My Life as a Stuntboy (2 page)

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Authors: Janet Tashjian

BOOK: My Life as a Stuntboy
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Carly and Maria are climbing out of their skins with joy. They had Ms. McCoddle back in kindergarten too and now hover around her desk like seagulls down at the pier looking for leftover food to grab.
The decorations in Mr. Maroni's classroom only make me miss him more. Photos of astronauts, bridges, gorillas, and fighting soldiers remind
me how Matt and I were foiled by the school gods who insist on our continued suffering. I try to comfort myself by sneaking a peek at the Calvin and Hobbes book hidden in my desk, but even my favorite fictional friends can't jolt me out of my sadness today.
fictional
Ms. McCoddle tells the class she's wanted to move up to our grade for several years and Mr. Maroni's leave of absence will give her a chance to fulfill her dreams. I have dreams too—but mine consist of staring out the window and thinking about escaping. When I look over at Matt, he seems to be doing the same thing.
absence
Ms. McCoddle spends the first half hour talking about how she'll run the class, then sends us to the
media center to choose a book for our free-reading time. As I head out the door, she pulls me aside.
“Ms. Williams told me how you used to illustrate your vocabulary words—are you still doing that?”
approval
I tell her that Ms. Williams, the reading specialist, and my mother both forced me into it, but now it's a habit I almost enjoy. When I show Ms. McCoddle some of the illustrations I did this week, she thankfully does not get all cuddly but just nods her approval.
Joe, who has been torturing me since first grade, waits for me in the hall.
“Trying to get in good with the new teacher by showing her your stupid little stick figures?”
I want to tell Joe he might take
some diet tips from my stick figures, but I don't feel like getting thrown into the school trophy cabinet.
“Anime—now those are real drawings.” He shoves the book he's just taken out of the library into my face.
I realize I'm taking my life in my hands by correcting Joe, but I feel I have to. “Actually, anime is when the drawing moves,” I explain, “like a cartoon or movie. You know, like ‘animate.' It's called manga when it's a book. You should ask Matt—he's an expert.”
manga
Joe looks like someone has just dropped a baby grand piano on top of his crew-cut head. He searches his cobwebbed mind for words but comes up short; if the guy hadn't
been humiliating me for years, I'd almost feel bad for him.
humiliating
“Since when did you get so smart?” Joe asks. “I liked you better when you were a moron.”
I want to tell him that I'm not smart, that my grades are usually horrible, and every bit of homework is a struggle. But I'm too busy trying to digest the words
I liked you better when.
…I thought Joe was my mortal enemy, and now he's telling me he's
liked
me all this time? What's the next surprise—one of the lunch ladies wants to meet me after school to climb trees?
implodes
Matt has checked out lots of manga books; when I look through the stack, I realize he's read all of them before. My mind implodes with the thought that someone would actually read a book from
school more than once. I shake my head in amazement and wander to the next aisle.
I know most kids enjoy browsing through books in the media center, but it's always been one of my least favorite parts of school. Other students might glance through these shelves and be thrilled by all the different stories and characters; for me the spines of the books just stare back like a line of gangsters with machine guns loaded with ammunition.
You think you can read us, tough guy? Go ahead and try—we'll crush you
.
ammunition
As I scan the books to find one with the shortest chapters and least number of pages, Carly appears beside me and points to the book in my hand.
“Don't get that one,” she says.
“The story's really slow, and the main character's boring.”
inspects
She inspects the row of books in front of us and pulls out a volume. “This one's really funny—it's about a boy and his best friend. You'll like it.”
I shrug and tuck it under my arm. I want to thank Carly for her help, but Maria and Denise are flittering around us like fireflies, and I need to get away from all that girl energy.

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