Minutes later, the school bus wheezed to a stop. I stepped through the glass doors and found Jacob Sanders an uber Emo kid wearing a vintage tee and dirtied up black chuck Taylors sitting by himself near the front.
“What’s up Einstein?” He greeted me the same way every morning. He called me Einstein—formerly Word Boy but it morphed—because he said I talked all high fluent and I do. I’m a child prodigy in cool clothes—a third-me, a third-what-a-be scene, and a third-nerd chic—and okay, I confess, I truly love to read, particularly the dictionary.
I ignored him and he leaned forward and punched my shoulder in a manner intended to be friendly, but that nearly cracked my collarbone. I swiveled with the blow hiding a wince and tried to flop down on the other side of the bus. …show more content…
“You can’t sit here. This seat is saved for Harper.”
So I sat in the very back and kept my face glued to the glass until we arrived.
My last day at Hobgoblin Middle School was a slow tiptoe sort of Friday like honey dribbling out of a tiny spout. It was hard to pay attention when my math teacher Ms Margaret Wee-Wee—dressed in her usual head to toe black—squawked like a raggedy jack jawed raven in the same monotone, about the same boring subject, in the same space day after day. “I’m sure some of you may loathe our classroom lectures, however as you have probably noticed, I am not as young as I used to be.” She paused to reach up and nudged her cat eye reading glasses up the bridge of her own nose.
“Oh we noticed you pretentious shrew.” It came out louder than I meant it to. The whole class