Read Online The Aristobrats by Jennifer Solow - Free Book Online Page B

look at that year’s award-winning science fair entries: “The Science behind the Startling Reaction between Mentos and Diet Coke” and “The Genetic Basis for Migration in Monarch Butterflies Uncovered.”
    There were some regular features, like an interpretation of the Alma Matter by a musically talented Wally: piano or flute or even spoken word (no JK). And each show, one of the staff members stood in front of the beige teacher’s desk and read the school lunch menu for the following two weeks—a completely pointless exercise since A) everyone could see the menu tumble forward anytime on the Orion Super-Screens, and B) nobody cared. Infamously, one Wally, Jeremy Landis, aka “DJ Jazzy Jeremy,” actually rapped the menu. He became an instant cult hero (aka, nobody ever wanted to be seen with him again). Parker wondered if she’d ever be able to order turkey meatloaf with French fries again without thinking of Jazzy Jeremy doing the Worm.
    In a word? Wallingford Academy Today was pathetic.
    The show had no understanding of image. Parker spent more time each morning thinking about the effect her sweater choice might have on her audience than anyone had spent on the whole show in three years. She might as well have walked up to her mother with her suitcases packed and said, “Okay, I’m ready to start my horrible new life now. Take me away.”
    The webcast had only one subscriber—Arthur, the floor janitor. And the webisodes had barely been downloaded by anyone. The all-time high count was twenty-seven times for “Determining the Sex of the Common Bull Frog.” Which apparently sounded a whole lot more exciting than it was.
    Parker didn’t even know how to produce something like that. None of them did. She was speechless.
    The period bell rang. Wally Munchkins ran in from recess, hanging up coats and tossing snack-packs into their cubbies. Parker clicked out of the archives and back into Spy Feed so that if somebody went to the kiosk after her, they’d just think she was spying—not watching the webcast. Spying was way less humiliating. If that’s what Hotchkiss wanted, why didn’t she just assign Allegra and the Einsteins? Parker tried to think of a way not to worry the Lylas too much—they were all in their own classes and each had their own things to worry about.
    ***
    Plum sat in front of her easel in Mr. Lewis’s art class in the old bomb shelter in the basement. A box of brand new pastels was organized in a rainbow of colors at her side. Since it was the beginning of the year, all the pastels were still big and bright, not the little faded nubs of their former selves like they were by spring.
    New pastels were Plum’s favorite—inspiring her in a way that could have kept her drawing for hours. And she loved being in the old bomb shelter. The video cameras didn’t work in there so no one could Spy Feed on you, and it smelled less like the waxy-lemon stuff Arthur used to shine the Wallingford hallways every night and more like turpentine, linseed oil, and wet paper pulp.
    Arthur liked the bomb shelter too, Plum noticed. He liked hanging around in there and always ate his lunch in front of an easel.
    Plum put her heart into her picture. Her arms were covered with pastel chalk. Even her face was striped from pushing away her hair with her colorful fingers. She was careful to keep her mouth closed so no chalk would get on her gum. She barely noticed Kirby Vanderbilt sitting at the easel across from her.
    â€œIt’s good, Miss Plum!” Arthur whispered from the doorway of the room. He nodded to her drawing, which she’d only started. Plum smiled back.
    Mr. Lewis looked up but Arthur had disappeared.
    The art teacher had set up a still life in the center of the room. The fruit was plastic but you were supposed to imagine it was real. There were seven peaches and a silver jug set at different levels on top of a white