Sidetracked by Diana Harmon Asher

Author:Diana Harmon Asher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Abrams
Published: 2017-10-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Science is usually one of my better classes. Wes is in it and so is Heather. Heather sits behind me, which is helpful because she clears her throat or kicks my chair when she sees that my attention is wandering. Also, there are labs at least once a week, so instead of just listening and writing stuff down, we can combine things in tubes and hope they explode.

It’s Wednesday, and Mr. Hoolihan is late. Most of the kids are talking, sitting on the desks, and putting their feet on the chairs. A kid named Cody is keeping watch while Wes tries to open Mr. Hoolihan’s bottom desk drawer, to see if it’s true that he keeps a bottle of whiskey in there.

My desk is in the front row, by the door. Heather is in her seat behind me and she’s doodling in her notebook.

That’s when Charlie Kastner walks by. First he sees Cody. Then he sees Wes fiddling with Mr. Hoolihan’s desk. I guess it looks interesting, so he saunters in.

Then he sees me.

NEWS FLASH to seventh-grade teachers: When you’re late, bad things happen.

Charlie sits himself down on my desk. It’s not that big a desk. He fans himself with the flimsy hall pass that he’s somehow wrangled from one of his teachers. There’s a shredded hole in his jeans and a piece of blubbery thigh is poking through.

“So, Friedman,” he says, shifting to make himself comfortable, “you’re having some trouble with the starting gun, huh? I hear it makes you cry like a little girl.”

I don’t look up. Maybe I can wait him out. Mr. Hoolihan will be here soon. He’s got to be. “Too bad, Friedman,” says Charlie. “I thought a sissy sport like track would be just right for you.” He wiggles his fingers when he says “track,” like he’s sprinkling fairy dust or something. “I bet that’s what they told you in the Retards . . . I mean Resource Room.”

Wes is still crouched down behind Mr. Hoolihan’s desk. I know he hears Charlie, but he stays where he is. I don’t blame him.

“Maybe it’s time to try cheerleading,” Charlie goes on. “You thought about that? Or hockey? You can be the puck. Yeah, that’s an idea. You can be the PUCK.” He says “PUCK” really loud and right in my face, spraying me with spit.

“We’re running cross country. And it isn’t a sissy sport,” says Heather. She’s still sitting at her desk.

Charlie looks at Heather and stands up. He’s like a drooling hyena about to pounce on a field mouse when he suddenly catches sight of a nice, juicy zebra. He faces Heather and leans on her desk with a slanty grin. “Yeah? It’s not a sissy sport? You think Friedman here could play football, huh?”

Heather stands up, too. She leans on her side of the desk and they’re practically nose to nose. She’s taking Charlie on, just like she did that day in soccer. I’m shaking my head at her vigorously and praying that Mr.

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