How to Survive Middle School by Donna Gephart Read Free Book Online Page B

of gloppy joe and sliced carrots. I have the word “sorry” on my lips, but Elliott glares at me. If he had death-ray vision, I’d be vaporized. Then, secretly, he nods toward his hand, which is curled into a fist.
    He lifts his middle finger. At me!
    I don’t care that I ruined his stupid shirt anymore.
    In Dad’s car in the parking lot, my shoulders relax a little, until I look over at him. There’s a deep crease above his eyebrows, and he’s gripping the steering wheel even though he hasn’t started the car yet.
    Dad turns to me, glances at my T-shirt, then looks up at my eyes and says six soft words that pierce my heart.
    “David, I’m so disappointed in you.”

When we walk into the house, I say, “Dad, Elliott tricked me into wearing a T-shirt today.”
    Dad swivels and levels me with a stare. “Tricked you?
Tricked you?
First of all, David, you’re smarter than that. Second, I don’t care if Elliott told you to dance naked on Mr. Carp’s bald head. You had no right to do that. Elliott doesn’t have it so easy, you know.”
    Neither do I!
    “What the heck were you thinking?” Dad doesn’t wait for an answer. He shakes his head and stalks toward his office.
    “Thanks for being such a good listener,” I mumble, and trudge upstairs.
    Even though I know that Lindsay’s at school, I get a sinking feeling when I open her door and see that her bed’s made and her room’s empty. Downstairs, Bubbe’s apartment is quiet, and I remember it’s her day to volunteer at the library.
    The person I really feel like talking to is probably still inMr. Carp’s office. His mom isn’t going to be able to get there as fast as Dad did. Ms. Berger is going to be pissed about having to leave work to get him. I’ve heard her say to Elliott about a million times, “If I don’t work, I don’t get paid.”
    “It’s not my fault,” I whisper.
    In the living room, I plop onto the couch, take a deep breath and look at Mom’s tuba. It looks lonely. My plastic tub of K’nex pieces sits on the floor next to it. I never put it away after that first day of summer, when Elliott and I went to the dumb mall instead of building something cool.
    I pick up the red tub, and even though I think I’m carrying it upstairs to put back in my closet, I detour to the garage. I don’t turn on the light, so it’s dark, and it’s smelly as I lift the garbage can lid. K’nex pieces cascade against each other into the can. Then I drop the empty tub into the recycling bin and head to my room.
    When I open my bedroom door, the first thing I see is the collared shirt from this morning. I hurl it to the floor, stretch out on my bed, glance at Hammy and remember the day Mom gave him to me. “Someone to love,” she said, handing me a trembling ball of fur. “I popped into Pet Palace for a minute and he looked so … so … lonely.”
    A few days after that, Mom left.
    I wonder if Mom got me Hammy because she knew
I’d
be lonely soon.
    My throat tightens. I bite my lip, staving off tears, and remind myself that middle schoolers don’t cry over K’nex pieces and ex–best friends. And they definitely don’t cry about missing their moms.
    I drag myself off the bed and take Hammy out of his cage. His whiskers twitch, and he seems happy to see me.
At least someone is
.
    There’s a knock on the door. I hold my breath and say nothing, because even if Dad is ready to talk to me, I don’t feel like talking to him anymore.
    My door creaks open, and Bubbe pokes her head in. “May I come in,
bubelah?
”
    I shrug. When she calls me
bubelah
, it makes me feel safe and babyish at the same time.
    Bubbe sits on the edge of my bed, looks into my eyes and pushes hair off my forehead, like Mom used to. “Bubelah,” she says, squeezing my knee, “your father told me what happened.”
    I open my mouth to explain, but Bubbe isn’t finished.
    “I’m sorry your first day went like that, Davey.”
    Davey. Does she have to call me Davey?
The air