Anyone who doesn’t want to attend can choose to go to a traditional lecture with Mr. Ludovico across the hall.”
I looked at my lump of fluff. It was a white wig. All I could manage to say was, “Huh?”
“You get to be Thomas Jefferson today,” Ms. Crenshaw said, smiling like she’d just told me I’d won the lottery.
She handed another wig to Torchie. “You’re George Washington,” she said. A puff of powder drifted between his hands. Then Ms. Crenshaw thrust a folded piece of cloth toward Flinch, who grimaced and pulled away at first, but finally took it from her.
“Not Martha again,” Flinch said, letting the dress flop open between his fists. “Please, I hate being Martha. I was Martha twice last week. Can’t I be Ben Franklin?”
Ms. Crenshaw just kept smiling and said, “Now, that’s not a very helpful attitude. Every role is important. There are no small parts. I’m sure you don’t want to let the others down, do you?”
Flinch looked around. “Hey, would any of you feel let down if I didn’t play Martha Washington?”
The poor kid. Once we saw how much he didn’t want to play the part, there was no way we were going to help him get out of it.
“We’re counting on you, Martha ,” Cheater said.
Lucky, who had just walked in, said, “Every country needs a mother. It’s your duty, Flinch.”
Others joined in. Flinch never had a chance. A kid might help another kid who fell into a river, and a kid might help another kid search for a lost baseball, but there isn’t a kid I’ve met who will help another kid out of a humiliating situation. We just aren’t built that way.
So I put on the wig and tried to act like Thomas Jefferson, not that I had a clue how to really do that. It was pretty much a wasted hour. We all walked around and talked about the Revolution. I’m pretty sure I didn’t learn anything, except that wigs are uncomfortable.
I noticed that the tough kids who’d been in my other classes weren’t in history. Ms. Crenshaw had said that there was a choice. I guess the thugs had decided they didn’t want to wear costumes and wigs. As far as I was concerned, that was one good reason to stick with this class, no matter how crazy it seemed. All we had to do was walk around and make sure we used the vocabulary words the teacher had put on the blackboard. No trouble at all.
Toward the end of the period, Ms. Crenshaw asked us to sit down so we could discuss what we’d learned. I was just relaxing in my chair when someone shouted at me.
“Shut up! Just shut up!”
I looked over to my right. It was Lucky. He was glaring at me. But it was real spooky. I would have bet a thousand dollars that even though his eyes were pointed in my direction, he didn’t see me.
A hand tapped my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” Torchie said. “He does that sometimes.”
Nobody else seemed worried about it. I turned away from Lucky. Sure enough, a minute later, when I glanced back, he seemed okay.
At the end of the period, as I was handing in my wig, Ms. Crenshaw patted me on the arm and said, “Well, Martin, did you enjoy our little class?”
All I had to do was nod and say yes. That would have been fine. Three letters, one syllable, and I’d be out of there. Instead, I said, “You must really have a desperate desire to be in the theater.” I shook my head. “This sure ain’t Broadway. But it’s as close as you’ll ever get.”
She looked like she wanted to hit me. Through gritted teeth, she said, “You don’t have to participate. You can attend the lecture instead. Would you like to do that?”
I shook my head. “No thanks.”
She continued to glare at me. It seemed I’d gotten another teacher to leave my fan club. That wasn’t fair. I hadn’t really said anything all that bad. At this rate, I’d need to start using pencil and paper to keep track of who hated me. Though with my luck, Torchie would set my list on fire.
“Does Lucky do that a lot?” I asked
I looked at my lump of fluff. It was a white wig. All I could manage to say was, “Huh?”
“You get to be Thomas Jefferson today,” Ms. Crenshaw said, smiling like she’d just told me I’d won the lottery.
She handed another wig to Torchie. “You’re George Washington,” she said. A puff of powder drifted between his hands. Then Ms. Crenshaw thrust a folded piece of cloth toward Flinch, who grimaced and pulled away at first, but finally took it from her.
“Not Martha again,” Flinch said, letting the dress flop open between his fists. “Please, I hate being Martha. I was Martha twice last week. Can’t I be Ben Franklin?”
Ms. Crenshaw just kept smiling and said, “Now, that’s not a very helpful attitude. Every role is important. There are no small parts. I’m sure you don’t want to let the others down, do you?”
Flinch looked around. “Hey, would any of you feel let down if I didn’t play Martha Washington?”
The poor kid. Once we saw how much he didn’t want to play the part, there was no way we were going to help him get out of it.
“We’re counting on you, Martha ,” Cheater said.
Lucky, who had just walked in, said, “Every country needs a mother. It’s your duty, Flinch.”
Others joined in. Flinch never had a chance. A kid might help another kid who fell into a river, and a kid might help another kid search for a lost baseball, but there isn’t a kid I’ve met who will help another kid out of a humiliating situation. We just aren’t built that way.
So I put on the wig and tried to act like Thomas Jefferson, not that I had a clue how to really do that. It was pretty much a wasted hour. We all walked around and talked about the Revolution. I’m pretty sure I didn’t learn anything, except that wigs are uncomfortable.
I noticed that the tough kids who’d been in my other classes weren’t in history. Ms. Crenshaw had said that there was a choice. I guess the thugs had decided they didn’t want to wear costumes and wigs. As far as I was concerned, that was one good reason to stick with this class, no matter how crazy it seemed. All we had to do was walk around and make sure we used the vocabulary words the teacher had put on the blackboard. No trouble at all.
Toward the end of the period, Ms. Crenshaw asked us to sit down so we could discuss what we’d learned. I was just relaxing in my chair when someone shouted at me.
“Shut up! Just shut up!”
I looked over to my right. It was Lucky. He was glaring at me. But it was real spooky. I would have bet a thousand dollars that even though his eyes were pointed in my direction, he didn’t see me.
A hand tapped my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” Torchie said. “He does that sometimes.”
Nobody else seemed worried about it. I turned away from Lucky. Sure enough, a minute later, when I glanced back, he seemed okay.
At the end of the period, as I was handing in my wig, Ms. Crenshaw patted me on the arm and said, “Well, Martin, did you enjoy our little class?”
All I had to do was nod and say yes. That would have been fine. Three letters, one syllable, and I’d be out of there. Instead, I said, “You must really have a desperate desire to be in the theater.” I shook my head. “This sure ain’t Broadway. But it’s as close as you’ll ever get.”
She looked like she wanted to hit me. Through gritted teeth, she said, “You don’t have to participate. You can attend the lecture instead. Would you like to do that?”
I shook my head. “No thanks.”
She continued to glare at me. It seemed I’d gotten another teacher to leave my fan club. That wasn’t fair. I hadn’t really said anything all that bad. At this rate, I’d need to start using pencil and paper to keep track of who hated me. Though with my luck, Torchie would set my list on fire.
“Does Lucky do that a lot?” I asked
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