we got to the bottom of the steps, he said, “Want to come over and throw around the football?”
“Sure,”I said.Benedict likes football as much as I like baseball, so we usually take turns playing each game. “We can tackle the reports later.”
“Will you please knock it off, Logan? You’re starting to sound like my Uncle Horace. And he’s really annoying.”
“Knock what off?” I wished he’d tell me what he meant. “If you expect me to hike all the way over to your yard, you’d better start making sense. Besides, I don’t really field like football. Baseball is a batter game.”
“Oh, just forget it,” Benedict said. “Call me when you decide to be normal again.” He walked off, slapping parking meters as he passed them and shouting, “Hi-i-i-i-yah!”
I had no idea why he was angry with me. I also had no idea that things were about to get a lot worse.
CHAPTER THREE
Bad Words
“H ow was the library?”Mom asked when I got back home.
“Okay.” I took a deep breath through my nose. Mmmmmm. Something smelled great.
“I’m making pot roast,” Mom told me.
I lifted the lid and peeked into the pot. “It smells totally stew-pendous.”
“Can you stick this in the fridge for me?” Mom asked, pointing to the dessert she’d just made. “It’s your favorite flavor—butterscotch.”
I took the bowl from the counter. It was still warm. “Sure. I don’t mind pudding it away.”
Mom stared at me for a moment. “We’ll be eating in fifteen minutes,” she finally said.
“The spooner you lettuce eat, the better,” I told her.
I left the kitchen and headed to my room to drop off my backpack. Behind me, I heard Mom muttering something about me going through a phase.
I ran into Dad as I was coming out of my room. “Hey, Logan,” he said, “don’t forget we have some yard work to finish this weekend.”
“Is there a lot mower to do?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Dad said, giving me a funny look, “there’s a lot more to do. We need to put that fence around the tomatoes.”
“Right. Weed need to be garden them from the rabbits.”
Dad groaned and shook his head.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. I was getting tired of all the groaning. Benedict had groaned at me. So had Mrs. Tanaka. Mom had groaned, and now Dad was groaning, too.
“Nothing,” Dad said. “I guess I was just as silly when I was your age.” He reached out and ruffled my hair the way he does when he talks about the good old days. Then he headed downstairs. I followed him into the kitchen.
My little sister Kaylee was already there. I sat, and we started to eat. But every time I said something, they all groaned and rolled their eyes up at the ceiling. Except Kaylee. She kept giggling.
I bent under the table and looked at Buster, my dog, who was waiting for me to slip him a treat.
Buster panted. That was a relief. “At leash my own dog doesn’t groan at me,” I whispered as I patted him.
Buster groaned.
Maybe it was really a yawn, but it sure sounded like a groan. I dropped a piece of pot roast on the floor for him anyhow.
After dinner, when we’d finished clearing the table, Kaylee came over to me, grinned, and said, “You’re funny, Logan. Just like my cartoons.”
“Thanks,” I said, although I wasn’t sure it was a compliment. But she was the only one who wasn’t groaning at me, so I figured I’d better take whatever nice words I could get.
And it turned out the problem followed me to school. I had trouble right away the next day. First thing after morning announcements, we had language arts, which is a fancy way to say English. There was a woman standing up front with Mr. Vernack. She was short and thin with a friendly face and long, black hair. “Class,” Mr.Vernack said, “this is Ms. Glott. Say hello.”
“Hello, Ms. Glott,” we all said.
“She’ll be joining our class for the next month as a student teacher,” Mr.Vernack told us.
“I’m thrilled to be here,” Ms. Glott said,
“Sure,”I said.Benedict likes football as much as I like baseball, so we usually take turns playing each game. “We can tackle the reports later.”
“Will you please knock it off, Logan? You’re starting to sound like my Uncle Horace. And he’s really annoying.”
“Knock what off?” I wished he’d tell me what he meant. “If you expect me to hike all the way over to your yard, you’d better start making sense. Besides, I don’t really field like football. Baseball is a batter game.”
“Oh, just forget it,” Benedict said. “Call me when you decide to be normal again.” He walked off, slapping parking meters as he passed them and shouting, “Hi-i-i-i-yah!”
I had no idea why he was angry with me. I also had no idea that things were about to get a lot worse.
CHAPTER THREE
Bad Words
“H ow was the library?”Mom asked when I got back home.
“Okay.” I took a deep breath through my nose. Mmmmmm. Something smelled great.
“I’m making pot roast,” Mom told me.
I lifted the lid and peeked into the pot. “It smells totally stew-pendous.”
“Can you stick this in the fridge for me?” Mom asked, pointing to the dessert she’d just made. “It’s your favorite flavor—butterscotch.”
I took the bowl from the counter. It was still warm. “Sure. I don’t mind pudding it away.”
Mom stared at me for a moment. “We’ll be eating in fifteen minutes,” she finally said.
“The spooner you lettuce eat, the better,” I told her.
I left the kitchen and headed to my room to drop off my backpack. Behind me, I heard Mom muttering something about me going through a phase.
I ran into Dad as I was coming out of my room. “Hey, Logan,” he said, “don’t forget we have some yard work to finish this weekend.”
“Is there a lot mower to do?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Dad said, giving me a funny look, “there’s a lot more to do. We need to put that fence around the tomatoes.”
“Right. Weed need to be garden them from the rabbits.”
Dad groaned and shook his head.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. I was getting tired of all the groaning. Benedict had groaned at me. So had Mrs. Tanaka. Mom had groaned, and now Dad was groaning, too.
“Nothing,” Dad said. “I guess I was just as silly when I was your age.” He reached out and ruffled my hair the way he does when he talks about the good old days. Then he headed downstairs. I followed him into the kitchen.
My little sister Kaylee was already there. I sat, and we started to eat. But every time I said something, they all groaned and rolled their eyes up at the ceiling. Except Kaylee. She kept giggling.
I bent under the table and looked at Buster, my dog, who was waiting for me to slip him a treat.
Buster panted. That was a relief. “At leash my own dog doesn’t groan at me,” I whispered as I patted him.
Buster groaned.
Maybe it was really a yawn, but it sure sounded like a groan. I dropped a piece of pot roast on the floor for him anyhow.
After dinner, when we’d finished clearing the table, Kaylee came over to me, grinned, and said, “You’re funny, Logan. Just like my cartoons.”
“Thanks,” I said, although I wasn’t sure it was a compliment. But she was the only one who wasn’t groaning at me, so I figured I’d better take whatever nice words I could get.
And it turned out the problem followed me to school. I had trouble right away the next day. First thing after morning announcements, we had language arts, which is a fancy way to say English. There was a woman standing up front with Mr. Vernack. She was short and thin with a friendly face and long, black hair. “Class,” Mr.Vernack said, “this is Ms. Glott. Say hello.”
“Hello, Ms. Glott,” we all said.
“She’ll be joining our class for the next month as a student teacher,” Mr.Vernack told us.
“I’m thrilled to be here,” Ms. Glott said,
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