you get for leaving food out around wild animals. Never do that, and if you do—expect consequences.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“Well, whose fault was it then?”
Carson didn’t know the answer to that one.
“What’s in your lunch today?” Wes asked.
“A burrito.”
“No way! I love burritos! Anything else?”
“No!” Carson did not have a duty to divulge the contents of his lunch to Weston “the Whopper” Walker.
“Remember when I shared my sandwich with you the other day?” Wes asked.
“Wes?” said Mr. Lipman. “Shh!”
Wes whispered, “Want to trade hoodies?”
Carson ignored him.
“Squirrels give me the whim-whams. All rodents do.” Then he whispered behind his hand, “That’s why I hate Mr. Dribblenose.”
A moment later he poked Carson’s shoulder. “I can hardly wait for Star Jar. I hope my number gets picked because, oh boy, have I ever got a good story to share!”
Cody leaned close to Carson and said, “Whopper alert!”
“Mr. Lipman!” Wes called. “What about the New Kid’s Star Jar stick? The New Kid doesn’t have a number. And he probably wants to tell everybody about his dad’s orange Porsche.”
Matthew turned to him. “How would you know what Carson would talk about?”
“Well,
duh
. His name is Car-son. Isn’t it?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You like math, don’t you, Matth-ew?”
Wes called to Mr. Lipman, “Do you like to skip?”
“I did when I was younger.”
“I knew it. How old are you?” Wes asked.
“I’m thirty-eight, just about to turn thirty-nine.”
“Whoa! You’re pushin’ forty!”
Mr. Lipman looked at him.
Then he pointed at the deputy list. “Numbers Deputy?”
“Yes?” said Nancy.
“Carson’s number will be twenty.”
“Okay.”
Mr. Lipman took a large brown mug with a sunflower on it down from the shelf near his desk. It was filled with tongue depressors, one for each student in the class. He opened the bottom door of the cupboard near his desk and took a new tongue depressor from a package. He gave it to Nancy.
“Thank you. Now, where’s the fine-point felt-tip marker?” Nancy asked.
Mr. Lipman looked in his top desk drawer. “Anybody seen it?” He opened the other drawers and rummaged through them.
Wes called to Cody, “Pssst! Cody! Do you like coats?”
“How about you shut your trap, Wes,” Cody suggested.
Whoa! Good thing Mr. Lipman didn’t hear
that
!
Shelly looked thoughtful. “Maybe there’s something to Wes’s theory. I like shells. I have a shell collection.”
She asked Wes, “Do you like the Wild West, Weston?”
“Yup, I plan to be a rodeo clown.”
“Oh wow,” Cody mumbled. He turned to Matthew and held his fist with his thumb sticking up like a microphone. “Good afternoon, ladies and gents! Welcome to Weston’s Wild West Whopper Show!”
When Cody and Matthew smirked, Carson looked away.
“Quick Writes,” Mr. Lipman told the class. “Hop to it.”
The topic of the day was “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up.”
Mr. Lipman read over Carson’s shoulder as he wrote, and so Carson wrote s-l-o-w-l-y and c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y and did the best possible job he could.
When I grow up, I want to be a veterinarian. I hope to attend the University of California, Davis. I hope to learn how to do surgeries such as removing foreign objects from the digestive systems of puppies. I would also like to be trained to deal with injured large wild animals such as moose and
antelope and injured small wild animals such as gophers—on a volunteer basis
.
Mr. Lipman asked Carson if he wanted to read his out loud, and Carson didn’t, but he did anyway.
“Good job, Carson.”
He turned to Wes and sighed. “Weston? I’ve told you this many, many times. Do not grunt and wave your hand in the air when someone else is reading or speaking unless it’s an emergency.”
“Sorry.”
“Read.”
Wes loudly read about wanting to be a rodeo clown and save bull
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“Well, whose fault was it then?”
Carson didn’t know the answer to that one.
“What’s in your lunch today?” Wes asked.
“A burrito.”
“No way! I love burritos! Anything else?”
“No!” Carson did not have a duty to divulge the contents of his lunch to Weston “the Whopper” Walker.
“Remember when I shared my sandwich with you the other day?” Wes asked.
“Wes?” said Mr. Lipman. “Shh!”
Wes whispered, “Want to trade hoodies?”
Carson ignored him.
“Squirrels give me the whim-whams. All rodents do.” Then he whispered behind his hand, “That’s why I hate Mr. Dribblenose.”
A moment later he poked Carson’s shoulder. “I can hardly wait for Star Jar. I hope my number gets picked because, oh boy, have I ever got a good story to share!”
Cody leaned close to Carson and said, “Whopper alert!”
“Mr. Lipman!” Wes called. “What about the New Kid’s Star Jar stick? The New Kid doesn’t have a number. And he probably wants to tell everybody about his dad’s orange Porsche.”
Matthew turned to him. “How would you know what Carson would talk about?”
“Well,
duh
. His name is Car-son. Isn’t it?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You like math, don’t you, Matth-ew?”
Wes called to Mr. Lipman, “Do you like to skip?”
“I did when I was younger.”
“I knew it. How old are you?” Wes asked.
“I’m thirty-eight, just about to turn thirty-nine.”
“Whoa! You’re pushin’ forty!”
Mr. Lipman looked at him.
Then he pointed at the deputy list. “Numbers Deputy?”
“Yes?” said Nancy.
“Carson’s number will be twenty.”
“Okay.”
Mr. Lipman took a large brown mug with a sunflower on it down from the shelf near his desk. It was filled with tongue depressors, one for each student in the class. He opened the bottom door of the cupboard near his desk and took a new tongue depressor from a package. He gave it to Nancy.
“Thank you. Now, where’s the fine-point felt-tip marker?” Nancy asked.
Mr. Lipman looked in his top desk drawer. “Anybody seen it?” He opened the other drawers and rummaged through them.
Wes called to Cody, “Pssst! Cody! Do you like coats?”
“How about you shut your trap, Wes,” Cody suggested.
Whoa! Good thing Mr. Lipman didn’t hear
that
!
Shelly looked thoughtful. “Maybe there’s something to Wes’s theory. I like shells. I have a shell collection.”
She asked Wes, “Do you like the Wild West, Weston?”
“Yup, I plan to be a rodeo clown.”
“Oh wow,” Cody mumbled. He turned to Matthew and held his fist with his thumb sticking up like a microphone. “Good afternoon, ladies and gents! Welcome to Weston’s Wild West Whopper Show!”
When Cody and Matthew smirked, Carson looked away.
“Quick Writes,” Mr. Lipman told the class. “Hop to it.”
The topic of the day was “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up.”
Mr. Lipman read over Carson’s shoulder as he wrote, and so Carson wrote s-l-o-w-l-y and c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y and did the best possible job he could.
When I grow up, I want to be a veterinarian. I hope to attend the University of California, Davis. I hope to learn how to do surgeries such as removing foreign objects from the digestive systems of puppies. I would also like to be trained to deal with injured large wild animals such as moose and
antelope and injured small wild animals such as gophers—on a volunteer basis
.
Mr. Lipman asked Carson if he wanted to read his out loud, and Carson didn’t, but he did anyway.
“Good job, Carson.”
He turned to Wes and sighed. “Weston? I’ve told you this many, many times. Do not grunt and wave your hand in the air when someone else is reading or speaking unless it’s an emergency.”
“Sorry.”
“Read.”
Wes loudly read about wanting to be a rodeo clown and save bull
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