My Year of Epic Rock by Andrea Pyros

Author:Andrea Pyros
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2014-07-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Today’s the field trip! I thought to myself the second I opened my eyes. I didn’t even need the alarm to wake up.

Our class was going to visit a small dairy farm two towns over. The farm kept winning awards for “freshest tasting milk” while trying to build their business against mega-farms that have tons of cows and way more money.

It’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but I spent a lot of time getting dressed and doing my hair that morning, which makes me sound totally pathetic and not the sort of person who cares about the right things, like cows. But field trips are exciting. It’s like a party but during the school day. A dairy farm might not have been my top choice for a group outing, but it still sounded cool. One year for our class trip, we went to a Broadway show in the city, and another time, to a museum about an hour away to draw still lifes. I was really proud of the fruit picture I made, but I guess my parents didn’t think it was so great because they took it down off the refrigerator after only having it up for about three days. The photo of Jackson getting his yellow belt in karate stayed up for almost a year. Go figure.

I’d decided to wear my favorite black skinny jeans and my new gray sweater with a black peace sign on it. I’d actually been saving that sweater for the occasion, not wearing it even once since I found out about our trip, so it would seem special. And sneakers since Mrs. Cook said we’d be doing a lot of walking and would have to “watch where we stepped.” I even shampooed twice and used a deep conditioner sample I’d gotten from a magazine, then blew dry my hair, which unfortunately made me all sweaty and hot before I’d even left the house.

“Where’s your coat?” Mom asked as I was walking out the door with Jackson to school. “What if it’s cold at the farm?”

“Nah, I don’t need it,” I said. “It’s super nice out today.”

“Don’t you want to bring one just in case? I can run up and get it.”

“Mom, the farm isn’t any colder than our street. I’ll be fine.”

She gave me her “I’m not saying anything else but if you come home frozen I’ll say ‘I told you so’ a million times” look.

“I made you cookies to bring along.” She handed me a brown paper bag, neatly folded closed. Amazingly, she hadn’t written my name on it. It took about three years of reminding her before she stopped putting my name with a heart around it in big, blocky letters on all my stuff.

I peered inside suspiciously.

“Good Day, Sunshine Cookies. And Pumpkin Snickerdoodles,” she said.

“Whoa, Mom, there are a lot here.” How totally dorky does it sound to say “Snickerdoodle” out loud?

“You can share them. I made extra.”

“I’ll take one!” Jackson grabbed for my bag and accidentally smacked me in the arm with his elbow.

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