The Unthinkable Thoughts of Jacob Green by Joshua Braff Read Free Book Online Page B

wear very bright and different-colored clothing and some of them are Chinese, I think, and some black. The kid named Jon says, “Hi, I’m Jonny, Mets or Yankees?” Everyone laughs. I say “Mets” and half of them cheer and boo.
    “Jacob comes from a special school called a yeshiva,” Mrs. Carnegie says. “It’s a school where children learn Hebrew for half the day, right, Jacob? And then all the other subjects like math and English and science for the second half?”
    I nod. Science?
    “Maybe if we ask him nicely, Jacob would write something in Hebrew on the board for us.”
    My classmates applaud for this and Mrs. Carnegie leans over my shoulder from behind me. “Would you?”
    I nod and face the blackboard.
    “Did you know there are seven other Jewish students in this class, Jacob?”
    When I look out at them, a kid in the back named Barry is waving at me. I take a piece of chalk and write Ya’akov on the board in Hebrew and then stand there like a moron, unsure of what to do next. A girl named Dana and a girl named Kristen start to tap each other and snicker in the front row. They’re both prettier than most of the girls that went to Eliahu and wear something wet and clear on their lips that smells like cotton candy. Dana’s hair is brown and long and slides around a lot when she turns her head. When I look at her she bumps her shoulder into Kristen’s and they both laugh with their hands over their mouths. I check the zipper on my new Levi’s jeans and Dana points at my crotch before bending at the waist with the giggles. I lick my hand and pat down my hair.
    “And what does that word mean?” Mrs. Carnegie says, bowing toward the board.
    “That’s just my name.”
    “Oh, that’s wonderful. That’s the Hebrew word for Jacob, class. Would you read it for us, please?”
    “Ya’akov.”
    “Gazoontite,” says Jon, and the whole class laughs.
    Mrs. Carnegie stares him down with her hands on her hips. Jon shrinks behind his desk as the seconds pass by. “Thank you,” she finally says, returning to me. “It sounds a little like Jacob, doesn’t it?”
    I nod.
    “Well, welcome to Fillmore, Jacob. It’s wonderful to have you in our class. Isn’t it students?”
    They applaud again.
    “Okay, now. We have a big day as usual. You all know what time it is. So let’s get started.”
    The class lets out a moan and each kid reaches for a textbook. Mrs. Carnegie walks to her desk and lifts a booklet from her center drawer. She guides me by the shoulders to a desk right next to Jon and lays the papers on top, facedown.
    “I need you to take this small quiz,” she says. “What kind of math were you doing at your old school?”
    “What kind of math?”
    “Yes, were you doing any division or long division?”
    “Division . . . no.”
    “None of that yet, huh? How ’bout word problems, any of those?”
    “Yes . . . like . . . spelling?”
    She blinks a few times and hands me a pencil. “Do your best. Let me know when you’re done, all right?”
    “Okay.”
    “Chop, chop, class, everyone should be working. Can’t talk to your neighbor if you’re working. Just can’t. Jonny, let’s go.” Jon sits on his knees, bending over his desk. He waits for her to walk away before putting his pencil in his mouth and offering his hand. “Did I embarrass you?” he whispers.
    “What?”
    “Did I embarrass you? When I said gazoontite?”
    “No,” I say, shaking his hand.
    “Your Hebrew name sounds a little like a sneeze, doesn’t it? Ya’akov,” he says, covering his nose.
    I smile at him. “I guess.”
    Jonny is tiny with jet black hair that falls past his shoulders. He also has very tan skin, as if he just got off the beach.
    “I’m Jewish,” he says. “Gruber. So don’t be offended, okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “So the Mets, huh?”
    “
Jon!
” says Mrs. Carnegie, and he flops off his knees and opens his book.
    I pull my chair in closer and pick up the pencil she gave me. Rerun is in a tank