Happy Kid! by Gail Gauthier Read Free Book Online Page A

you just know he’s never going to have acne.
    He turned around to me and whispered, “Bet she assigns a lot of homework.”
    Brad is also always right. In addition to covering our social studies textbook, Ms. Cannon told us to read the first section of chapter one and prepare to discuss the review questions. We had to do three pages in our SSASie preparation packets for Thursday, and she warned us that on Friday we would be discussing current events, so we should start watching the news for something to talk about.
    On my way to my next class, I thought about all the hours I’d put in on social studies projects back in sixth grade and wondered if seventh grade social studies could be that much worse. Of course it could. Things can always be worse.
    With my mind occupied like that, it took me a while to notice that a lot of the kids from social studies were walking along with me to English. Just as I realized that I must have accelerated English with them again this year, I heard “Hellooo, Kyle!” being shouted at me from somewhere in the crowded hallway. I pretended I didn’t hear it and followed Melissa and Chelsea into our next classroom.
    But Jake had seen where I was going.
    â€œHellooo, Kyle,” he repeated from the doorway. The words roared out of him as if he were using a microphone and speaker.
    He didn’t actually come into the room, though. He held on to the door casing with each hand and leaned into the room as if there were some kind of force field keeping him from entering honor roll airspace.
    Did this mean that in an accelerated class I was safe from him?
    â€œHel-hello,” I said, to make sure I didn’t tick him off and because I really couldn’t help myself.
    â€œWhat are you doing in here with these snots?” he asked.
    What could I say that would satisfy him but not get the accelerated kids on my case? They had to notice he was there talking to me.
    Suddenly a man in a dark dress shirt and tie marched to the back of the classroom and closed the door in Jake’s face, which took care of the problem for me. Jake pounded on the door from the outside a couple of times and finally gave up and moved on.
    Mr. Borden, my new English teacher, turned around and looked at me. His hair was a little too long, and he had to toss his head so his bangs wouldn’t hang in his eyes. “A friend of yours?” he asked.
    â€œAh . . .”
    The room was totally quiet. All the other students were looking at me, as if they’d been wondering about that, too.
    â€œHe’s more like a stalker,” I explained.
    A couple of boys behind me laughed.
    Mr. Borden stared at me. Then all of a sudden he said, “Stalking is not funny,” and marched back to his desk before I had a chance to say something like “Tell me about it!” or “Was I laughing?”
    For homework we had to cover our English textbook and do three pages of vocabulary words. We also had to write an essay for Friday. The topic was “Are we alone?” Mr. Borden said he had gotten it off an old SSASie test and that it should give us practice writing the kinds of boring things the people who score those tests like.
    My classmates disappeared at the end of the period, probably for another accelerated class. I was left to face my lunch section by myself.
    Lunch on the first day of school is worse than gym because gym is supposed to be an ordeal but lunch isn’t. You’re supposed to enjoy it. But there are three lunch sections, and on the first day of school you have to walk into the cafeteria not knowing who has been assigned to yours. Will your friends be there? Will you be able to eat with them? Will you have to sit by yourself at the end of a table pretending to read a book or doing homework while everyone around you knows that you’re really just putting on a show for them?
    I got into line. Water freezes faster than that lunch line moved, which meant I had