carefully into the garbage can. Then I grabbed Froggy’s milk container and tossed it into the center of the can. I said center because I meant center. I don’t know how it hit the edge of the can and bounced off into Maurice DuPre’s lap.
Maurice DuPre is six feet high, six feet wide, and has more fingers and toes than he has points on his IQ. I watched as the last drops of milk fell onto Maurice’s lap. Then I watched as he looked up at me with his little squinty, bloodshot eyes. Then I watched as he stood up with his fist in a ball. Then I ran out the cafeteria as fast as I could.
I spent all day sneaking around the halls and slipping into classrooms so Maurice wouldn’t find me. I mean, I wasn’t worried about fighting him, because I knew how it would come out. What I was worried about was if I would ever wake up when the fight was over.
When school was over I didn’t even go to my locker to get my stuff. I just told Froggy to walk down the hall and if he saw Maurice to call out my name and point in some direction away from where I was sneaking out of a side door. Froggy didn’t understand sports, but he understood me not wanting to get my butt kicked and so he went along with it. Last thing I heard in school was that Maurice was chasing Froggy around the gym.
I got to the block thinking about Froggy and Maurice and the streak. I stopped on the corner where I live and bought some potato wedgies and a soda from the burger joint. I got the wedgies first and started munching on them while the lady behind the counter poured my soda. Then I remembered I had taken my wallet out of my pocket and put it in my locker after lunch.
“These wedgies don’t taste right!” I called out.
“They’re going to taste a lot worse with a broken jaw,” the manager called out. “So you just better pay up and eat them.”
I knew by the time he got around the counter I could get away. All he got was one little whack at the back of my head that didn’t even hurt.
Right home. Up the stairs, close the door and lock it, then cool out. Life was just wrong! The phone rang and I started not to answer it, but then the way things were working out I figured maybe it was somebody warning me that a killer was coming up the stairs to get me. I rushed to the phone, stopping just long enough to hit my ankle into a dumbbell. You ever hear that sound your anklebone makes when it hits steel? You ever see them little stars that go off in your head?
“Hello?”
“Jamie?” the voice on the phone asked.
“It depends,” I said. “Who’s this?”
“This is Mr. Bradley,” came the answer. “I just wanted to let you know you failed your English test big-time. You’re about a hair from failing the course. I just wanted to warn you.”
“Oh, thank you, sir. You have made my day with your kindness,” I said.
By the time I got to the refrigerator to get some ice for my ankle I was crying. No, I don’t mean no sad look—I mean some right out boo-hooing with tears running down my face. My ankle was throbbing, my feelings were hurt, and I was ready to give it all up and resign from the human race.
I put the ice on my ankle, which was bruised and swollen and a little bloody. Then I sat down, put my leg up on the kitchen table, and called Froggy.
“Froggy, I give up, man,” I said. “I’m on a death streak and I know I’m probably headed right on out the world.”
“No, man, the streak is going to end,” Froggy said.
“Yeah, when I’m dead.”
“No,” Froggy said. “Just like you missed the shot and lost the baseball game—”
“Basketball game,” I said.
“Whatever. Anyway, something dramatic can happen and the whole thing will turn around. Then you’ll have as much good luck as you had bad luck.”
“What you mean by dramatic?” I asked.
“Hey, when it happens,” Froggy said, “you’ll know it.”
Ellen is my sister. She’s twelve and has a fast mouth. She also has braces that cost a whole bunch of
Maurice DuPre is six feet high, six feet wide, and has more fingers and toes than he has points on his IQ. I watched as the last drops of milk fell onto Maurice’s lap. Then I watched as he looked up at me with his little squinty, bloodshot eyes. Then I watched as he stood up with his fist in a ball. Then I ran out the cafeteria as fast as I could.
I spent all day sneaking around the halls and slipping into classrooms so Maurice wouldn’t find me. I mean, I wasn’t worried about fighting him, because I knew how it would come out. What I was worried about was if I would ever wake up when the fight was over.
When school was over I didn’t even go to my locker to get my stuff. I just told Froggy to walk down the hall and if he saw Maurice to call out my name and point in some direction away from where I was sneaking out of a side door. Froggy didn’t understand sports, but he understood me not wanting to get my butt kicked and so he went along with it. Last thing I heard in school was that Maurice was chasing Froggy around the gym.
I got to the block thinking about Froggy and Maurice and the streak. I stopped on the corner where I live and bought some potato wedgies and a soda from the burger joint. I got the wedgies first and started munching on them while the lady behind the counter poured my soda. Then I remembered I had taken my wallet out of my pocket and put it in my locker after lunch.
“These wedgies don’t taste right!” I called out.
“They’re going to taste a lot worse with a broken jaw,” the manager called out. “So you just better pay up and eat them.”
I knew by the time he got around the counter I could get away. All he got was one little whack at the back of my head that didn’t even hurt.
Right home. Up the stairs, close the door and lock it, then cool out. Life was just wrong! The phone rang and I started not to answer it, but then the way things were working out I figured maybe it was somebody warning me that a killer was coming up the stairs to get me. I rushed to the phone, stopping just long enough to hit my ankle into a dumbbell. You ever hear that sound your anklebone makes when it hits steel? You ever see them little stars that go off in your head?
“Hello?”
“Jamie?” the voice on the phone asked.
“It depends,” I said. “Who’s this?”
“This is Mr. Bradley,” came the answer. “I just wanted to let you know you failed your English test big-time. You’re about a hair from failing the course. I just wanted to warn you.”
“Oh, thank you, sir. You have made my day with your kindness,” I said.
By the time I got to the refrigerator to get some ice for my ankle I was crying. No, I don’t mean no sad look—I mean some right out boo-hooing with tears running down my face. My ankle was throbbing, my feelings were hurt, and I was ready to give it all up and resign from the human race.
I put the ice on my ankle, which was bruised and swollen and a little bloody. Then I sat down, put my leg up on the kitchen table, and called Froggy.
“Froggy, I give up, man,” I said. “I’m on a death streak and I know I’m probably headed right on out the world.”
“No, man, the streak is going to end,” Froggy said.
“Yeah, when I’m dead.”
“No,” Froggy said. “Just like you missed the shot and lost the baseball game—”
“Basketball game,” I said.
“Whatever. Anyway, something dramatic can happen and the whole thing will turn around. Then you’ll have as much good luck as you had bad luck.”
“What you mean by dramatic?” I asked.
“Hey, when it happens,” Froggy said, “you’ll know it.”
Ellen is my sister. She’s twelve and has a fast mouth. She also has braces that cost a whole bunch of
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