trying to talk any more. I ate my lunch, struggling to get the food past a throat that wanted to close tighter with each swallow. I’d sat with my back to Torchie, so I couldn’t even tell what those guys were doing, but I was sure they were amused to see me at Trash’s table. I could just imagine what they were saying.
As I was finishing my lunch, I was startled from my thoughts by a clatter of metal against linoleum. Trash had thrown his fork to the floor. “Why’d you do that?” I asked.
Trash didn’t offer any explanation. No big deal. As long as he didn’t stick his silverware into me, I really didn’t care what else he did with it. He could sit on his fork and spin in circles if that made him happy.
The bell rang.
I passed Torchie on the way out, just to see if he’d say anything. There was no harm giving him a chance to apologize. But he ignored me.
I mouthed off to Mr. Briggs in science. He didn’t look too thrilled, but he let it go. Ms. Crenshaw wasn’t as reasonable. She kicked me out of class and sent me across the hall to the lecture.
I almost made it through geography. The class was nearly over
when Mr. Langhorn started walking around the room, quizzing us on capitals. He marched up to me, an open book in his hand, leaned over, and shouted, “BURMA!”
I hated the way he shouted. At least all I had to do to get him off my back was to say, Rangoon . I knew that stuff. I’d learned most of it back in seventh grade. Instead of answering, I reached out and slammed the book shut, right between his hands. He looked so startled, I thought his eyebrows would fly off toward the ceiling.
I couldn’t stop.
“TIBET?” I shouted. “Go ahead. Tell us. Can you name capitals without that book of yours? Come on. What’s the capital of Tasmania? Too hard? How about Argentina?”
Mr. Langhorn threw the book down. “You arrogant little beast,” he said, pointing a shaking finger at me. “You’ll be severely punished for this.” He stomped back to his desk and wrote something on a piece of paper. “Take this to the office,” he ordered, shoving the slip at one of the runts.
I heard a couple of kids chuckling. Langhorn did look pretty funny. I glanced over at Torchie. He started to smile. Then I guess he remembered he wasn’t talking to me because he turned away. Cheater looked away, too, but not before mumbling, “Lhasa,” to show everyone he knew the capital of Tibet.
After class, I reported to the detention room. It wasn’t crowded. From what I’d seen, a kid had to just about commit murder to win detention. Most of the students were so out of control already that the teachers just put up with them.
I hadn’t been there for more than five minutes when Principal Davis showed up. “Come along, Martin,” he said. “We have a special program for you.”
He smiled at me. It was one of the scariest expressions I’d ever seen.
CURRENT METHODS
W e didn’t go far.
The small room at the end of the hall past the principal’s office was amazingly ordinary. It looked like it might have been a storage area at one time. A single chair in the middle of the floor faced a pull-down movie screen on the left wall. The window opposite the door was covered with a heavy shade. Behind the chair, set slightly to one side, was a table holding a slide projector.
“Have a seat,” Principal Davis said.
I sat. He reached under the arm of the chair and fastened a leather strap around my wrist. A wire ran from the strap. I could feel bare metal pressing against my skin.
“Now, Martin, we’re going to play a little game. I’m going to show you a picture, and you are going to say something nice.”
“Okeydokey,” I said, speaking quickly so my words wouldn’t betray the tremble that was spreading through my body. What was going on here?
He walked behind me. I heard a click and the lights went off. Just as my eyes got used to the darkness, he flashed a slide on the screen. I blinked a couple of
As I was finishing my lunch, I was startled from my thoughts by a clatter of metal against linoleum. Trash had thrown his fork to the floor. “Why’d you do that?” I asked.
Trash didn’t offer any explanation. No big deal. As long as he didn’t stick his silverware into me, I really didn’t care what else he did with it. He could sit on his fork and spin in circles if that made him happy.
The bell rang.
I passed Torchie on the way out, just to see if he’d say anything. There was no harm giving him a chance to apologize. But he ignored me.
I mouthed off to Mr. Briggs in science. He didn’t look too thrilled, but he let it go. Ms. Crenshaw wasn’t as reasonable. She kicked me out of class and sent me across the hall to the lecture.
I almost made it through geography. The class was nearly over
when Mr. Langhorn started walking around the room, quizzing us on capitals. He marched up to me, an open book in his hand, leaned over, and shouted, “BURMA!”
I hated the way he shouted. At least all I had to do to get him off my back was to say, Rangoon . I knew that stuff. I’d learned most of it back in seventh grade. Instead of answering, I reached out and slammed the book shut, right between his hands. He looked so startled, I thought his eyebrows would fly off toward the ceiling.
I couldn’t stop.
“TIBET?” I shouted. “Go ahead. Tell us. Can you name capitals without that book of yours? Come on. What’s the capital of Tasmania? Too hard? How about Argentina?”
Mr. Langhorn threw the book down. “You arrogant little beast,” he said, pointing a shaking finger at me. “You’ll be severely punished for this.” He stomped back to his desk and wrote something on a piece of paper. “Take this to the office,” he ordered, shoving the slip at one of the runts.
I heard a couple of kids chuckling. Langhorn did look pretty funny. I glanced over at Torchie. He started to smile. Then I guess he remembered he wasn’t talking to me because he turned away. Cheater looked away, too, but not before mumbling, “Lhasa,” to show everyone he knew the capital of Tibet.
After class, I reported to the detention room. It wasn’t crowded. From what I’d seen, a kid had to just about commit murder to win detention. Most of the students were so out of control already that the teachers just put up with them.
I hadn’t been there for more than five minutes when Principal Davis showed up. “Come along, Martin,” he said. “We have a special program for you.”
He smiled at me. It was one of the scariest expressions I’d ever seen.
CURRENT METHODS
W e didn’t go far.
The small room at the end of the hall past the principal’s office was amazingly ordinary. It looked like it might have been a storage area at one time. A single chair in the middle of the floor faced a pull-down movie screen on the left wall. The window opposite the door was covered with a heavy shade. Behind the chair, set slightly to one side, was a table holding a slide projector.
“Have a seat,” Principal Davis said.
I sat. He reached under the arm of the chair and fastened a leather strap around my wrist. A wire ran from the strap. I could feel bare metal pressing against my skin.
“Now, Martin, we’re going to play a little game. I’m going to show you a picture, and you are going to say something nice.”
“Okeydokey,” I said, speaking quickly so my words wouldn’t betray the tremble that was spreading through my body. What was going on here?
He walked behind me. I heard a click and the lights went off. Just as my eyes got used to the darkness, he flashed a slide on the screen. I blinked a couple of
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