1
“AAAIIIIEEE!”
I let out a scream and heaved my backpack against the wall.
Mom spun around from the kitchen sink. Dad jumped up from the breakfast table. “Sam, what is your problem?” he called.
“The stupid backpack zipper is stuck again,” I said.
I knew what was coming. Another lecture about holding my temper.
I counted to five under my breath. Mom was a little slow this morning. She usually starts the lecture by the count of three.
“Sam, you promised,” she said, shaking her head.
“I know, I know,” I muttered.
“You promised you would work on your temper,” Dad said, walking over to me. Dad is very tall and broad like a middle linebacker. His friends all call him Giant .
I dragged the backpack up from the floor and tried the zipper again. “I said I would try to keep it together at my new school,” I said.
“You wouldn’t be starting at a new school if you didn’t totally lose it at your old school,” Mom said.
She gave me the hard stare. I call it the Evil Eye. It made her look like some kind of dangerous bird, like a hawk or a buzzard or something.
“Like I don’t know that!” I snapped.
“Easy,” Dad warned, raising one of his huge, beefy hands.
“I know, I know. I got kicked out of school, and you’ll never forgive me,” I said angrily. “But I didn’t start that big shoving match. Really. It wasn’t my fault.”
Mom let out a long sigh. “Haven’t we talked about blaming others for your problems, Sam? You had to leave your school because you were fighting. Because you can never back down from a fight. You can’t blame anyone else for what you did.”
“Yak, Yak,” I muttered. I finally got the stupid backpack zipper to move.
“Don’t say ‘yak, yak’ to your mother,” Dad scolded.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
Maybe I’ll have that word tattooed on my forehead. Then I won’t have to say it. I can just point.
Dad took a long sip from his coffee mug. He had his eyes narrowed on me. “Sam, I know you’re tense about starting a new school.”
I glanced at the clock. “Tense—and late,—” I said.
“Oh, my goodness!” Mom cried, placing her hands on her cheeks. “We completely lost track of the time. Quick. Get your jacket. I’ll drive you.”
A few seconds later, I was seated beside Mom in the Taurus. I stared out at the gray November day. Most of the trees were already bare. The whole world appeared dull and washed-out.
The car roared as we rocketed down the narrow street. Mom drives like a NASCAR driver. The houses sped past in a blur. I pulled my seat belt as tight as I could.
“A fresh new start,” Mom said, trying to sound cheerful. She hadn’t brushed her curly red hair. It stuck out in all directions over the collar of her brown car coat.
“Mmm-hmmm,” I muttered.
I didn’t want to say anything. I had my fingers crossed, praying that I could get out of the car without hearing another lecture.
“I know you’re going to do really well at Wilton Middle School,” Mom said. She squealed to a stophalfway through a stoplight.
“Mmm hmmm.” I kept my gaze out the window.
Suddenly, Mom reached out and squeezed my hand. “Be good, okay, Sam?”
Her sudden touch shocked me. We’re not a real touchy-feely family. We’re not constantly hugging each other the way families do on TV.
Once in a while, Dad will slap me a high-five. That’s about as far as we go.
I could see Mom was serious. And worried.
I swallowed hard. “I’ll be different,” I told her. “No problem.”
She pulled the car to the curb. I stared out at my new school.
As I climbed out of the car, my chest suddenly felt kind of fluttery. My mouth was dry.
I really am nervous, I. realized.
Of course, if I had known the terror that was waiting for me inside that building, I would have been a lot more nervous!
I would have turned and run and not looked back.
2
“Sam, your saxophone,” Mom called from the car. “It’s in the
“AAAIIIIEEE!”
I let out a scream and heaved my backpack against the wall.
Mom spun around from the kitchen sink. Dad jumped up from the breakfast table. “Sam, what is your problem?” he called.
“The stupid backpack zipper is stuck again,” I said.
I knew what was coming. Another lecture about holding my temper.
I counted to five under my breath. Mom was a little slow this morning. She usually starts the lecture by the count of three.
“Sam, you promised,” she said, shaking her head.
“I know, I know,” I muttered.
“You promised you would work on your temper,” Dad said, walking over to me. Dad is very tall and broad like a middle linebacker. His friends all call him Giant .
I dragged the backpack up from the floor and tried the zipper again. “I said I would try to keep it together at my new school,” I said.
“You wouldn’t be starting at a new school if you didn’t totally lose it at your old school,” Mom said.
She gave me the hard stare. I call it the Evil Eye. It made her look like some kind of dangerous bird, like a hawk or a buzzard or something.
“Like I don’t know that!” I snapped.
“Easy,” Dad warned, raising one of his huge, beefy hands.
“I know, I know. I got kicked out of school, and you’ll never forgive me,” I said angrily. “But I didn’t start that big shoving match. Really. It wasn’t my fault.”
Mom let out a long sigh. “Haven’t we talked about blaming others for your problems, Sam? You had to leave your school because you were fighting. Because you can never back down from a fight. You can’t blame anyone else for what you did.”
“Yak, Yak,” I muttered. I finally got the stupid backpack zipper to move.
“Don’t say ‘yak, yak’ to your mother,” Dad scolded.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
Maybe I’ll have that word tattooed on my forehead. Then I won’t have to say it. I can just point.
Dad took a long sip from his coffee mug. He had his eyes narrowed on me. “Sam, I know you’re tense about starting a new school.”
I glanced at the clock. “Tense—and late,—” I said.
“Oh, my goodness!” Mom cried, placing her hands on her cheeks. “We completely lost track of the time. Quick. Get your jacket. I’ll drive you.”
A few seconds later, I was seated beside Mom in the Taurus. I stared out at the gray November day. Most of the trees were already bare. The whole world appeared dull and washed-out.
The car roared as we rocketed down the narrow street. Mom drives like a NASCAR driver. The houses sped past in a blur. I pulled my seat belt as tight as I could.
“A fresh new start,” Mom said, trying to sound cheerful. She hadn’t brushed her curly red hair. It stuck out in all directions over the collar of her brown car coat.
“Mmm-hmmm,” I muttered.
I didn’t want to say anything. I had my fingers crossed, praying that I could get out of the car without hearing another lecture.
“I know you’re going to do really well at Wilton Middle School,” Mom said. She squealed to a stophalfway through a stoplight.
“Mmm hmmm.” I kept my gaze out the window.
Suddenly, Mom reached out and squeezed my hand. “Be good, okay, Sam?”
Her sudden touch shocked me. We’re not a real touchy-feely family. We’re not constantly hugging each other the way families do on TV.
Once in a while, Dad will slap me a high-five. That’s about as far as we go.
I could see Mom was serious. And worried.
I swallowed hard. “I’ll be different,” I told her. “No problem.”
She pulled the car to the curb. I stared out at my new school.
As I climbed out of the car, my chest suddenly felt kind of fluttery. My mouth was dry.
I really am nervous, I. realized.
Of course, if I had known the terror that was waiting for me inside that building, I would have been a lot more nervous!
I would have turned and run and not looked back.
2
“Sam, your saxophone,” Mom called from the car. “It’s in the
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