classrooms are perfect. When I get to my science classroom, it’s—well, I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s on the top floor for one, but while half of the classroom has a regular wooden floor, the other half has grass . That’s because the “ceiling” of our science classroom is really a retractable roof, so that on the sunny days, the teacher can roll it back and we can learn science while sitting on green grass under a bright blue sky.
When I sit down, in the second-to-last chair in the very last row of desks, I feel myself relax. No reporters. Basford sitting next to me. And call me a geek, but I feel kind of proud that I get to go to a school that looks like this: It seems like you’d have to be special to be allowed to even cross the doorstep of this magnificent-looking place.
But then she walks in and everything changes in a second. The girl walking onto the grass is my height, but bigger everywhere: her head, her body, her legs, probably even her toenails. She has thick dark hair and big blue eyes and big teeth and big lips and a big, big mouth that is always smiling, even if she says cruel things.
Yep. Jennifer Jong. St. Xavier’s plummets down my expectation ladder: If they let her in, they’d let in anyone. Luckily, she sits down in the front row. I’m not even sure she knows I’m here. I tuck my chin into my chest and stare at my desk. I’ll stare at it all day long if it means she leaves me alone.
Then a man rushes in and I automatically lift my head. He has crazy wild blond hair that’s really long, a crooked nose, and a slanted smile. He’s wearing a short-sleeved, bright orange Hawaiian shirt, like he just came from the beach.
“Hey!” he says. “Owen Dail, at your service.”
Basford and I look at each other. He’s grinning; I’m not. Maybe this is common in Bermuda, but I’ve never had a teacher like this.
“Some quick rules.” The teacher moves briskly around the classroom, picking up beakers and plastic bottles and strange, silver implements. “Call me Owen. You get a demerit if you call me Mr. Dail.”
“What’s a demerit?” asks a girl in the back row.
Owen wheels around, looking down at her. She’s wearing all pink. “A demerit is my catch-all phrase that means ‘bad thing.’” He starts to lope toward his desk.
“But would it affect our grade? If we get a demerit, I mean?” Owen stops again, mid-row. He turns to face the girl.
“Your name?”
She looks around nervously. “Dawn. Dawn Dobransky.”
“Well, Dawn Dobransky, for you, yes. Demerits will affect your grade.”
“Just me?”
Owen shrugs. “I don’t know.” He looks around. “Perhaps everyone? What do you think?”
Dawn Dobransky stares at him uncomprehendingly. “I don’t know.”
“Well then, I don’t know either. Let’s keep going, shall we?”
He runs to his desk, puts the palms of both of his hands on the top and propels himself up, so that he can sit on top of it and look back at all of us. He’s reminding me of Chico’s dog, back when he was a puppy.
“Roll call. My favorite part of the day. I’ll know all of your names by December. Scout’s promise.” He holds up his fingers in a peace sign. “I mean, Scout’s honor.”
I can’t help it, I smile. He’s so weird.
He starts reading off names, making funny comments along the way. For someone named Charles Lafayette, he salutes. For a kid named Joseph Josephs, he simply says “My condolences.” And then he gets to me.
“Polly Peabody!”
I raise my hand.
“Peas! Do you know what that makes me think of?”
Now everyone has turned to me, including Jongy. I keep my eyes trained on Owen and shake my head, scared of what he’s about to say.
“Gregor Mendel!” Owen says gleefully. “Do you know who he is?”
I shake my head again.
“Anyone?” Owen asks. “This is a science class, think science. Gregor Mendel. Not a scientist. A priest. An Augustinian priest—whatever that is—who is the founder
When I sit down, in the second-to-last chair in the very last row of desks, I feel myself relax. No reporters. Basford sitting next to me. And call me a geek, but I feel kind of proud that I get to go to a school that looks like this: It seems like you’d have to be special to be allowed to even cross the doorstep of this magnificent-looking place.
But then she walks in and everything changes in a second. The girl walking onto the grass is my height, but bigger everywhere: her head, her body, her legs, probably even her toenails. She has thick dark hair and big blue eyes and big teeth and big lips and a big, big mouth that is always smiling, even if she says cruel things.
Yep. Jennifer Jong. St. Xavier’s plummets down my expectation ladder: If they let her in, they’d let in anyone. Luckily, she sits down in the front row. I’m not even sure she knows I’m here. I tuck my chin into my chest and stare at my desk. I’ll stare at it all day long if it means she leaves me alone.
Then a man rushes in and I automatically lift my head. He has crazy wild blond hair that’s really long, a crooked nose, and a slanted smile. He’s wearing a short-sleeved, bright orange Hawaiian shirt, like he just came from the beach.
“Hey!” he says. “Owen Dail, at your service.”
Basford and I look at each other. He’s grinning; I’m not. Maybe this is common in Bermuda, but I’ve never had a teacher like this.
“Some quick rules.” The teacher moves briskly around the classroom, picking up beakers and plastic bottles and strange, silver implements. “Call me Owen. You get a demerit if you call me Mr. Dail.”
“What’s a demerit?” asks a girl in the back row.
Owen wheels around, looking down at her. She’s wearing all pink. “A demerit is my catch-all phrase that means ‘bad thing.’” He starts to lope toward his desk.
“But would it affect our grade? If we get a demerit, I mean?” Owen stops again, mid-row. He turns to face the girl.
“Your name?”
She looks around nervously. “Dawn. Dawn Dobransky.”
“Well, Dawn Dobransky, for you, yes. Demerits will affect your grade.”
“Just me?”
Owen shrugs. “I don’t know.” He looks around. “Perhaps everyone? What do you think?”
Dawn Dobransky stares at him uncomprehendingly. “I don’t know.”
“Well then, I don’t know either. Let’s keep going, shall we?”
He runs to his desk, puts the palms of both of his hands on the top and propels himself up, so that he can sit on top of it and look back at all of us. He’s reminding me of Chico’s dog, back when he was a puppy.
“Roll call. My favorite part of the day. I’ll know all of your names by December. Scout’s promise.” He holds up his fingers in a peace sign. “I mean, Scout’s honor.”
I can’t help it, I smile. He’s so weird.
He starts reading off names, making funny comments along the way. For someone named Charles Lafayette, he salutes. For a kid named Joseph Josephs, he simply says “My condolences.” And then he gets to me.
“Polly Peabody!”
I raise my hand.
“Peas! Do you know what that makes me think of?”
Now everyone has turned to me, including Jongy. I keep my eyes trained on Owen and shake my head, scared of what he’s about to say.
“Gregor Mendel!” Owen says gleefully. “Do you know who he is?”
I shake my head again.
“Anyone?” Owen asks. “This is a science class, think science. Gregor Mendel. Not a scientist. A priest. An Augustinian priest—whatever that is—who is the founder
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