Read Online Please, Please, Please by Rachel Vail - Free Book Online Page B

I think she’s probably smarter than Ken Carpenter or Olivia, but she’s too busy getting in trouble to copy over her work, the way teachers like, so she doesn’t get the same kind of credit as they do. I like her, though, even though probably she thinks I’m boring.
    I smiled at her.
    “Twinkle Toes,” Mr. Brock said to me. I looked at my sneakers. It’s hard to imagine that Ms. Cress is really going out with him. She’s so cool and he’s so mean. He’s cute, I guess, in a broad-shouldered, scrubbed way—that must be what Ms. Cress likes.
    “Sorry,” I mumbled.
    “Since we have a real ballerina here,” Mr. Brock said, “let’s all watch how she does the balance beam.” He blew his whistle. Roxanne stopped pretending to do push-ups. Mr. Brock blew his whistle again. “Everyone, gather ’round.” He crossed his arms across his muscular chest. I looked at the big clock up high on the wall—only eight minutes until the bell and I could change out of this stupid white T-shirt and crappy blue shorts and run out to the circle where Mom is probably already waiting to drive me to dance, since I haven’t managed to quit. Eight minutes. Seven. I wished for Mr. Brock to forget about me and choose somebody else.
    “Up you go,” he said to me. He really meant it. I bent my feet against the floor and watched them, one after the other, forming graceful capital C’s. My feet are getting stronger, I told myself—I can bring the sole of my sneaker along with the arch of my foot, which I never used to be able to manage. Too bad Tommy wouldn’t know how cool that is.
    Kids jumped off the rings and slid down the ropes. “We’re all waiting,” Mr. Brock told me. Seven minutes until the bell. Everybody in the middle school who takes band is in this gym class, and they were all crunching together on the yellow mats beside the beam.
    “Please,” I whispered to Mr. Brock. “I’m sorry.” If my mother knew I was about to climb up on the beam, she’d have an absolute fit. You could do a lot worse than just twist an ankle, falling from up there.
    “I want you people to see how the balance beam is done,” announced Mr. Brock. “CJ?”
    “I don’t, I d-d-d . . .”
    “I don’t, I don’t, I don’t,” he said back.
    I placed my hands on the beam like Tommy had and got myself up to a standing position. My feet were beside Mr. Brock’s whistle. He has a bald spot at the top of his blond head I’d never seen before. It made him seem less tough and gorgeous, more like my dad. Imagine he’s Dad , I told myself. Just do whatever he says and it’ll be over, you won’t have to talk .
    “Do some ballerina tricks or something,” he suggested, crossing his arms.
    I felt myself wobbling. “I don’t, we, there’s no b-b-b-balance beam . . .” I stuttered. Don’t fall , I warned myself.
    “I don’t, I don’t, I don’t,” he said.
    I gripped myself tighter, in a hug. Whatever you do, don’t fall .
    “We’ll all just stand here and wait,” Mr. Brock told me. “I got no place to go until seven o’clock tonight.”
    Hate.
    Kids below me shuffled their feet and sighed. I couldn’t budge. The bell rang, and a few kids started breaking for the gym door, but Mr. Brock barked, “Not until I say dismissed.”
    Everybody looked back up at me.
    “Come on, ballerina.”
    I was breathing through my mouth, looking up at the ceiling, praying not to cry.
    “An arabesque,” I heard Zoe yell.
    I couldn’t risk falling off to turn and ask if she’d lost her mind, helping the gym teacher humiliate me, when she’s supposed to be my best friend. Forget it , I thought, I’m taking off this ring . Morgan would never have yelled an arabesque. Probably Zoe was getting back at me about Lou.
    “Yeah,” said Mr. Brock. “An arabesque!”
    It’ll end , I told myself. Do it and be done , I told myself. You have no choice , I told myself.
    My arms ungripped my T-shirt and dropped to my sides, then lifted softly to