one set of parents tells another set of parents about Trout and on it goes, and pretty soon everyone is telling his son not to play with Trout. It’s very sad and wrong.”
I decided not to tell Trout what my mom or Mary Sue said. Already he had enough unhappiness with his mother in Hawaii.
During the second week of Meg’s plan, Mr. Baker called my parents to say how well I was doing now that I was taking Ritalin. Which I wasn’t, but my parents didn’t give Mr. Baker that information.
“Just like I used to say to you, Ben,” my mom said. “It’s
your
behavior. You ought to be able to change it without taking medicine. Or at least it’s worth a try. And you have.”
The next day Mr. O’Dell called me in to the office to tell me how well he thought the Ritalin was working.
I would have liked to tell Mr. O’Dell that it was all meby myself making the difference in the way I behaved. But I didn’t.
“So I wanted to see you today about Trout. Not you. How’s that for a change?”
“Good.” I didn’t trust Mr. O’Dell for a millisecond. He always had something up his sleeve.
“Trout may be leaving Stockton Elementary at the end of this year.”
“He didn’t tell me,” I said.
“He didn’t?” Mr. O’Dell asked.
“Nope. We already planned some stuff we’re going to do next year in sixth grade like try out for the traveling soccer team. I mean, he didn’t tell me anything about leaving.”
“Well, he will.”
“How come he’s leaving?” I asked.
“To go to another school. At least that’s what I’ve heard from his father.”
“Nobody told him,” I said.
“What I wanted you to know is that I think sometimes you are left out of things like birthday parties because some of the parents are concerned with the lack of supervision at Trout’s house.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “That doesn’t have to do with Trout. That’s his father’s fault.”
“I just thought you should know.”
And then we talked about other stuff at school and what it would be like to be a sixth grader, but I forget whatwe said since all I was thinking about was telling my dad what Mr. O’Dell had told me.
That night my dad said Mr. O’Dell shouldn’t have said anything about Trout to me. It was unprofessional. “Bad character” is what my dad probably thought, but he didn’t say that.
“So what’re you going to do?” I asked.
“Call him,” my dad said. “He should be fired.”
“Roger,” my mom said.
“I mean it, Jane.”
“Are you going to tell him that?” I asked.
“Probably not. But I am going to tell him he shouldn’t be speaking to my son about another student. Those matters are private.”
“Are you going to tell him I’m not taking Ritalin?” I asked.
“Of course not. It’s not his business.”
Later that night Trout called me and said he might have to change schools.
“How come?”
“My dad says that Mr. O’Dell wants me to go to another school.”
He sounded as if he might be crying and Trout doesn’t cry about stuff.
“What school?”
“He didn’t say anything to me. Maybe he told my dad.
But something weird’s going on at school, like the more I try to do well, the worse things are.”
“I thought things were great,” I said. “I mean, we’re hardly ever in trouble.”
“I know,” Trout said. “But my dad says things aren’t going very well. That a lot of the parents of fifth graders think I’m a criminal.”
“A criminal?”
“You know, like a criminal. Not a guy they want their kids to know.”
And then last Saturday, there was an end-of-the-year picnic at the Baileys’ farm and Jonno Bailey said to me I could come but his dad didn’t want the responsibility for Trout, because the Baileys had a lot of animals and farm equipment and just about anything could happen with Trout around.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know, accidents,” Jonno said. “Stuff like that.”
“No problem,” I said. “I can’t
I decided not to tell Trout what my mom or Mary Sue said. Already he had enough unhappiness with his mother in Hawaii.
During the second week of Meg’s plan, Mr. Baker called my parents to say how well I was doing now that I was taking Ritalin. Which I wasn’t, but my parents didn’t give Mr. Baker that information.
“Just like I used to say to you, Ben,” my mom said. “It’s
your
behavior. You ought to be able to change it without taking medicine. Or at least it’s worth a try. And you have.”
The next day Mr. O’Dell called me in to the office to tell me how well he thought the Ritalin was working.
I would have liked to tell Mr. O’Dell that it was all meby myself making the difference in the way I behaved. But I didn’t.
“So I wanted to see you today about Trout. Not you. How’s that for a change?”
“Good.” I didn’t trust Mr. O’Dell for a millisecond. He always had something up his sleeve.
“Trout may be leaving Stockton Elementary at the end of this year.”
“He didn’t tell me,” I said.
“He didn’t?” Mr. O’Dell asked.
“Nope. We already planned some stuff we’re going to do next year in sixth grade like try out for the traveling soccer team. I mean, he didn’t tell me anything about leaving.”
“Well, he will.”
“How come he’s leaving?” I asked.
“To go to another school. At least that’s what I’ve heard from his father.”
“Nobody told him,” I said.
“What I wanted you to know is that I think sometimes you are left out of things like birthday parties because some of the parents are concerned with the lack of supervision at Trout’s house.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “That doesn’t have to do with Trout. That’s his father’s fault.”
“I just thought you should know.”
And then we talked about other stuff at school and what it would be like to be a sixth grader, but I forget whatwe said since all I was thinking about was telling my dad what Mr. O’Dell had told me.
That night my dad said Mr. O’Dell shouldn’t have said anything about Trout to me. It was unprofessional. “Bad character” is what my dad probably thought, but he didn’t say that.
“So what’re you going to do?” I asked.
“Call him,” my dad said. “He should be fired.”
“Roger,” my mom said.
“I mean it, Jane.”
“Are you going to tell him that?” I asked.
“Probably not. But I am going to tell him he shouldn’t be speaking to my son about another student. Those matters are private.”
“Are you going to tell him I’m not taking Ritalin?” I asked.
“Of course not. It’s not his business.”
Later that night Trout called me and said he might have to change schools.
“How come?”
“My dad says that Mr. O’Dell wants me to go to another school.”
He sounded as if he might be crying and Trout doesn’t cry about stuff.
“What school?”
“He didn’t say anything to me. Maybe he told my dad.
But something weird’s going on at school, like the more I try to do well, the worse things are.”
“I thought things were great,” I said. “I mean, we’re hardly ever in trouble.”
“I know,” Trout said. “But my dad says things aren’t going very well. That a lot of the parents of fifth graders think I’m a criminal.”
“A criminal?”
“You know, like a criminal. Not a guy they want their kids to know.”
And then last Saturday, there was an end-of-the-year picnic at the Baileys’ farm and Jonno Bailey said to me I could come but his dad didn’t want the responsibility for Trout, because the Baileys had a lot of animals and farm equipment and just about anything could happen with Trout around.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know, accidents,” Jonno said. “Stuff like that.”
“No problem,” I said. “I can’t
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