Treading Water by Laurie Halse Anderson

bringing in my computer to show a few photos that I took of our ducklings but then decide I have enough without it. I stack my report and poster beside my bed and look at the clock. It’s after three in the morning! If my parents knew I was still up, I’d be in so much trouble. More trouble than I’m already in, anyway.
    The next morning, Maggie is still ignoring me when I get to science class. I walk past her and bring my report and poster up to show Mr. Shuler.
    â€œOh Brenna, we agreed on a short report. By the look of that stack of paper, you would need the whole period. I’m afraid I can’t give you that much time.” He shakes his head slowly.
    â€œI’m sorry. I guess I got carried away,” I say holding my stack.
    â€œWhat can we do here?” Mr. Shuler asks. He picks up my poster and reads it. “This is good work, Brenna. As usual. But you’re going to have to present the class with an edited version. Ten minutes. Tops,” he says.
    I leaf through my papers and think about what to say and what to leave out. Mr. Shuler passes me a highlighter, and I try to work quickly while he tells the class about the upcoming robotics competition.
    I decide to talk about how fragile ducklings are and their need for water. About how they would most likely drown if abandoned. How many bunnies are bought as pets and then let go in the wild where they are not capable of surviving. And finally, about the crazy practice of dyeing and buying colored chicks and bunnies.
    The whole class is interested in my report. Even Maggie, as much as she tries to hide it, is paying attention. And when I am done, my class claps. This is a surprise because it isn’t the polite kind of clapping that kids do when a teacher claps. It’s spontaneous. I bet they care as much as the Vet Volunteers do about the terrible things happening to all these baby animals.
    â€œWell done, Brenna,” Mr. Shuler says. He stands and leans on his desk.
    â€œThank you. Is there a way to share these reports at the high school? David Hutchinson, Sunita Patel, and Zoe Hopkins have posters, too. And maybe Maggie.” I look back at her desk. I can tell she heard me say her name, but she isn’t looking my way. “Maybe we could present in some biology classes?”
    â€œInteresting thought,” Mr. Shuler begins. “Let me see what I can do. I’ll get in touch with the department head over there.”
    And then I have another idea.
    I will explain my idea to everyone at lunch.
    But when I get there, Maggie—again—is a no-show. She’s avoiding me, I’m sure. She’s putting so much effort into it. And as ticked off as I am about it, I’m also worried that she might not be eating lunch just to be sure she doesn’t have to talk to me.
    Sunita has her book with her again. She nods as I sit down and immediately goes back to reading. She fishes celery sticks out of a plastic baggie without looking and nibbles away.
    David eats and talks to his buddy, Bruce, who sits directly behind him. Bruce’s table is always a little bit wild and a lot too loud for the size of the cafeteria. And the fact that David sits right behind him doesn’t stop Bruce from yelling over to our table. Bruce is also in Maggie’s and my science class.
    â€œDid you see Brenna’s report?” Bruce shouts to David.
    David tips back on his chair’s back legs so he is face-to-face with Bruce.
    â€œNope. Bet it was good, though,” he says. That’s one of the great things about David. He isn’t embarrassed to sit with girls in the cafeteria. He doesn’t pretend not to like any of us Vet Volunteers whenever he’s with his school friends. He treats us the same slightly crazy way, no matter where he is or who he is with. David is true David.
    Bruce says, “It was.” And then yells, “Hey, Brenna, the part about the chick dyeing was awesome!”
    I am