The Jacket by Andrew Clements

Part I

C OLLISION C OURSE

I t was Thursday morning right before first period, and Phil was on a mission. Hurrying through the fourth- and fifth-grade hall, he waded through groups of younger kids. His little brother, Jimmy, had left the house early so he could ride to school with a friend, and he had forgotten his lunch money on the kitchen counter.
    Phil was tall for a sixth grader, so most of the younger kids got out of his way. Which was good, because he had no time to mess around. If he got one more tardy during December, he would have to serve two detentions. The pressure made Phil’s imagination run at full throttle. Like, if I’m late for math today, then I might not be allowed to take the test—and then I could flunk math! I might even flunk sixth grade and get left back! And when Mom and Dad yell at me, I’m gonna get so mad, ’cause, like, it’s not even my fault! I’ll say, “Hey, know what? Forget about school, that’s what!” And I’ll just drop out and turn into a bum—or maybe even a criminal. My whole life’s gonna be a mess, and it’s all on account of my stupid little brother! Where is that punk?
    Phil was about to stick his head into a classroom to look around. Then up at the corner of the hallway he thought he saw the back of his brother’s jacket. It had to be Jimmy. No one else in the whole city had a jacket like that one.
    He called, “Hey, Jimmy!” but his brother didn’t stop, and Phil pushed his way forward and rushed around the corner. “Hey, idiot, you forgot . . .”
    But it wasn’t Jimmy. It was someone Phil had never seen before, a black kid. Wearing Jimmy’s jacket.
    Phil grabbed the collar and said, “Hey! This is my brother’s jacket! Where is he? How’d you get this from him?”
    The other boy struggled, trying to pull away. “What’re you talkin’ about? Let go of me! This is my jacket! I don’t even know your brother!”
    The kid twisted and turned to break free, but Phil was a lot bigger and stronger. “You tell me where my brother’s at, or I’m gonna—”
    â€œBoys! You stop it, right now!” Mrs. Atkin came striding through the crowd that had gathered, pushing kids out of her way with her left hand and pointing at Phil with the other one. “You let go of him, and I mean it!”
    Drawn by Mrs. Atkin’s voice, three or four other teachers stepped out into the hallway.
    Phil let go of the jacket, and the younger boy jerked around to face him, his fists up, his eyes narrowed.
    Mrs. Atkin stepped between them and said to the younger boy, “Daniel, you put your hands down. And all the rest of you kids, go on about your business. Get your things put away and get to your rooms. Go on, there’s nothing happening here.” Then, glaring at Phil and the smaller boy, she said, “You two, come with me.”
    The other teachers were moving around in the hallway now, talking to kids, quieting everyone down.
    Phil and Daniel followed Mrs. Atkin along the hall. And Phil knew where they were headed—straight to the office. He thought, Now I’m gonna flunk out for sure.
    At the office door Mrs. Atkin stopped and herded the boys in ahead of her. “Mrs. Cormier? Sorry to start your day like this, but I found these two going at it down in the fourth-grade hall. I’ve got to get back to my room before something else breaks loose.”
    The principal still had her coat on from being out at the curb with the buses. She frowned at the boys and pointed toward her office. “Walk in and sit down. And I don’t want you two to even look at each other, is that clear?”
    Both of them nodded and walked into her office.
    A minute later Mrs. Cormier came in and sat down behind her desk. She motioned to Phil, who had taken a chair against the wall. “Come over here and sit in front of me. I want to be able to look each