A Boy and His Dinosaur by Wayne Kyle Spitzer

Author:Wayne Kyle Spitzer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: animal, stories, tales, book books ebook ebooks paperback, wayne kyle spitzer spokane authors writers art, friendship dinosaurs prehistoric animals old, middle school grief grieving death loved one, red rites of passage fern grows growing up, yeller juvenile juveniles teen teens monsters, young adult dinosaur animal dark fiction sf
Publisher: Hobb's End Books
Published: 2019-12-06T00:00:00+00:00

“MR. SMITH? COME ON back.”

I got up from the hard, wooden chair (the back of which faced the principal’s office) and went in.

“Please, have a seat,” he said.

He riffled the pages in front of him—lifting his chin on occasion, peering through his readers. A long plaque on his desk read: ROLAND R. BLAIN, SUPERINTENDENT. “You seem to have written us quite a lot,” he said, and added, “I understand that wouldn’t have been the case a few months ago.”

“I’ve had a long time to think about things,” I said.

“Yes, I see that.” He took off his reading glasses and slipped a tip of the frames into his mouth. “You sound angry in this. Were you trying to tell us something?”

“Yes sir, I was.”

Blain drummed his fingers on the desk. “Well, that explains that.”

He put his glasses back on and started scribbling on the page—scratching and pecking, pecking and scratching. “Mr. Smith, do you feel that this was an accurate snapshot of your present emotional state?”

“I do, sir.”

“And do you feel that anything was gained from this experience—of writing it down, that is? Anything learned?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which was?”

“That I can grow, sir. That I have grown, now that I’ve accepted the truth.”

Blain looked at me over his glasses.

“About my parents, sir.”

A final scratch, a final peck.

“Very well.” He tossed his reading glasses onto the desk and rocked back in his chair, jauntily, his hands clasped behind his head. “And congratulations. Because you’ll be going on to 7th grade.”

I must have looked as stunned as I felt.

“Look, son,” He glanced out the window as though in deep thought, “Anybody that can go through what you’ve been through ... and face it down so honestly ...” He looked back at me, appearing altogether different without the reading glasses, younger, more alive. “...has earned his way. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I think I blushed.

“Now go on, get out of here. Before I change my mind. Besides, they’re waiting for you.”

He pointed outside, to where Jenny—the girl I had a crush on—and Dillon were watching, pressed against the glass.

And then it was over and us kids were walking home, Jenny in the middle while Dillon and I pretended to be pinball bumpers, ping-ponging her back and forth, making her laugh, until we reached the intersection at University and Pines and I punched the button to cross north while Jenny punched the button to continue west, and I leaned close and told her I liked her but she didn’t say anything, at least not at first—until we were trotting in the opposite direction, when she called, “I like you, too!”

And I felt great, just great, better than I had ever felt before.

Not to mention clever, considering I had just lied my way—lied through my crooked, Snickers-stained teeth—into 7th grade.

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