Read Online Sammy Keyes and the Wedding Crasher by Wendelin Van Draanen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Wendelin Van Draanen
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things
hard
for me.
“Yeah?” I ask, looking at him all surprised. “Didn’t feel like it to me.”
We’re at Vince’s class now, so we go inside, only we’re not greeted by the sunny attitude of the Spit Collector telling us to sit down and shut up. No, it’s Mr. Foxmore at the podium, and apparently he doesn’t need the words
sit down
or
shut up
in his vocabulary because everyone does it automatically.
He doesn’t explain why he’s there or say anything about Mr. Vince. He just leads us in the Pledge, then reads the announcements. It’s actually the first time all year that I’ve been able to
hear
the announcements because no one else is talking. Plus, he’s reading them like they matter. He says stuff like, “Here’s one that concerns most of you,” and then launches into the announcement. Or he reads one and adds, “You kids really ought to try that club—sounds like something that would get you involved in doing good things for your community.”
Anyway, when he’s done with homeroom business, he says, “I’m sure you’re wondering about Mr. Vince. I’m pleased to report that he’s fine, and he’ll be back tomorrow. For those of you who have a class with him later in the day, be assured a real substitute will be arriving shortly.” He smiles at us. “I guess you’d say I’m the substitute’s substitute.” Then he adds, “I certainly appreciate how well behaved you’ve been this morning. I’ve alreadytaken roll, so go ahead and get yourselves ready for first period.”
Now, the funny thing is, for all the grumbling and complaining and yelling Mr. Vince does to get us to mind him, homeroom has never been this civilized. It’s like Mr. Vince has told us how horrible we are so many times that we don’t even care about being good.
I mean, why bother?
Anyway, I spend a couple of minutes getting my binder in order and reviewing my planner, and then I decide to sharpen my pencil for math, which I have right after homeroom. And I would have just gone up, sharpened, and gone back to my seat like a good little girl, only while I’m cranking away, I happen to notice that Mr. Foxmore is clicking away at Mr. Vince’s computer.
Something about the way he’s doing it feels really intense to me. He’s sort of hunched forward, and he’s moving the mouse around fast. So I keep that pencil sharpener going, and I see that what he’s doing is checking the history list.
Not one that has anything to do with the classes Mr. Vince teaches.
No, the one that shows what Internet sites Mr. Vince has been to recently.
Mr. Foxmore clicks on the next link in the list, and up pops a picture of a set of golf clubs.
He closes that window and clicks on the next link, and up pops a road map to who knows where.
Next comes a video of a dog riding a skateboard.
Then a gleaming cherry red motorcycle.
Then another video that’s just starting to play when Mr. Foxmore catches me watching him.
Real quick, he shrinks the window and ninjas me a look that sends me back to my seat. Then when the dismissal bell rings about a minute later, he says, “Have a productive day,” in a kind of chummy way as he ushers us out. He even smiles at me, like, See ya.
Now, the teachers’ computers belong to the school, so I guess the vice principal ought to be able to use them. But something about Mr. Foxmore nosing around on Mr. Vince’s computer felt a little … sneaky.
Like he was digging through Mr. Vince’s desk drawers.
And really, I shouldn’t have cared. I mean, in the few weeks we’ve been in school, Mr. Vince has probably already given us eight in-class worksheets, and while we sweat to find answers in the textbook, he’s up at his desk “working” at his computer.
The monitor faces away from the class, so it’s not like we can see what Mr. Vince is doing, but anytime someone comes near his desk, he always shrinks the page and gives them an annoyed look. Like he’s in the middle of something really,
hard
for me.
“Yeah?” I ask, looking at him all surprised. “Didn’t feel like it to me.”
We’re at Vince’s class now, so we go inside, only we’re not greeted by the sunny attitude of the Spit Collector telling us to sit down and shut up. No, it’s Mr. Foxmore at the podium, and apparently he doesn’t need the words
sit down
or
shut up
in his vocabulary because everyone does it automatically.
He doesn’t explain why he’s there or say anything about Mr. Vince. He just leads us in the Pledge, then reads the announcements. It’s actually the first time all year that I’ve been able to
hear
the announcements because no one else is talking. Plus, he’s reading them like they matter. He says stuff like, “Here’s one that concerns most of you,” and then launches into the announcement. Or he reads one and adds, “You kids really ought to try that club—sounds like something that would get you involved in doing good things for your community.”
Anyway, when he’s done with homeroom business, he says, “I’m sure you’re wondering about Mr. Vince. I’m pleased to report that he’s fine, and he’ll be back tomorrow. For those of you who have a class with him later in the day, be assured a real substitute will be arriving shortly.” He smiles at us. “I guess you’d say I’m the substitute’s substitute.” Then he adds, “I certainly appreciate how well behaved you’ve been this morning. I’ve alreadytaken roll, so go ahead and get yourselves ready for first period.”
Now, the funny thing is, for all the grumbling and complaining and yelling Mr. Vince does to get us to mind him, homeroom has never been this civilized. It’s like Mr. Vince has told us how horrible we are so many times that we don’t even care about being good.
I mean, why bother?
Anyway, I spend a couple of minutes getting my binder in order and reviewing my planner, and then I decide to sharpen my pencil for math, which I have right after homeroom. And I would have just gone up, sharpened, and gone back to my seat like a good little girl, only while I’m cranking away, I happen to notice that Mr. Foxmore is clicking away at Mr. Vince’s computer.
Something about the way he’s doing it feels really intense to me. He’s sort of hunched forward, and he’s moving the mouse around fast. So I keep that pencil sharpener going, and I see that what he’s doing is checking the history list.
Not one that has anything to do with the classes Mr. Vince teaches.
No, the one that shows what Internet sites Mr. Vince has been to recently.
Mr. Foxmore clicks on the next link in the list, and up pops a picture of a set of golf clubs.
He closes that window and clicks on the next link, and up pops a road map to who knows where.
Next comes a video of a dog riding a skateboard.
Then a gleaming cherry red motorcycle.
Then another video that’s just starting to play when Mr. Foxmore catches me watching him.
Real quick, he shrinks the window and ninjas me a look that sends me back to my seat. Then when the dismissal bell rings about a minute later, he says, “Have a productive day,” in a kind of chummy way as he ushers us out. He even smiles at me, like, See ya.
Now, the teachers’ computers belong to the school, so I guess the vice principal ought to be able to use them. But something about Mr. Foxmore nosing around on Mr. Vince’s computer felt a little … sneaky.
Like he was digging through Mr. Vince’s desk drawers.
And really, I shouldn’t have cared. I mean, in the few weeks we’ve been in school, Mr. Vince has probably already given us eight in-class worksheets, and while we sweat to find answers in the textbook, he’s up at his desk “working” at his computer.
The monitor faces away from the class, so it’s not like we can see what Mr. Vince is doing, but anytime someone comes near his desk, he always shrinks the page and gives them an annoyed look. Like he’s in the middle of something really,
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