Connect the Stars by Marisa de los Santos Page A

her.
    Everything inside me started to sink. “But I did it!” I cried.
    â€œBut I can’t fire you,” said the principal. “So I’m firing your teacher. I’ve been looking for an excuse. I need somebody new and fresh who can improve my statistics.”
    â€œBut it was me ,” I repeated miserably. “I saw the questions when you dropped that quiz book on the floor, andI revealed the answers to the class! Mrs. Dunaway, I was only trying to help.”
    â€œI have to hand it to you,” said Mrs. Dunaway. “You failed spectacularly.”
    â€œI’m really, really sorry,” I said.
    â€œDon’t be,” said Mrs. Dunaway, tearing up the letter Principal DuPlessy had just handed her. “As I said, it was spectacular.”
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing?” asked the principal.
    â€œGoing back to class,” said Mrs. Dunaway, standing up and motioning to me.
    â€œBut you’re fired!” cried the principal. “As for Aaron, he’s suspended.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” said Mrs. Dunaway, giving the principal a stare.
    â€œBut he just admitted leaking answers to the Central Standards Exam!” bellowed the principal. “That’s cheating! The Central Standards Committee will not be happy!”
    â€œI agree,” said Mrs. Dunaway. “They certainly won’t. When they hear how Aaron got those answers. How the principal of Dolley Madison Middle School stood right in front of him and broke the seal on the test SIX DAYS EARLY and dropped a question book ON THE FLOOR FOR HIM TO SEE!”
    I could almost hear the air leak out of PrincipalDuPlessy. He turned white. He slumped in his chair.
    â€œYou’ve certainly got some explaining to do for the benefit of the Central Standards Committee,” observed Mrs. Dunaway. “Good luck.”
    â€œI . . . you . . . ah . . . ,” stammered the principal.
    â€œBye,” said Mrs. Dunaway.
    As Mrs. Dunaway and I walked back to class, she said, “You’re a smart kid, Aaron. Smarter than you realize.”
    â€œBut everything I touch turns into a disaster!” I said. “I think I’m actually some kind of idiot . How can I possibly be smarter than I realize?”
    â€œThat’s the kind of question you have to figure out on your own,” she said.
    â€œThe same way I have to figure out how much depends on a red wheelbarrow?” I wondered.
    â€œA lot like that, yes,” replied Mrs. Dunaway. “But it sounds like you’re already on the right track.”
    â€œThis could take a while,” I said.
    â€œIt might,” agreed Mrs. Dunaway. “And now, one last thing: I’m afraid a parent-teacher conference is called for.”
    Evidently, the principal made some kind of excuse and filled out a waiver and signed a form and convinced the Central Standards Committee to let Mrs. Dunaway’s homeroom retake the test the following week, since we never got tofinish taking it the first time, due to unspecified “technical difficulties” (in other words, me).
    And believe it or not, Mrs. Dunaway’s score went up four whole points! Mrs. Dunaway said it was because of all the adrenaline rushing through everybody’s bloodstream because of the excitement I’d caused. I think she was joking, but she also told the whole class thanks for saving her job, and when she said that, she sounded serious.
    After the parent-teacher conference, during which Mrs. Dunaway revealed pretty much the whole story, except the part about blackmailing the principal to avoid punishment, my mom and dad and I went home to discuss everything. We sat at our kitchen table and my mom told me the same thing Mrs. Dunaway had told me: “You’re a smart kid.”
    My dad snapped, “You think you know everything.” He was a little mad at me because of all the trouble I’d caused. Actually, so was I.
    â€œI