Read Online Rules Of Attraction by Simone Elkeles - Free Book Online
Authors: Simone Elkeles
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so.” The first bell rings. “Well, good luck. If
you ask me, it looks like someone rigged it.” He grabs his books out of
his locker and struts down the hallway.
I run after him and grab his arm. “What did you do to my locker?”
He stops. “I might have changed the combination.”
“How?”
He chuckles. “If I tell you, then I’d have to kill you.”
“Very funny. Tell me what you changed it to.”
“I will totally give you that information . . .” He taps the tip of his
forefinger on my nose. “When every last cookie is out of my locker.
Includin’ all the crumbs. See ya,” he says, ducking into the classroom
and leaving me alone in the hallway to figure out how I’m going to do it .
. . and then plot my next move.
In English class, Mr. Furie hands back our essays. He calls out our
names and one by one we have to go up to his desk.
“Kiara,” he calls out.
I walk up to get my paper. When Mr. Furie hands it to me, he’s not
smiling. “You can do a lot better than this, Kiara. I know you can. Dig
deeper next time, and don’t try to give me the answer you think I
want.”
I pass Madison on the way back to my desk. “How’s Carlos?” she
asks.
“Fine.”
“You know he only pays attention to you because he feels sorry for
you. It’s kind of sad, if you think about it.”
I ignore her and sit at my desk. A big, red C is written on the front
of the paper Mr. Furie just gave back to me. Not good, especially if I’m
going to apply for an academic scholarship.
“For the next fifteen minutes, you’re going to write a persuasion
paper,” Mr. Furie says.
“About what?” Nick Glass asks.
“The topic is . . .” Mr. Furie pauses, obviously to heighten the
anticipation and get the attention of all the students. He sits on the
edge of his desk and says, “Should people on reality shows be
considered celebrities?”
The class starts buzzing about the topic.
“Keep the noise level to a minimum, people.”
“How can we write a persuasion paper when we don’t have time to
do research?” someone in the back of the class asks.
“I’m looking for your thoughts, not research. When you’re talking
with a friend and you need to persuade him to do something, or to
change his opinion, you can’t say, ‘Hold on, I need to do research or
write down statistics.’ You just come up with arguments off the top of
your head. That’s what I’m asking you to do.”
Mr. Furie wanders around the room as we write. “If you want extra
credit, you can read the paper aloud to the class.”
That’s good. I need extra credit, and I know I can say my speech
without stuttering. I just know I can.
“Pens down,” Mr. Furie orders fifteen minutes later. He clasps his
hands together. “Okay, any volunteers to read first?”
I raise my hand high.
“Ms. Westford, come on up and share your thoughts.”
“Oh, no. Not her,” I hear Madison groan beside me. Lacey laughs,
along with a bunch of their friends.
“Do you have a problem, Madison?”
“No, Mr. Furie. I almost broke a nail!” She wiggles her manicured
fingers at him.
“Please save your nail issues for after class. Kiara, come on up.”
I pick up my paper and walk to the front of the class. I tell myself
to take deep breaths and think about the words before they come out
of my mouth. When I’m standing in front, I look over at my teacher.
He’s smiling warmly at me. “Go ahead.”
I clear my throat. And swallow, but feel my tongue getting thicker
before I even start talking, because of Madison. She’s thrown me off,
but I can overcome it. I don’t have to give her power over my
stuttering. Relax. Think about the words. Don’t forget to breathe.
“I th-th-think . . .” I stare down at my paper. I can feel all eyes on
me. Some are probably giving me the pity stare. Others, like Madison
and Lacey, probably look amused. “I th-ththink that p-p-people on r-r-
reality shows . . .”
A burst of
you ask me, it looks like someone rigged it.” He grabs his books out of
his locker and struts down the hallway.
I run after him and grab his arm. “What did you do to my locker?”
He stops. “I might have changed the combination.”
“How?”
He chuckles. “If I tell you, then I’d have to kill you.”
“Very funny. Tell me what you changed it to.”
“I will totally give you that information . . .” He taps the tip of his
forefinger on my nose. “When every last cookie is out of my locker.
Includin’ all the crumbs. See ya,” he says, ducking into the classroom
and leaving me alone in the hallway to figure out how I’m going to do it .
. . and then plot my next move.
In English class, Mr. Furie hands back our essays. He calls out our
names and one by one we have to go up to his desk.
“Kiara,” he calls out.
I walk up to get my paper. When Mr. Furie hands it to me, he’s not
smiling. “You can do a lot better than this, Kiara. I know you can. Dig
deeper next time, and don’t try to give me the answer you think I
want.”
I pass Madison on the way back to my desk. “How’s Carlos?” she
asks.
“Fine.”
“You know he only pays attention to you because he feels sorry for
you. It’s kind of sad, if you think about it.”
I ignore her and sit at my desk. A big, red C is written on the front
of the paper Mr. Furie just gave back to me. Not good, especially if I’m
going to apply for an academic scholarship.
“For the next fifteen minutes, you’re going to write a persuasion
paper,” Mr. Furie says.
“About what?” Nick Glass asks.
“The topic is . . .” Mr. Furie pauses, obviously to heighten the
anticipation and get the attention of all the students. He sits on the
edge of his desk and says, “Should people on reality shows be
considered celebrities?”
The class starts buzzing about the topic.
“Keep the noise level to a minimum, people.”
“How can we write a persuasion paper when we don’t have time to
do research?” someone in the back of the class asks.
“I’m looking for your thoughts, not research. When you’re talking
with a friend and you need to persuade him to do something, or to
change his opinion, you can’t say, ‘Hold on, I need to do research or
write down statistics.’ You just come up with arguments off the top of
your head. That’s what I’m asking you to do.”
Mr. Furie wanders around the room as we write. “If you want extra
credit, you can read the paper aloud to the class.”
That’s good. I need extra credit, and I know I can say my speech
without stuttering. I just know I can.
“Pens down,” Mr. Furie orders fifteen minutes later. He clasps his
hands together. “Okay, any volunteers to read first?”
I raise my hand high.
“Ms. Westford, come on up and share your thoughts.”
“Oh, no. Not her,” I hear Madison groan beside me. Lacey laughs,
along with a bunch of their friends.
“Do you have a problem, Madison?”
“No, Mr. Furie. I almost broke a nail!” She wiggles her manicured
fingers at him.
“Please save your nail issues for after class. Kiara, come on up.”
I pick up my paper and walk to the front of the class. I tell myself
to take deep breaths and think about the words before they come out
of my mouth. When I’m standing in front, I look over at my teacher.
He’s smiling warmly at me. “Go ahead.”
I clear my throat. And swallow, but feel my tongue getting thicker
before I even start talking, because of Madison. She’s thrown me off,
but I can overcome it. I don’t have to give her power over my
stuttering. Relax. Think about the words. Don’t forget to breathe.
“I th-th-think . . .” I stare down at my paper. I can feel all eyes on
me. Some are probably giving me the pity stare. Others, like Madison
and Lacey, probably look amused. “I th-ththink that p-p-people on r-r-
reality shows . . .”
A burst of
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