Read Online Adventures of a Middle School Zombie by Scott Craven - Free Book Online Page A

at all times. Slept with it. Knew it better than my best friends. Because it was my best friend.”
    Really, he talked like that. As if commas were un-American.
    He pulled chalk from the pocket of his white, short-sleeve button-down shirt (he wore khaki shorts and work boots every day) and, right by his desk, drew a circle so perfect on the concrete floor it was eerie. He stepped into it, leaving just a few inches between his heels and the line—four inches and thirteen-sixteenths, to be exact.
    “This is the Circle of Shame,” Mr. Anderson said, still standing in it. “There is only one way to earn a stint in the Circle of Shame: break the rules. That means talk out of turn. Misuse equipment. Abuse equipment. Fail to clean or properly maintain equipment. Use a tool without signing it out. Replace a tool improperly. Chew gum … ”
    It went on for another five minutes. At the end: “Any questions. No. Good.”
    Only there was a question. A hand in the front row shot up. It could have gone up between “questions” and “good,” but I was pretty sure no one’s reflexes were that fast.
    “Yes?” Mr. Anderson said, in what we would later call his “displeased voice,” which he used about ninety-five percent of the time.
    “Uh, you said there was only one way to spend time in the Circle of Shame,” the kid said. I was pretty sure he was in Chess Club. Kids in Chess Club just didn’t get it.
    “That’s correct.”
    “But then you listed, like, fifty things.”
    “And you are?”
    “Ray Knowles.”
    “Mr. Knowles. Thank you for pointing that out. There actually are fifty-one ways to get into the Circle of Shame. I left out asking stupid questions.”
    “But wouldn’t that make it fifty-two things?” I told you, Chess Club kids just didn’t get it.
    “Mr. Knowles. You have the honor of being the Circle of Shame’s first guest. Ten minutes. Five minutes added each time you step out.”
    The kid wound up spending almost that whole first day in the tiny circle.
    Since then, there was usually at least one kid who spent the class in the Circle of Shame. Not because they had no skills for sawing, shaping, or gluing wood. It was usually for a stupid question. Or chewing gum.
    On this particular day, I was continuing work on a bookshelf I’d been building since the start of the year. If middle-school Woodshops banded together, they could supply developing nations with all the bookshelves and birdhouses they would ever need. That’s my guess, anyway.
    I really wanted to do a good job on it. My plan was to give it to Anna. Things were progressing really well. We’d gone from nodding in the hallway to saying hi in the quad, and by this time it was pretty common for us to exchange small talk at lunch, where we would discuss TV shows or the weather for, like, almost five minutes.
    I followed the others to the bank of lockers where we kept our projects. I was the only one struggling with the bookshelf. Everyone else had moved on.
    Pulling out my project, I looked at what I had—one plank, notched poorly at the end, and another plank cut unevenly. The second plank was supposed to go in that notch, but it wasn’t even close. Is the lack of skills a zombie thing? I’d blame genetics, if I had any.
    “Jed, hey, don’t just stand there, you’re blocking the aisle.”
    I turned around to see Chris Puckett. Chris wasn’t really a friend, but he was one of the few who’d at least chat with me every now and then. And he was a whiz with power tools. He had already completed his birdhouse and bookshelf, and he was nearly done with his jewelry box. At this pace, he would be putting the finishing touches on a bedroom set by the time summer came along.
    “Sorry, just lost in thought,” I said, staring at what existed of my bookshelf.
    “No kidding,” Chris said. “If Mr. Anderson saw you—”
    “Circle of Shame,” we both said. To go with that, we all called the bell signaling the end of class the “Ring” of