1
I hate spaghetti days at Shadyside Middle School.
But does anyone ask my opinion? No. Instead, they torture me with spaghetti every Thursday.
I was prepared. I wore my spaghetti-day clothesâa red-orange shirt with white lines. That way, stains would be less likely to show up. But this spaghetti day was worse than usual. The lunch lady glopped spaghetti and chocolate pudding onto everybodyâs lunch tray.
So when I tripped, I knew my shirt was doomed.
Okay, I admit it. It doesnât take much to trip me. A crack in the sidewalk. A piece of paper in my path. Iâm really a huge klutz. My feet just donât get along with each other. But this time it wasnât my fault.Somebody stuck out his foot as I passed by. I didnât have a chance.
Wham! I fell face-down on the floor, right on top of the tray. Yecchhhh! Hot spaghetti and cold pudding smooshed together under me. All across the front of my only slightly stained, almost clean shirt.
No matter how many times I take a flop, it still really bugs me!
âWay to go, Will the Spill!â somebody yelled. Then some kids started chanting, âWill the Spill! Will the Spill!â Yeah, thatâs right. Iâm sort of a legend here at Shadyside Middle School. No one ever calls me by my real name, Will Kennedy. Noooo. Itâs always Will the Spill.
I got up. And slipped on a blob of cottage cheese someone had thrown. Down I went. I scrambled to my feet again.
I could feel heat creeping across my face. I knew I was turning beet-red all the way to my ears. I always do.
I picked up my tray and shoveled as much gunk back onto it as I could. With my head down, watching my feet, I shuffled carefully toward the window. I wasnât going to take another spill. I would stash my tray with the others on the windowsill and quietly sneak out to my locker. I was starving, but no way was I going through the spaghetti line again. I keep a supply of Twinkies for spaghetti-day emergencies.
âHey, Will.â
I glanced around to see who called my name. My actual name. Chad Miller gave me a wave from a nearby table.
Yeah, Chad Miller. The coolest kid in Shadyside Middle School. Heâs our star athlete. At every sport.
Chad doesnât have a mouthful of braces like me, either. His teeth are as straight and white as a TV starâs. He has straight blond hair. Mineâs dark and always messy.
So why was Mr. Perfectâthe coolest guy in schoolâcalling me? I really wasnât sure. The whole time heâs been at Shadyside, heâs never said two words to me.
Until a few weeks ago, when Chad said hi to me on my way to class. At first I thought, He canât be talking to me. I glanced all around the hallway to see who he was speaking to. But there was no one else around. And Chad was looking straight at me.
Then, last week, he borrowed my notes. And yesterday he asked me to shoot hoops with him. It was weird, to say the least. But it was also nice to have someone as cool as Chad paying attention to me. I felt as if I was in the middle of my favorite daydream, the one where Iâm one of the cool kids and everybody likes me and envies me because I never make any mistakes and Iâm not clumsy.
âWill, come here a minute,â Chad called, snappingme out of my thoughts. He waved a bunch of napkins at me.
I noticed an empty chair at his table.
I sat down by Chad and took the napkins from him. I cleaned myself off as well as I could.
Chad glanced at the other kids at the table. âYou guys are finished, right?â he said.
For a second nothing happened. The other kids looked at each other.
Then they nodded, picked up their trays or sack lunches, and left.
Making people go away just because you said so! Now, thatâs power!
How did Chad do it?
His eyes darted around. I guess he didnât want anyone to hear our conversation. No one was nearby.
He leaned toward me and said, âYou ever get fed up with being
I hate spaghetti days at Shadyside Middle School.
But does anyone ask my opinion? No. Instead, they torture me with spaghetti every Thursday.
I was prepared. I wore my spaghetti-day clothesâa red-orange shirt with white lines. That way, stains would be less likely to show up. But this spaghetti day was worse than usual. The lunch lady glopped spaghetti and chocolate pudding onto everybodyâs lunch tray.
So when I tripped, I knew my shirt was doomed.
Okay, I admit it. It doesnât take much to trip me. A crack in the sidewalk. A piece of paper in my path. Iâm really a huge klutz. My feet just donât get along with each other. But this time it wasnât my fault.Somebody stuck out his foot as I passed by. I didnât have a chance.
Wham! I fell face-down on the floor, right on top of the tray. Yecchhhh! Hot spaghetti and cold pudding smooshed together under me. All across the front of my only slightly stained, almost clean shirt.
No matter how many times I take a flop, it still really bugs me!
âWay to go, Will the Spill!â somebody yelled. Then some kids started chanting, âWill the Spill! Will the Spill!â Yeah, thatâs right. Iâm sort of a legend here at Shadyside Middle School. No one ever calls me by my real name, Will Kennedy. Noooo. Itâs always Will the Spill.
I got up. And slipped on a blob of cottage cheese someone had thrown. Down I went. I scrambled to my feet again.
I could feel heat creeping across my face. I knew I was turning beet-red all the way to my ears. I always do.
I picked up my tray and shoveled as much gunk back onto it as I could. With my head down, watching my feet, I shuffled carefully toward the window. I wasnât going to take another spill. I would stash my tray with the others on the windowsill and quietly sneak out to my locker. I was starving, but no way was I going through the spaghetti line again. I keep a supply of Twinkies for spaghetti-day emergencies.
âHey, Will.â
I glanced around to see who called my name. My actual name. Chad Miller gave me a wave from a nearby table.
Yeah, Chad Miller. The coolest kid in Shadyside Middle School. Heâs our star athlete. At every sport.
Chad doesnât have a mouthful of braces like me, either. His teeth are as straight and white as a TV starâs. He has straight blond hair. Mineâs dark and always messy.
So why was Mr. Perfectâthe coolest guy in schoolâcalling me? I really wasnât sure. The whole time heâs been at Shadyside, heâs never said two words to me.
Until a few weeks ago, when Chad said hi to me on my way to class. At first I thought, He canât be talking to me. I glanced all around the hallway to see who he was speaking to. But there was no one else around. And Chad was looking straight at me.
Then, last week, he borrowed my notes. And yesterday he asked me to shoot hoops with him. It was weird, to say the least. But it was also nice to have someone as cool as Chad paying attention to me. I felt as if I was in the middle of my favorite daydream, the one where Iâm one of the cool kids and everybody likes me and envies me because I never make any mistakes and Iâm not clumsy.
âWill, come here a minute,â Chad called, snappingme out of my thoughts. He waved a bunch of napkins at me.
I noticed an empty chair at his table.
I sat down by Chad and took the napkins from him. I cleaned myself off as well as I could.
Chad glanced at the other kids at the table. âYou guys are finished, right?â he said.
For a second nothing happened. The other kids looked at each other.
Then they nodded, picked up their trays or sack lunches, and left.
Making people go away just because you said so! Now, thatâs power!
How did Chad do it?
His eyes darted around. I guess he didnât want anyone to hear our conversation. No one was nearby.
He leaned toward me and said, âYou ever get fed up with being
Similar Books
