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I don’t know if you have ever spent any time with first graders. But there is
only one word to describe them. And that word is ANIMALS.
First graders are animals.
You can quote me.
My name is Steve Boswell, and I am in the sixth grade. I may not be the
smartest guy at Walnut Avenue Middle School. But I know one thing for sure:
First graders are animals.
How do I know this fact? I learned it the hard way. I learned it by coaching
the first-grade soccer team after school every day.
You might want to know why I chose to coach their soccer team. Well, I
didn’t choose it. It was a punishment.
Someone set a squirrel loose in the girls’ locker room. That someone was me.
But it wasn’t my idea.
My best friend, Chuck Green, caught the squirrel. And he asked me where I thought he should set it free.
I said, “How about the girls’ locker room before their basketball game on
Thursday?”
So maybe it was partly my idea. But Chuck was just as much to blame as I was.
Of course, I was the one who got caught.
Miss Curdy, the gym teacher, grabbed me as I was letting the squirrel out of
its box. The squirrel ran across the gym to the bleachers. The kids in the
bleachers all jumped up and started running and screaming and acting crazy.
It was just a dumb squirrel. But all the teachers started chasing after it.
It took hours to catch it and get everyone calmed down.
So Miss Curdy said I had to be punished.
She gave me a choice of punishments. One: I could come into the gym after
school every day and inflate basketballs—by mouth—until my head exploded. Or
two: I could coach the first-grade soccer team.
I chose number two.
The wrong choice.
My friend Chuck was supposed to help me coach the team. But he told Miss
Curdy he had an after-school job.
Do you know what his after-school job is? Going home and watching TV.
A lot of people think that Chuck and I are best friends because we look so
much alike. We’re both tall and thin. We both have straight brown hair and dark brown eyes. We both
wear baseball caps most of the time. Sometimes people think we’re brothers!
But that’s not why I like Chuck and Chuck likes me. We’re best friends
because we make each other laugh.
I laughed really hard when Chuck told me what his after-school job was. But
I’m not laughing now.
I’m praying. Every day I pray for rain. If it rains, the first graders don’t
have soccer practice.
Today, unfortunately, is a bright, clear, beautiful October day. Standing on
the playground behind school, I searched the sky for a cloud—any cloud—but
saw only blue.
“Okay, listen up, Hogs!” I shouted. I wasn’t making fun of them. That’s the
name they voted for their team. Do you believe it? The Walnut Avenue Hogs.
Does that give you an idea of what these kids are like?
I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted again. “Line up, Hogs!”
Andrew Foster grabbed the whistle I wear around my neck and blew it in my
face. Then Duck Benton tromped down hard on my new sneakers. Everyone calls him
Duck because he quacks all the time. He and Andrew thought that was a riot.
Then Marnie Rosen jumped up behind me, threw her arms around my neck, and
climbed on my back. Marnie has curly red hair, freckles all over her face, and
the most evil grin I ever saw on a kid. “Give me a ride, Steve!” she shouted. “I
want a ride!”
“Marnie—get off me!” I cried. I tried to loosen her grip on my neck. She
was choking me. The Hogs were all laughing now.
“Marnie—I… can’t… breathe!” I gasped.
I bent down and tried to throw her off my back. But she hung on even tighter.
Then I felt her lips press against my ear.
“What are you doing?” I cried. Was she trying to kiss me or something?
Yuck! She spit her bubble gum into my ear.
Then, laughing like a crazed fiend, she hopped off me and went running across
the grass, her curly red hair bouncing behind her.
“Give me a break!” I cried
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