My Teacher Fried My Brains by Bruce Coville

Author:Bruce Coville
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Published: 2011-12-12T22:30:36+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Accused

Once my heart started to beat again, I realized that I knew the person driving the car.

It was Peter Thompson’s father.

“Get in,” said Mr. Thompson again. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t trust Mr. Thompson. I just didn’t want to hear him whine on about how much he missed Peter now that he was gone.

On the other hand, I was tired and hungry, and getting a ride home instead of having to walk was very appealing. I decided I could listen to Mr. Thompson for a few minutes if it meant getting to my house—and my refrigerator—faster.

Actually, it was the refrigerator that was topmost in my mind. I was hoping I could find something in there that I could eat without having to worry about whether or not it was still alive. Of course, there was no guarantee on that matter. My father calls our refrigerator Resurrection City, because my mother puts in stuff that’s dead and three months later takes it out covered with new life.

Whenever Dad says that my mother replies, “Look, Harold, if you don’t like it, you can clean the refrigerator yourself, since last time I looked you didn’t have two broken arms—though you might if you don’t watch out.”

Life at my house is not exactly like life on Leave It to Beaver.

“So, what are you doing out at this time of night?” I said as I climbed into the car.

The instant I said it I realized what a dumb question it was for a kid to ask an adult at two o’clock in the morning on a school night. But then, I’ve noticed that for most people, their tongue is the last part of their body to get smart.

I wished I hadn’t asked. I wished it even more when Mr. Thompson answered, because depending on how I took it, what he said was either terribly sad or as scary as anything that had happened so far that night.

But I had asked, and Mr. Thompson answered.

“I’m looking for Peter,” he said.

I closed my eyes. Even though my tongue was running ahead of my brain, I was smart enough to know that “Grow up, Jack, your kid took off for outer space because he couldn’t stand you,” was not the right thing to say under the circumstances.

Actually, I could think of several dozen things that were not the right thing to say under the circumstances. What I couldn’t come up with was anything that I should say.

So I kept my mouth shut, which was probably the best proof I had had so far that the brain fryer was making me smarter.

“I know he’s around here somewhere,” said Mr. Thompson as he began to drive. “I just don’t believe he’s gone that far away. He’s too smart to think he could survive someplace like New York City, even though he always wanted to live there.”

This was sad. Mr. Thompson’s idea of far away was several trillion miles short of where his kid had really gone.

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