Name Tags and Other Sixth-Grade Disasters by Ginger Garrett

Author:Ginger Garrett [Garrett, Ginger]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Bullying, contemporary fiction, Divorce, Family, Fiction - Middle Grade, Fiction, Fitting In, Friends, Friendship, Humor, Middle-Grade Fiction, Middle-Grade Novel, Middle-Grade Novels, novel, Novels, School
Publisher: Lerner Publishing Group
Published: 2020-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

In the morning, before the first bell rang, I raced to the art room. My whole body was vibrating from nerves. I was already tense about the class project; I hadn’t planned on committing a crime, too.

I crept into Mr. Westchester’s dark classroom. After checking that I was alone, I hit the lights and headed to a supply closet in the back corner. Hands shaking, I opened the door and found the larger supplies stored inside.

Along with a stack of newspaper clippings.

Mr. Westchester was staring at me. From a clipping. An article from a newspaper, the edges neat and the corners sharp. Someone had been careful cutting it out. The thin paper shook in my unsteady hands as I read.

Martin Westchester, son of famed heart surgeon Clyde Westchester, will host a viewing of his new collection of paintings, “Scenes in Gray,” tomorrow night at the Village Art House. Mr. Westchester’s art has been featured in numerous gallery exhibitions and national magazines. Art America recently named him one of the “Top Painters Under 30” in the world.

On the back was a Post-It note that read, Your father would have been so proud. Mom. I turned the clipping back over to check the date on the article. Two years ago.

Mr. Westchester was a famous artist. Wow. So why was he here, teaching art in a school district that didn’t care about art? Did everyone know how famous he had been, and maybe still was? Being the new kid means you can never be sure what’s a startling new revelation. You’re always walking in halfway through the movie.

“What are you doing?”

I whirled around. A very real Mr. Westchester stood in the doorway. He speed-walked across the room and took the clipping from my hands. Crumpling it into a ball, he dropped it on the floor, his eyes never leaving mine.

My heart pounded but my hand was already on a poster board. I lifted it up as if this was an explanation. “Borrowing this?”

“Borrowing implies you will return it in the same condition. Were you going to write on it?”

I nodded, ashamed.

“Then you’re stealing.” He stared me down, his expression unreadable. “You know the school’s in danger of losing its funding for the arts program. If I write you up for this, you could be kicked out of my class. You might never have another chance to take an art class. And in the meantime, what would you do for the talent show?”

“I’m sorry!” I said in desperation. “Please don’t give me a discipline slip. I’m new here and I’m under a lot of stress and my dad wants me to move in with a . . . a . . .” Lacking any other suitable word, I exclaimed, “a lawyer!”

Mr. Westchester almost laughed before he pressed his lips together tightly. “Tell you what, Lizbeth . . .” He did a double-take. “Why are you still wearing that name tag?”

“I have to,” I replied, feeling the air get sucked out of my lungs. As if this conversation wasn’t humiliating enough.

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