The Exact Location of Home by Kate Messner Page B

pull the GPS unit from my backpack, too. “We’re learning latitude and longitude.”
    â€œBe quiet and get to work.” She takes a loud slurp of coffee and disappears into her magazine. Perfect.
    By lunchtime, I’ve entered coordinates for all the new geocaches. I tuck the list and GPS unit into my backpack and pull out the math I did over the weekend. Might as well check on the exponent problems.
    â€œBack off, will ya? I’ll find a seat myself!” Kevin Richards is pulling away from Mr. Teeter, the gym teacher.
    â€œYou’ll sit where I tell you to sit.” Teeter points to the desk next to mine. “Park it. And get some work out.”
    â€œI finished it all at home over the weekend,” Richards says. I can’t help the snort of laughter that comes out.
    â€œWhat’s your problem?” Then he sees it’s me and his eyes get wide. “Zigonski? What’d they put you in here for? Did you break into the school computer system or something?”
    I shake my head.
    â€œNo talking,” says the monitor, not even looking up.
    Mr. Teeter leaves, and I pretend to be busy with my exponents.
    Richards leans over. “Seriously,” he whispers. “What’d you do? Usually you have to punch somebody to get in here.”
    â€œIs that what you did?”
    â€œNah,” he says, kicking his backpack. It’s scuffed up with a few holes, like it’s seen a lot of Kevin’s boot. “I stole Ben Martin’s sneakers outta the locker room.”
    â€œWhy’d you do that?” I forget to whisper.
    â€œNo talking.” The monitor turns a page.
    â€œCuz I needed sneakers. You’re pretty dumb for a smart kid.” He looks down at my backpack. “You still got the alarm on that thing?”
    I nod.
    He nods back. “Probably a good call.”
    The monitor closes her magazine and stands up. “Time to go to the bathroom.”
    â€œI don’t need to, thanks,” I say.
    â€œYou’ve never been in here before, have you?” Kevin grins. “You have to go when they say you have to go.”
    We get marched down the hall to the boys’ room and marched back. The ISS room is right next to the vice principal’s office, which is right next to the eighth grade entrance. I catch a glimpse of dark clouds through the hallway window before we’re escorted back into our windowless cell.
    Every time I reach into my backpack to get another already-finished assignment so I can pretend to work on it, my fingers brush the GPS unit. Every time that happens, my brain plays snapshots of the cache names I just entered. Skywalker Stretch. The Superhero’s Lair. Tabletop Treasure. That one’s right behind the school, not far from the cache Gee and I found yesterday.
    The monitor is knitting now. She hasn’t looked up in half an hour.
    I reach for my social studies book and touch the GPS again. I take it out and press the on button, but you can’t get a clear signal in a building like this. If I were closer to a window, it might work. Or if I took it outside.
    I take out my social studies homework and pretend to check over the crossword puzzle I filled in over the weekend. A big fat hand darts in and snatches it off my desk.
    Kevin puts his finger to his lips. “No talking in ISS,” he says, and starts copying my answers onto his blank crossword.
    The monitor blows her nose.
    I cannot stay here.
    We don’t get to leave the room again until lunch. By then, I’ve made up my mind.
    The monitor walks us to the end of the cafeteria line and looks over at the faculty lunchroom. There must be more coffee there. “I’ll be right back,” she says. “If you get through the line before then, return to the ISS room on your own.”
    I go through the lunch line.
    I pick up a milk from the cooler.
    I hand my tray to the cafeteria ladies with the ladles and hairnets so they can serve up