trunk—remember?”
“Oh. Right.” I did forget.
She popped the trunk, and I pulled the big black sax case out.
I hope this school has a good band, I thought.
I’ve been taking sax lessons since I was barely as tall as the sax. I played in the jazz band at my old school. And some friends and I used to hang out and play in my garage.
Everyone says I’m really talented. I love to play. I love the idea of being able to make all that noise and make it really rock .
“Sam, what are you doing? Daydreaming? Don’tjust stand there. You’re late,” Mom called.
She squealed away from the curb. Made a U-turn onto someone’s front lawn. Then headed back for home.
I balanced the backpack on my shoulders. Moved the sax case to my right hand. And stared at my new school.
What a gloomy sight.
My old school was brand new. It was modern and bright. And it had four separate buildings, and every building was painted a different bright color.
My old school was very outdoorsy, like those California schools on the TV shows. We walked to class outside. And there was a huge lawn with a little pond where everyone hung out and relaxed.
Wilton Middle School wasn’t like that.
It was a square-shaped old building. Three stories tall with a flat black roof. I guess it had been built of yellow brick. But most of the bricks had faded to brown.
On one wall of the building, the bricks were charred black. It looked as if a deep shadow hung over that wall. I guessed there had once been a fire there.
The grass in front of the building was patchy and choked with tall weeds. A barbed-wire fence ran around a small playground on the side. A U.S. flag on top of a flagpole snapped and flapped in thestrong wind beside the entrance.
It doesn’t look like a school, I thought. It looks like a prison!
I climbed the three steps and pulled open one of the front doors. The door was heavy, hard to pull open. The glass in one of the windows was cracked.
I stepped into the front hall and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. A long, dark hall stretched in front of me.
The walls were painted gray. Rows of black metal lockers made them even darker. Only about half of the ceiling lights worked.
I took a few steps. The thud of my shoes broke the silence of the empty hall.
I glanced around, searching for the office.
Where is everyone? I thought.
Yes, I’m a few minutes late. But why isn’t there anyone in the hall?
I’m assigned to Room 201, I reminded myself.
Is that on this floor? Or is it up one floor?
I began walking quickly down the hall, my eyes moving from side to side as I struggled to find a room number.
I passed a glass display case with one dust-covered basketball trophy. Above the case, a small blue-and-yellow banner read GO, GOLDEN BEARS !
Two classrooms were dark and deserted. I searched for room numbers but didn’t see any.
Maybe they don’t use this floor, I thought. Maybe all the classes are upstairs.
Lugging my sax case, I made my way down the long hall. The only sounds were the scrape of my shoes on the concrete floor and my shallow breathing.
The sax case began to feel heavier. I switched it to my other hand. Then I started walking again.
I turned a corner—and heard footsteps. Very light and rapid.
“Hey!” I called out. “Is anyone there?”
My voice sounded hollow in the empty hall.
About three doorways down, I saw a flash of movement.
A figure darted out into the hall.
An animal. Only two or three feet high.
He had his back to me. He didn’t seem to know I was there.
His skin was greenish yellow, covered in patches with green fur. He hopped like a bird, stooped over, on two legs.
Skinny arms hung limply at his plump sides, nearly to the floor. He had small pointed ears that stood straight up on a hairy green head.
What IS this thing? I wondered, staring at its back. A giant green rat?
But then he stopped. And slowly turned.
His mouth gaped open as he saw me.
He hissed at me. A
“Oh. Right.” I did forget.
She popped the trunk, and I pulled the big black sax case out.
I hope this school has a good band, I thought.
I’ve been taking sax lessons since I was barely as tall as the sax. I played in the jazz band at my old school. And some friends and I used to hang out and play in my garage.
Everyone says I’m really talented. I love to play. I love the idea of being able to make all that noise and make it really rock .
“Sam, what are you doing? Daydreaming? Don’tjust stand there. You’re late,” Mom called.
She squealed away from the curb. Made a U-turn onto someone’s front lawn. Then headed back for home.
I balanced the backpack on my shoulders. Moved the sax case to my right hand. And stared at my new school.
What a gloomy sight.
My old school was brand new. It was modern and bright. And it had four separate buildings, and every building was painted a different bright color.
My old school was very outdoorsy, like those California schools on the TV shows. We walked to class outside. And there was a huge lawn with a little pond where everyone hung out and relaxed.
Wilton Middle School wasn’t like that.
It was a square-shaped old building. Three stories tall with a flat black roof. I guess it had been built of yellow brick. But most of the bricks had faded to brown.
On one wall of the building, the bricks were charred black. It looked as if a deep shadow hung over that wall. I guessed there had once been a fire there.
The grass in front of the building was patchy and choked with tall weeds. A barbed-wire fence ran around a small playground on the side. A U.S. flag on top of a flagpole snapped and flapped in thestrong wind beside the entrance.
It doesn’t look like a school, I thought. It looks like a prison!
I climbed the three steps and pulled open one of the front doors. The door was heavy, hard to pull open. The glass in one of the windows was cracked.
I stepped into the front hall and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. A long, dark hall stretched in front of me.
The walls were painted gray. Rows of black metal lockers made them even darker. Only about half of the ceiling lights worked.
I took a few steps. The thud of my shoes broke the silence of the empty hall.
I glanced around, searching for the office.
Where is everyone? I thought.
Yes, I’m a few minutes late. But why isn’t there anyone in the hall?
I’m assigned to Room 201, I reminded myself.
Is that on this floor? Or is it up one floor?
I began walking quickly down the hall, my eyes moving from side to side as I struggled to find a room number.
I passed a glass display case with one dust-covered basketball trophy. Above the case, a small blue-and-yellow banner read GO, GOLDEN BEARS !
Two classrooms were dark and deserted. I searched for room numbers but didn’t see any.
Maybe they don’t use this floor, I thought. Maybe all the classes are upstairs.
Lugging my sax case, I made my way down the long hall. The only sounds were the scrape of my shoes on the concrete floor and my shallow breathing.
The sax case began to feel heavier. I switched it to my other hand. Then I started walking again.
I turned a corner—and heard footsteps. Very light and rapid.
“Hey!” I called out. “Is anyone there?”
My voice sounded hollow in the empty hall.
About three doorways down, I saw a flash of movement.
A figure darted out into the hall.
An animal. Only two or three feet high.
He had his back to me. He didn’t seem to know I was there.
His skin was greenish yellow, covered in patches with green fur. He hopped like a bird, stooped over, on two legs.
Skinny arms hung limply at his plump sides, nearly to the floor. He had small pointed ears that stood straight up on a hairy green head.
What IS this thing? I wondered, staring at its back. A giant green rat?
But then he stopped. And slowly turned.
His mouth gaped open as he saw me.
He hissed at me. A
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