“She just wants to get rid of me. You wants to get rid of me. You all wants to get rid of me. We should go. We gots to go—”
“Cinnamon Frost,” I said quietly, folding my arms. “ Sit. Down. ”
Cinnamon sat in the chair abruptly, eyes wide. It surprised Fremont, even Vladimir—but not me. She just sat there, hands clenched on her skirt, watching me out of the corner of her eye, frozen—except for her rapidly switching tail.
“What was our agreement when we started school shopping?” I said.
“If I wants to go to school,” she said, stretching her neck, “I gots to behave myself.”
“The other part.”
“That if I don’t behaves myself,” she began—and then the words began tumbling out like a running stream. “I’m sorry, Mom, I really am, please don’t takes my iPod away, but you don’t understands, we gots to go .”
“Quite right,” Vladimir said, patting Cinnamon on the shoulder as he walked past. He sat down on the desk and smiled at us. “I think it is a bit much to expect Cinnamon to have learned all our rules before she’s heard them. Have you heard of the Seven Dirty Words, Cinnamon?”
“Uh … no,” she said.
“Well, they’re words that the FCC—that’s the Federal Communications Commission, which you will learn about in Civics class—won’t let people say on TV,” Vladimir said. “We don’t use them at the Clairmont Academy, and I won’t say them here, but if you’re web savvy I’m sure you can look them up on Wikipedia as a guide for what not to say to your teachers.”
“Doctor Vladimir,” Fremont said. “To point a student to … such a list —”
“What happened to Yonas?” Vladimir asked, smiling at her. Idly he picked up the Rubik’s cube and stared at it. “Our job is not to hide the truth from our students; it’s to teach them how to learn the truth and use it responsibly. Huh. Two sides. Not bad.”
“I had four,” Cinnamon said reproachfully. Her tail was twitching something fierce now, and she had started to rock in her chair—but she still answered. “I was shooting at five, just so I could see the pattern on six.”
Vladimir stared at her, then tossed her the cube. “Show me.”
Cinnamon twitched as she caught it. “We gots to go,” she said, grimacing, but stared at the cube for a second before turning it a few times and flipping it back to him. “Four back at you. The counts, the pairs, the lonelies, and the pretties. I still wants to see what the other ones are.”
“Wholes, evens, primes,” Vladimir muttered, turning it. He held a side to us—it had 6s in the corners, 28s at north, south, east and west, and 496 at the center. “Are these the pretties?”
“Not all of them,” Cinnamon said.
“We call them perfect numbers,” Vladimir began. “That’s because if you add—”
“Fucking clown, ” Cinnamon snapped, abruptly turning away from him.
“Cinnamon!” I said, shocked beyond words. “ What did I say earlier?”
“Who cares? I can’t pass another fucking test,” she said. “We gots to go —”
“Not before you apologize to Doctor Vladimir,” I said sharply.
“There’s no need,” Vladimir chuckled, winking at me. “I can go on a bit, and I do have the look. But she is right, you do need to get going right away.” He turned to a set of cubbyholes beside Fremont’s desk and pulled out a folder and some papers. “The Academy is not a public school and we hold our students to a very high standard. Classes start Friday, not Monday, and we expect our students to get cracking over the very first weekend. We distribute textbooks here, but it will really help if you can get some of the supplemental books for her grade level, and after some assessments on Friday, I may have a few more suggestions—”
But I was barely hearing him. I just stared down at the folder he had placed in my hands, then held it up to show it to Cinnamon. It said, in bold gilt letters:
Welcome to Clairmont Academy: A
“Cinnamon Frost,” I said quietly, folding my arms. “ Sit. Down. ”
Cinnamon sat in the chair abruptly, eyes wide. It surprised Fremont, even Vladimir—but not me. She just sat there, hands clenched on her skirt, watching me out of the corner of her eye, frozen—except for her rapidly switching tail.
“What was our agreement when we started school shopping?” I said.
“If I wants to go to school,” she said, stretching her neck, “I gots to behave myself.”
“The other part.”
“That if I don’t behaves myself,” she began—and then the words began tumbling out like a running stream. “I’m sorry, Mom, I really am, please don’t takes my iPod away, but you don’t understands, we gots to go .”
“Quite right,” Vladimir said, patting Cinnamon on the shoulder as he walked past. He sat down on the desk and smiled at us. “I think it is a bit much to expect Cinnamon to have learned all our rules before she’s heard them. Have you heard of the Seven Dirty Words, Cinnamon?”
“Uh … no,” she said.
“Well, they’re words that the FCC—that’s the Federal Communications Commission, which you will learn about in Civics class—won’t let people say on TV,” Vladimir said. “We don’t use them at the Clairmont Academy, and I won’t say them here, but if you’re web savvy I’m sure you can look them up on Wikipedia as a guide for what not to say to your teachers.”
“Doctor Vladimir,” Fremont said. “To point a student to … such a list —”
“What happened to Yonas?” Vladimir asked, smiling at her. Idly he picked up the Rubik’s cube and stared at it. “Our job is not to hide the truth from our students; it’s to teach them how to learn the truth and use it responsibly. Huh. Two sides. Not bad.”
“I had four,” Cinnamon said reproachfully. Her tail was twitching something fierce now, and she had started to rock in her chair—but she still answered. “I was shooting at five, just so I could see the pattern on six.”
Vladimir stared at her, then tossed her the cube. “Show me.”
Cinnamon twitched as she caught it. “We gots to go,” she said, grimacing, but stared at the cube for a second before turning it a few times and flipping it back to him. “Four back at you. The counts, the pairs, the lonelies, and the pretties. I still wants to see what the other ones are.”
“Wholes, evens, primes,” Vladimir muttered, turning it. He held a side to us—it had 6s in the corners, 28s at north, south, east and west, and 496 at the center. “Are these the pretties?”
“Not all of them,” Cinnamon said.
“We call them perfect numbers,” Vladimir began. “That’s because if you add—”
“Fucking clown, ” Cinnamon snapped, abruptly turning away from him.
“Cinnamon!” I said, shocked beyond words. “ What did I say earlier?”
“Who cares? I can’t pass another fucking test,” she said. “We gots to go —”
“Not before you apologize to Doctor Vladimir,” I said sharply.
“There’s no need,” Vladimir chuckled, winking at me. “I can go on a bit, and I do have the look. But she is right, you do need to get going right away.” He turned to a set of cubbyholes beside Fremont’s desk and pulled out a folder and some papers. “The Academy is not a public school and we hold our students to a very high standard. Classes start Friday, not Monday, and we expect our students to get cracking over the very first weekend. We distribute textbooks here, but it will really help if you can get some of the supplemental books for her grade level, and after some assessments on Friday, I may have a few more suggestions—”
But I was barely hearing him. I just stared down at the folder he had placed in my hands, then held it up to show it to Cinnamon. It said, in bold gilt letters:
Welcome to Clairmont Academy: A