The Secret Sheriff of Sixth Grade by Jordan Sonnenblick

Author:Jordan Sonnenblick
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.

When I was little, I used to come home every day and tell my mom about this kid who always got in trouble in my day care class. It was never anybody else, just this kid with a funny name getting scolded by the teachers again and again. We’d be getting in line for snack time, and I’d hear, “Toggler, we keep our hands to ourselves in the snack line!” Or at lunchtime, I’d hear, “Toggler! That is not how we drink our milk!” During outdoor recess, it was, “Toggler, we wait our turn for the slide! We do not push our friends! We do not throw mulch—EVER!”

Throwing mulch was a big problem in day care.

Anyway, the situation really troubled me. I couldn’t figure out who this child was. So I thought, How bad can he be if I can’t even pick him out of the crowd? I mean, there are only, like, six boys in the group, and I haven’t noticed one of them being particularly deranged. Plus, if they can yell at this kid 24-7 now, who’s going to stop them from switching targets and starting in on me next?

It was enough to turn any three-year-old into a nervous wreck. It’s amazing I didn’t take up smoking or something.

The problem didn’t stop until one day at dinner, when my mom smacked her forehead and said, “Toddlers!”

I was like, Say whu-ut?

She explained, “Your teachers aren’t yelling at a kid named Toggler, Maverick, honey. They’re saying toddlers. That just means kids. They’re talking to all of you at once. It’s like they’re saying, ‘Hey, guys, we don’t throw mulch!’ ”

I still wasn’t quite sure how I felt about the whole affair, but whatever. My point is that I’ve never liked it when one kid gets singled out and picked on—even when it turned out to be an imaginary kid. But all of a sudden, right after Thanksgiving, a real kid suddenly became the goat of the soccer team.

Naturally, it had to be Nate. It went on all morning on our first day back, but really came to a head at lunch.

I didn’t mean to eavesdrop or anything, but when you’re sitting by yourself at lunch next to a group of people who are all yelling about one thing, it’s pretty hard not to catch the main idea.

I was just sitting there, using the little plastic scraper device to get out the last bit of cheese from the bottom of a pack of cheese and crackers, when the whole thing erupted around me. As Nate came to the table, Bowen growled, “Oh, look, it’s Mr. I-Got-Beat-By-The-Slowest-Kid-On-The-Other-Team.”

I was like, Wow, that name’s never going to fit on the back of his jersey.

Nate didn’t say anything back, but Bowen never really noticed stuff like that. “Didn’t you hear me, Nate? I was talking to you.”

“Yes,” Nate mumbled. “I heard.”

“Then why didn’t you answer me?”

“Well, you didn’t ask me anything.”

I had to admit, he had a point. But Bowen didn’t seem to feel the same way.

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