Read Online The Manny Files book1 by Christian Burch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christian Burch
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questions about Lulu turned into Ms. Grant’s stories about Lulu. The time Lulu brought the most canned goods for the food drive. The time Lulu made a model of a plant cell out of a cake mix and frosting. The time Lulu dressed up as Hillary Clinton for Halloween.
I wanted to tell Ms. Grant about the time Lulu cried when Mom told her that milk came from a cow’s udder, but I didn’t.
I was so relieved when we finally arrived at the swimming pool. We entered through the chain-link fence, and the girls went to the locker room on the left, and the boys to the right. The locker room smelled like Uncle Max’s socks and chlorine. I opened up my bag and found my red swimsuit with a note from the manny pinned to it.
“Make a big splash,” it said.
I remembered that I had worn my Scooby Doo underwear that day So instead of stripping in the lockers with everyone else, I walked to the bathroom stall, closed the door, and changed inprivate. Once I was in my swimsuit, I carefully folded my clothes so that the Scooby Doo underwear was between my Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants. Nobody saw them. I put my folded clothes underneath one of the benches and walked out to the swimming pool with the rest of the boys.
Ms. Grant and Principal Allen split the kids up into groups based on swimming ability. They put me in the low group, which was mostly girls. There was one other boy named Scotty, but he had to wear floaties because one leg was shorter than the other. I pointed out to Mr. Allen that I knew how to swim and it was probably an oversight that I wasn’t put in a more advanced group.
He looked down at me and said, “Why are you complaining? You could be back at the school doing math or English.”
I wanted to grab the toupee off of his head, throw it in the middle of the swimming pool, and yell, “Rat in the pool. Rat in the pool.”
But I didn’t.
On my way back to my group I walked by Sarah. She was in the top group. Craig and the other boys, who look like they already have muscles, were in the top group.
Sarah saw my disappointment and said, “Swim with Scotty. He’s nice.”
He
is
nice.
Scotty and I made up a game. One of us would sit on the side of the pool and yell out a category (colors, states, Broadway plays), while the other one would jump in and try to name something from the category before he went underwater. It usually sounded like this: “Redblubblubblub.” “Oklahoblubblub.” “
The Lion Ki
blubblubblub.”
Scotty’s floaties helped him win the game.
When we opened our lunches, Scotty discovered that somebody had splashed water on his. His bagel looked like a sponge that was leaking cream cheese milk. I shared my lunch with him. He likes Swedish fish as much as I do. I ate the red ones. He ate the green ones. We built little sand castle pyramids out of the bag of sand until it had been an hour and the danger of cramping was gone.
When Ms. Grant blew the whistle to signal that the wait was over, I jumped in, grabbed my stomach, and pretended to have a cramp.
“If only I’d waited one more minute,” I moaned, and pulled myself underwater.
Scotty laughed.
Sarah yelled from the high dive, “Judge me.” She plummeted into the water headfirst.
“Ten,” I yelled.
“Ten,” Scotty yelled.
Sarah abandoned her group and spent the rest of the day swimming with Scotty and me.
At two thirty Ms. Grant blew the whistle and hollered. Ms. Grant doesn’t yell. She hollers.
She hollered, “Go get dressed. We’re fixin’ to leave.”
We climbed out and went into the locker rooms. Craig was the last one out of the pool. Ms. Grant had to yell at him twice. He bobbed up and down in the water and pretended that he couldn’t hear her.
I grabbed my folded clothes from underneath the bench and went into the bathroom stall to change. I unfolded my shirt and pants but couldn’t find my underwear. I shook out my Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants and even rifled through the pockets. Nothing. I looked
I wanted to tell Ms. Grant about the time Lulu cried when Mom told her that milk came from a cow’s udder, but I didn’t.
I was so relieved when we finally arrived at the swimming pool. We entered through the chain-link fence, and the girls went to the locker room on the left, and the boys to the right. The locker room smelled like Uncle Max’s socks and chlorine. I opened up my bag and found my red swimsuit with a note from the manny pinned to it.
“Make a big splash,” it said.
I remembered that I had worn my Scooby Doo underwear that day So instead of stripping in the lockers with everyone else, I walked to the bathroom stall, closed the door, and changed inprivate. Once I was in my swimsuit, I carefully folded my clothes so that the Scooby Doo underwear was between my Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants. Nobody saw them. I put my folded clothes underneath one of the benches and walked out to the swimming pool with the rest of the boys.
Ms. Grant and Principal Allen split the kids up into groups based on swimming ability. They put me in the low group, which was mostly girls. There was one other boy named Scotty, but he had to wear floaties because one leg was shorter than the other. I pointed out to Mr. Allen that I knew how to swim and it was probably an oversight that I wasn’t put in a more advanced group.
He looked down at me and said, “Why are you complaining? You could be back at the school doing math or English.”
I wanted to grab the toupee off of his head, throw it in the middle of the swimming pool, and yell, “Rat in the pool. Rat in the pool.”
But I didn’t.
On my way back to my group I walked by Sarah. She was in the top group. Craig and the other boys, who look like they already have muscles, were in the top group.
Sarah saw my disappointment and said, “Swim with Scotty. He’s nice.”
He
is
nice.
Scotty and I made up a game. One of us would sit on the side of the pool and yell out a category (colors, states, Broadway plays), while the other one would jump in and try to name something from the category before he went underwater. It usually sounded like this: “Redblubblubblub.” “Oklahoblubblub.” “
The Lion Ki
blubblubblub.”
Scotty’s floaties helped him win the game.
When we opened our lunches, Scotty discovered that somebody had splashed water on his. His bagel looked like a sponge that was leaking cream cheese milk. I shared my lunch with him. He likes Swedish fish as much as I do. I ate the red ones. He ate the green ones. We built little sand castle pyramids out of the bag of sand until it had been an hour and the danger of cramping was gone.
When Ms. Grant blew the whistle to signal that the wait was over, I jumped in, grabbed my stomach, and pretended to have a cramp.
“If only I’d waited one more minute,” I moaned, and pulled myself underwater.
Scotty laughed.
Sarah yelled from the high dive, “Judge me.” She plummeted into the water headfirst.
“Ten,” I yelled.
“Ten,” Scotty yelled.
Sarah abandoned her group and spent the rest of the day swimming with Scotty and me.
At two thirty Ms. Grant blew the whistle and hollered. Ms. Grant doesn’t yell. She hollers.
She hollered, “Go get dressed. We’re fixin’ to leave.”
We climbed out and went into the locker rooms. Craig was the last one out of the pool. Ms. Grant had to yell at him twice. He bobbed up and down in the water and pretended that he couldn’t hear her.
I grabbed my folded clothes from underneath the bench and went into the bathroom stall to change. I unfolded my shirt and pants but couldn’t find my underwear. I shook out my Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants and even rifled through the pockets. Nothing. I looked
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