“Absolutely not.”
“My parents want me to be an orthopedic surgeon, so I don’t have to be a leader,” says Avery.
“You’re never operating on me, Buckner,” mutters Riley.
Avery looks around, trying to figure out who dissed his future surgical dexterity.
Kitty, a plumpish Sixer with purple braces, says, “My parents don’t want me to have beliefs until I’m at least eighteen.”
I jump off the carpet and hurry over to Mrs. Patinkin’s desk. She’s looking about five years older than when she arrived in the morning, so I bring her her coffee mug to remind her there are still things worth living for. Her mouth is too exhausted to smile, so she smiles at me with her eyes, then gulps the whole thing down.
“As I was saying, two leaders will be elected in each class, and will campaign for the presidency by making their political plans for the island public. This will prepare them for the schoolwide election, where they will make a speech in front of the entire school. Then students will vote for the leader of their class. Any questions?”
Mrs. Patinkin waits about three seconds for us to stop scratching and squirming, and start thinking up some crummy questions. Then she continues: “Good! Let’s divide the class, shall we?” She looks around, then rests her eyes on the highlighter stain Smartin left on the carpet. “Everyone to the right of the blue line, shift to the right. Everyone to the left of the blue line, shift left. We’ll add Martin to the group on the left. Look around at your groups, people. You’ll be working very closely with these people over the next few weeks.”
I look around me to find Susannah and Laurel made the cut—phew! So did Maisie, Avery, and a bunch of Sixers. And Smartin, if he survives. But, wait…someone’s missing. I look around to see Riley on the other team, which totally stinks.
Mrs. Patinkin says, “You have five minutes to come up with a name for your island. I want you to be inventive.Think of names you’re certain have not been used for any other place on earth.” She pushes back her sleeve and checks her watch. “Sta-art now!”
Everybody starts whispering. My group throws out gruesome words like Hizzletown, Junglasia, and Sonderland. Then I come up with the most perfect name ever for a fake island—Zentopia. Right away my group agrees on account of it sounding like the Zentopian people won’t have to do a lot of work.
Pretty soon Mrs. Patinkin calls, “Ti-ime! Now I’d like each team to give me their name, and then we’ll vote on a winner.”
I stand up and say, “My peoples do solemnly believe our island should be called Zentopia.” I do a cute little bow and sit down. My group claps and hugs me. I happen to know Patinkin will like our name because she does yoga every morning before school. I think she likes to find her own Zen state before facing a day at school with us.
Devon stands up and says, “The island should be called Icklesius, which is a democratic combination of everyone’s suggestions. I feel it’s important that each and every voice be heard—”
“We’ll save our belief systems until next week,” says Patinkin. “Zentopia and Icklesius. Both very unique and well thought out. Shall we vote?”
I stand up again. “Mrs. Patinkin. Since we’re missing a member of our group, the voting won’t be fair. It’ll be fourteen against thirteen, since each person is obviously going to vote for their own group’s name.”
“Good point,” she says. “We’ll just have to use Devon’s suggestion of combining both names. It’s the most democratic thing to do. We’ll take the topia from Zentopia and the Ick from Icklesius and call our island Icktopia.”
Which is the worst name an island could have.
As Mrs. Patinkin writes Icktopia on the chalkboard, I try to wave to Riley to let him know these teams stink and that the name Icktopia stinks even worse, but he’s leaning in real close to Devon, who is whispering
“My parents want me to be an orthopedic surgeon, so I don’t have to be a leader,” says Avery.
“You’re never operating on me, Buckner,” mutters Riley.
Avery looks around, trying to figure out who dissed his future surgical dexterity.
Kitty, a plumpish Sixer with purple braces, says, “My parents don’t want me to have beliefs until I’m at least eighteen.”
I jump off the carpet and hurry over to Mrs. Patinkin’s desk. She’s looking about five years older than when she arrived in the morning, so I bring her her coffee mug to remind her there are still things worth living for. Her mouth is too exhausted to smile, so she smiles at me with her eyes, then gulps the whole thing down.
“As I was saying, two leaders will be elected in each class, and will campaign for the presidency by making their political plans for the island public. This will prepare them for the schoolwide election, where they will make a speech in front of the entire school. Then students will vote for the leader of their class. Any questions?”
Mrs. Patinkin waits about three seconds for us to stop scratching and squirming, and start thinking up some crummy questions. Then she continues: “Good! Let’s divide the class, shall we?” She looks around, then rests her eyes on the highlighter stain Smartin left on the carpet. “Everyone to the right of the blue line, shift to the right. Everyone to the left of the blue line, shift left. We’ll add Martin to the group on the left. Look around at your groups, people. You’ll be working very closely with these people over the next few weeks.”
I look around me to find Susannah and Laurel made the cut—phew! So did Maisie, Avery, and a bunch of Sixers. And Smartin, if he survives. But, wait…someone’s missing. I look around to see Riley on the other team, which totally stinks.
Mrs. Patinkin says, “You have five minutes to come up with a name for your island. I want you to be inventive.Think of names you’re certain have not been used for any other place on earth.” She pushes back her sleeve and checks her watch. “Sta-art now!”
Everybody starts whispering. My group throws out gruesome words like Hizzletown, Junglasia, and Sonderland. Then I come up with the most perfect name ever for a fake island—Zentopia. Right away my group agrees on account of it sounding like the Zentopian people won’t have to do a lot of work.
Pretty soon Mrs. Patinkin calls, “Ti-ime! Now I’d like each team to give me their name, and then we’ll vote on a winner.”
I stand up and say, “My peoples do solemnly believe our island should be called Zentopia.” I do a cute little bow and sit down. My group claps and hugs me. I happen to know Patinkin will like our name because she does yoga every morning before school. I think she likes to find her own Zen state before facing a day at school with us.
Devon stands up and says, “The island should be called Icklesius, which is a democratic combination of everyone’s suggestions. I feel it’s important that each and every voice be heard—”
“We’ll save our belief systems until next week,” says Patinkin. “Zentopia and Icklesius. Both very unique and well thought out. Shall we vote?”
I stand up again. “Mrs. Patinkin. Since we’re missing a member of our group, the voting won’t be fair. It’ll be fourteen against thirteen, since each person is obviously going to vote for their own group’s name.”
“Good point,” she says. “We’ll just have to use Devon’s suggestion of combining both names. It’s the most democratic thing to do. We’ll take the topia from Zentopia and the Ick from Icklesius and call our island Icktopia.”
Which is the worst name an island could have.
As Mrs. Patinkin writes Icktopia on the chalkboard, I try to wave to Riley to let him know these teams stink and that the name Icktopia stinks even worse, but he’s leaning in real close to Devon, who is whispering
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