No Talking by Andrew Clements Page A

who went right home after school, not talking was more difficult. A lot more difficult. Because it’s a fact of nature that parents don’t like it when kids don’t answer them.
    â€œDavid?”
    Dave had been home five minutes when he heard his mom come in the front door and call his name. He was upstairs. In the bathroom.
    She called again. “David, answer me!”
    To be more specific, Dave was sitting on the toilet.
    â€œDAVID! ANSWER ME!”
    Dave knew that tone of voice. He had to do something right away. So he reached over and banged on the inside of the bathroom door.
    It was the wrong move.
    His mom was up those front stairs and had bothhands on that locked bathroom doorknob in two seconds.
    â€œDavid? Is that you? Are you all right? David? David! Answer me!”
    She was going to kick down the door, Dave was sure of it.
    He jiggled the doorknob, flushed the toilet, and was up and zipped and buttoned, all in about two seconds, and he yanked the door open and gave his mom the best smile he could manage.
    Mrs. Packer was so relieved that she bent down and hugged Dave so hard that he couldn’t have said a word even if he’d wanted to. Which he didn’t.
    But then she held him out in front of her and gave him a stern look. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
    It would have been easy to shake his head no and tell a silent lie, but Dave smiled and shrugged and held out his hands. Then he pointed at his mouth.
    His mom frowned even more. “Your throat? Is your throat sore? Is that it?”
    Dave shook his head. “But it’s hard to talk? Something hurts? Should I call Dr. O’Hara’s office? We can drive right over there.”
    Dave shook his head again and motioned for his mom to follow him.
    He went to his room, and then to his desk, and on a piece of paper he wrote, “Sorry. It’s a thing we’re doing at school. Not talking for a couple of days. That’s all.”
    His mom looked at the paper. “Not talking?” she said. “Don’t be silly. Everybody has to talk.”
    Dave smiled and shrugged. And he wrote, “Not all the time.”
    His mom tilted her head back and made a face at him, nodding slowly. “Ohhh . . . so you’re saying that I talk all the time, is that it?”
    Again, Dave smiled and shrugged. “Because I could be as quiet as anybody.” Then she added, “If I wanted to.”
    Bending over to pick up a sweatshirt, she pushed it into his arms and said, “Well, anyway, get the rest of these dirty clothes picked up and go downstairs and start a load in the washer. Only the dark colors, all right?”
    Dave made a face, and she said, “And don’t give me any of that sass, mister.”
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    At his karate class Kyle did a front snap-kick—without a yell.
    Mr. Hudson bowed and said, “Kyle-san. Always yell like this when you kick: Hii- YAH ! Now you.”
    Kyle did the kick again, and he moved his face and mouth, but he didn’t yell.
    Mr. Hudson’s face got red, and he walked stiffly like he always did when he was displeased. But he was still being polite, because that is the karate way.
    He bowed. “Kyle-san. Did you not hear me?” Ben Ellis walked onto the mat and bowed to Mr. Hudson. He was in fourth grade. When Mr. Hudson bowed back, Ben said, “Hudson-san. The fifth-grade kids aren’t talking. None of them.”
    Hudson-san bowed and made a wise face and tried to imagine what the teacher in the movie The Karate Kid would say in this situation.
    And after a long pause he said, “Ahh, I see. Yes. Silence. It is good.”
    Then he bowed at Kyle-san. And Kyle-san bowed back.
    Then Kyle did another snap-kick. Without yelling.
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    Ellen played the first flute piece for her teacher, but there was a problem.
    Mrs. Lenox said, “All right, we’re in four/four time here.” She used