The Boy Project by Kami Kinard Page A

project?” I asked.
    Mr. DeLacey turned his back to me and acted like he was straightening his desk, but come on, he has the neatest desk you’ve ever seen. It probably qualifies as a sterile environment. Like, surgery could be performed on that desk. “No,” he said to his desk.
    I didn’t think I’d heard him right. “When can I get them?” I asked.
    â€œKara, you need to accept the fact that there’s nothing scientific about those surveys. Take my advice and come up with a new project. You’ll thank me when you get a grade higher than an F.”
    At that point, I was glad Mr. DeLacey had his back to me because water was pooling in my eyes. I couldn’t tell whether anger or embarrassment caused this reaction. See, I don’t think Mr. DeLacey was acting purely in my best interests to help me make a better science grade. I think he was being a jerk because he could be. Because he is a teacher and I am not, and he is mad that I embarrassed him in front of the substitute. Or maybe he’s just a mean person who’s only nice if you do everything one-hundred-percent exactly right. Maybe that’s why he’s still single. I don’t know. Do mean people get to have soul mates?
After dinner
    Mom and Dad always want us to tell them about our day when we have family dinners, which my mom likes to think happens every night. Actually, we only all manage to make it around the table three or four nights a week. Of course the number of nights I’m present, unfortunately, is something close to . . . I’d say . . . every single night. But Julie is so busy with track and her fabulous social life that she doesn’t frequent the McAllister Café as often as I do. Lucky me.
    Tonight, though, I was looking forward to the discussion because I wanted to get my dad’s take on Mr. DeLacey and my STOLEN surveys. Even if I can’t use them for a science fair project, they contain
valuable
information — especially if they prove my Hidden Agenda Soul Mate Project Hypothesis correct! I need them! And I figured my dad would know how I could get them back.
    Dad is an attorney. But he’s not the kind of attorney that makes a lot of money. See, he works for a human rights organization, and humanity is not a very valuable commodity compared to something like real estate. But why is humanity more important than his own flesh and blood? Well, at least he still gives me useful advice. Sometimes.
    As soon as we started passing the food, I told the Evil DeLacey Survey Stealer story.
    Julie said, “Mr. DeLacey? Isn’t that the teacher you think is so cute?”
    Thanks, Julie. I
so
appreciate your contribution to getting Mom and Dad to take my conversation seriously. And why’d you have to be home for dinner tonight of all nights?
    But luckily, Dad had his advice ready and he started giving it before I was forced to answer Julie’s dumb question. Not that she really needed the answer. She knew it before she asked.
    Anyway, Dad said, “You get the answers you want if you ask the right questions.”
    I gave him the usual response. “Huh?”
    â€œJust walk up to Mr. DeLacey and politely ask, ‘Is it legal for you to keep my surveys, which are my property, if I ask you for them back?’ ”
    â€œYou really think I have the guts to do that?”
    â€œDepends on how bad you want the surveys.”
    I want them bad. Tune in tomorrow to see if it’s bad enough. . . .

Friday, January 19
Sixth period
    I now have the surveys in my hands and the memory of the look in Mr. DeLacey’s burning ice-blue eyes (after I asked the “Is it legal?” question) seared into my brain. I sure hope he doesn’t know how to make voodoo dolls or anything.
After school
    Tabbi asked if I wanted to go out to eat pizza and go to a movie with her and Evan. Um . . . NO! I’d rather eat asparagus soup at Mimi’s. Besides, I really want to