Teacher's Pet by Laurie Halse Anderson Read Free Book Online

each other—that’s homework. You’re the king of giving out homework. It’s your turn to do some. Don’t give up. It’s too important.”
    â€œIt sounds like you’ve heard this before,” he remarks.
    I kick at a tuft of grass. “Yeah, you could say that. I’ve heard it a lot.”
    We sit quietly for a moment. The guide dogs and handlers are walking back from town. The park is quiet except for the calls of mockingbirds and blue jays. Mr. Carlson strokes his beard for a while, then speaks.
    â€œHow long should I give it?” he asks.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œYou’re the dog expert,” he says. “How long should I try? A month? Two months?”
    â€œA week,” I blurt out.
    â€œA week?”
    â€œThat’s all you need. Think about it. He’s a trained guide dog. You are—”
    â€œA trained blind guy?” he interrupts with a sly grin.
    â€œYou know what I mean. You know the basics, but you have some work to do. And I can help. I’ve worked with lots of dogs and their owners. I could watch you work with Scout—give you some tips.”
    Mr. Carlson laughs, a real belly laugh. “Tips would be helpful, but you know what I really need? Someone to help me map out the middle school so that we don’t get lost again.”
    â€œI can do that, I think. I got lost the first day, too. Maybe we should learn our way around together.”
    â€œCan you meet me before school on Monday?”
    â€œWill you spend the rest of the weekend telling Scout he’s awesome and smart and wonderful? ”
    Mr. Carlson nods. “I promise. It sounds like we have a deal.” He puts out his hand to shake.
    I grasp his hand and shake once.
    â€œDeal! ”

Chapter Seven
    S unday goes by in a blur because Gran goes into a rare fit of housecleaning. Zoe and I pick up, scrub, dust, vacuum, pick up some more, try to watch TV, get kicked out of the family room, start the laundry, and mop the kitchen floor.
    I’m actually grateful when Gran says it’s time to do homework. But, man, am I tired!
    OK, get a grip. It’s time to be Middle-School Maggie, ready to take on the scariest homework assignment in the world. I spread out my agenda book, folders, and binder and line up my pens and pencils like toy soldiers.
    Attack!
    I read my social studies chapter (the Constitution—takes forever), write my English essay (well, OK, it’s the sloppy copy), and finish fifty math problems (argh!). I take a quick break to let out Sherlock, then sit back down to do my biology.
    I am supposed to memorize my notes. How do you do that? And we have to know the whole chapter about the eye and the vocabulary words? Mr. Carlson’s nuts. No one could expect that much out of a group of seventh-graders.
    I read the chapter and vocab words. Once.
    There, I did it. I studied.
    I hope Mr. Carlson and Scout did their homework, too.

    Gran drops me off at school early on Monday morning. I sit on the front steps, watching the teachers pull into the parking lot. How is Mr. Carlson going to get here?
    Here comes the answer—a bus. It drops him off at the corner in front of the building. The traffic is thick with rush-hour commuters. Mr. Carlson and Scout wait until the light changes, then cross the street safely.
    â€œI’m over here,” I call. “On the steps.”
    â€œForward, Scout,” Mr. Carlson commands. Scout is pulling at the harness and Mr. Carlson looks a little off balance, but they quickly cross the lawn in front of the school. My teacher is wearing khaki pants, a long-sleeved white shirt, and a tie with an exploding volcano on it. He must have a huge tie collection. He looks tired. There are dark circles under his eyes.
    â€œI wasn’t sure if you were going to be here,” Mr. Carlson says.
    â€œI was thinking the same thing about you,” I say. “Did you two do your homework