
    I promised myself I would get my hello problem under control and never use the word again. Then I looked over my shoulder at Chelsea. I decided I’d skip the trip to the guidance office.
    â€œI’m fine,” I said to Ms. Cannon. “I was just checking. Nice outfit you have on,” I added as I backed away.
    I slunk off to an empty desk. It just happened to be behind Bradley Ryder. Bradley is smart, but he’s not weird about it the way Melissa and some of the other kids in accelerated classes are. He doesn’t act as if he thinks he’s on some kind of mission from God to make the world a better place or find a cure for cancer or something just because he’s always read above grade level. That’s why people don’t hate him even though he’s in all kinds of accelerated classes, plays first trumpet in the band and first base in baseball, got the best part in the Drama Club’s play last year, and goes skiing over winter vacation with his family instead of sitting around waiting for his mom to get home with the car. He never even had to wear braces, and