the curb.
I started slapping at the stuff. Trying to pull it off my jacket. Courtney was still rubbing her eyes, smearing it off her cheeks. A big gob was stuck to her hair.
“Steven, do you know how to spell
revenge
?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“Do you know how to spell
joke
?” I shot back.
Kids were laughing and cheering. One kid from the third grade picked up the can from theground and tried to squirt his friend. But the can was empty.
“Steven, you creep. You ruined my sweater!” Ava cried.
“It comes out,” I said. “The can says it’s washable. It was just a joke, Ava.”
“You’re
a joke!” she cried angrily. She tried to punch me in the gut, but I danced away. I’m smaller and faster.
I glanced at my phone and saw the time. “I’m late for my piano lesson,” I said.
I started across the street. But then I turned back and called to Ava. “I’ll come to your house after my lesson, and the three of us can rehearse the magic act.”
“Not if I see you first!” she shouted.
Courtney waved both fists at me.
I told you. They’re crazy about me.
Mr. Pinker is my new piano teacher. He gives lessons from his house, which is just two blocks from the school.
He has a big redbrick house that sits on top of a wide grassy yard that tilts sharply downhill. In the winter, he lets the neighborhood kids use the hill for sledding.
The house is old, with ivy crawling up one wall. It has two chimneys and a long screened-in porch.
I climbed the hill to his house. Rang the bell and let myself in the front door.
The front hall was brightly lit, cluttered with coats and caps and umbrellas hanging on hooks. I could hear piano music from the front room. Someone was finishing a lesson. The house smelled of fresh-baked cookies.
I set down my backpack and tossed my jacket onto one of the hooks. A short red-haired girl gave me a smile as she headed out the front door.
“Hello, Steven. Come in,” Mr. Pinker greeted me. “That was Lisa. She got the piano keys all warmed up for you.”
He seems like a nice guy. I guess he’s about forty or so. He’s tall and thin. Mostly bald, with a fringe of red-brown hair around his head. He wears glasses low on his nose.
He always wears a gray suit and a red necktie. This was only my third lesson with him. He’s worn the same outfit each time.
I followed him into the front room. It was kind of old-fashioned. Lots of old chairs and a big brown leather couch with the leather peeling off in places. A tall grandfather clock on the far wall had the minute hand missing. It didn’t work.
Four black-and-white photographs of sailboats hung on one wall. A painting of a symphonyconductor with his baton raised stood over the mantel.
A low desk in one corner had stacks and stacks of sheet music on it. The piano stood against the other wall, facing the front window. A window seat also held tall stacks of piano sheet music.
Outside, the gusting wind sent a tree branch tapping the front window. It sounded like drumbeats.
“What’s that white stuff in your hair?” Mr. Pinker asked. “Are you getting dandruff?”
I reached up. My hair was sticky. “It’s Silly String,” I said. “I had a little Silly String battle.”
He nodded. “Make sure your fingers aren’t sticky.” Then he disappeared from the room.
A few seconds later, he returned with a big home-baked chocolate chip cookie on a plate and a glass of milk. “I know sixth-graders are hungry after school,” he said. “That’s why I bake my special cookies for my students every day.”
He handed me the plate and set the glass of milk down on a coaster on the piano. I wasn’t really hungry, but I didn’t want to be rude. I took a big bite of the cookie.
It was very chewy and a gob of it stuck to the roof of my mouth. I tried to wash it down with a sip of milk.
Mr. Pinker pushed the plate under my nose. “Go ahead. Finish it, Steven. All the kids enjoy them.”
I forced the cookie down,
I started slapping at the stuff. Trying to pull it off my jacket. Courtney was still rubbing her eyes, smearing it off her cheeks. A big gob was stuck to her hair.
“Steven, do you know how to spell
revenge
?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“Do you know how to spell
joke
?” I shot back.
Kids were laughing and cheering. One kid from the third grade picked up the can from theground and tried to squirt his friend. But the can was empty.
“Steven, you creep. You ruined my sweater!” Ava cried.
“It comes out,” I said. “The can says it’s washable. It was just a joke, Ava.”
“You’re
a joke!” she cried angrily. She tried to punch me in the gut, but I danced away. I’m smaller and faster.
I glanced at my phone and saw the time. “I’m late for my piano lesson,” I said.
I started across the street. But then I turned back and called to Ava. “I’ll come to your house after my lesson, and the three of us can rehearse the magic act.”
“Not if I see you first!” she shouted.
Courtney waved both fists at me.
I told you. They’re crazy about me.
Mr. Pinker is my new piano teacher. He gives lessons from his house, which is just two blocks from the school.
He has a big redbrick house that sits on top of a wide grassy yard that tilts sharply downhill. In the winter, he lets the neighborhood kids use the hill for sledding.
The house is old, with ivy crawling up one wall. It has two chimneys and a long screened-in porch.
I climbed the hill to his house. Rang the bell and let myself in the front door.
The front hall was brightly lit, cluttered with coats and caps and umbrellas hanging on hooks. I could hear piano music from the front room. Someone was finishing a lesson. The house smelled of fresh-baked cookies.
I set down my backpack and tossed my jacket onto one of the hooks. A short red-haired girl gave me a smile as she headed out the front door.
“Hello, Steven. Come in,” Mr. Pinker greeted me. “That was Lisa. She got the piano keys all warmed up for you.”
He seems like a nice guy. I guess he’s about forty or so. He’s tall and thin. Mostly bald, with a fringe of red-brown hair around his head. He wears glasses low on his nose.
He always wears a gray suit and a red necktie. This was only my third lesson with him. He’s worn the same outfit each time.
I followed him into the front room. It was kind of old-fashioned. Lots of old chairs and a big brown leather couch with the leather peeling off in places. A tall grandfather clock on the far wall had the minute hand missing. It didn’t work.
Four black-and-white photographs of sailboats hung on one wall. A painting of a symphonyconductor with his baton raised stood over the mantel.
A low desk in one corner had stacks and stacks of sheet music on it. The piano stood against the other wall, facing the front window. A window seat also held tall stacks of piano sheet music.
Outside, the gusting wind sent a tree branch tapping the front window. It sounded like drumbeats.
“What’s that white stuff in your hair?” Mr. Pinker asked. “Are you getting dandruff?”
I reached up. My hair was sticky. “It’s Silly String,” I said. “I had a little Silly String battle.”
He nodded. “Make sure your fingers aren’t sticky.” Then he disappeared from the room.
A few seconds later, he returned with a big home-baked chocolate chip cookie on a plate and a glass of milk. “I know sixth-graders are hungry after school,” he said. “That’s why I bake my special cookies for my students every day.”
He handed me the plate and set the glass of milk down on a coaster on the piano. I wasn’t really hungry, but I didn’t want to be rude. I took a big bite of the cookie.
It was very chewy and a gob of it stuck to the roof of my mouth. I tried to wash it down with a sip of milk.
Mr. Pinker pushed the plate under my nose. “Go ahead. Finish it, Steven. All the kids enjoy them.”
I forced the cookie down,
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