then?” Principal Franklin asks, waving his hands toward the empty chairs.
We shall.
As soon as we are seated (the three faculty members on one side, us on the other, which, unfortunately, gives me the idea that we were auditioning for some reality competition, and for the life of me, I can’t shake this thought despite the seriousness of the conversation—I suck like that sometimes), Ty proceeds to pull his “Genius” folder out of his backpack. I’m about to open my mouth to ask what the people across from us would like to discuss further when the Kid pulls out a thin metal stand from his bag, which he unfolds and props up next him. He then pulls out a little black device that he clicks on and off. A laser pointer. He stands and grabs the “Genius” folder, opening it and pulling out papers, placing them on the stand. The top page on the stand says: Why I Should Be Allowed Into The Fifth Grade By Tyson McKenna.
My God, the Kid is about to give a presentation.
I glance at Otter, wondering if we should try and stop this or see how it plays. But Otter is watching my brother with such adoration that it takes my breath away, leaving me unable to say a damn thing. For a moment I forget about stupid fucking David Trent and his gigantic muscles, and as if he can hear me thinking (which, to be honest, I think he can), Otter turns his eyes to me, and that adoration doesn’t lessen. If anything, it grows. Christ. I start getting choked up, and I have to look away. He knows, as he always does, reaching out to pat my hand gently, his thumb caressing my knuckles. I nod my head once, letting him know I get that he gets it, that we’ll step back and let the Kid go and see what happens.
The three opposite us stare dumbfounded as Tyson takes a moment to gather his thoughts, rifling through his notes, muttering to himself, his brow furrowed in deep thought. I feel slight unease, having not known that Tyson was going to make this a big deal. The Kid isn’t exactly known for his discretion (what kid is?), and I can only hope he won’t be going along with his normal thought process. But while I hope this, I know that it won’t matter in the end. I figure I can cut it off if need be and deal with the consequences later.
At the very least this should be entertaining.
The Kid finally seems ready and looks across at the others, ignoring Otter and me completely. He stands, taking a deep breath. I can see his hands are shaking a little bit, the laser pointer clutched in his tiny fist, the knuckles going white. He’s nervous. The Kid is fucking nervous. It is enough to break my silence and heart both at the same time. Otter feels me tense, and his grip on my hand tightens. I look over at him and he smiles quietly at me, shaking his head just once. So much is said in that one look, like he knows every fear I have, how it’s killing me to see the Kid nervous, because he’s never nervous. Worried, yeah. But nervous? No fucking way. And if he’s nervous now, it means he’s scared, and it means that I have to go to him. I have to protect him. I have to make it better. It’s my job. It’s who I am. It’s what I’m supposed to fucking do. I glare at Otter but he knows. He knows.
“Thank you all for agreeing to meet with me today,” the Kid says, his voice small but firm. “I am here to tell you why I feel you should allow me to be moved up from the fourth grade to the fifth at the start of the upcoming school year. It is my hope that, after my presentation, you will see that I have many interests, such as animal rights and math.” He raises an awkward hand and removes the top page from the stack, and I have to put my hand to my mouth to keep myself from laughing and bawling all at the same time as I see next page says, I LIKE ANIMAL RIGHTS AND MATH in large block letters, to which Ty points the laser pointer, highlighting each word to emphasize something. I don’t know when he would have printed this stuff off the computer.
We shall.
As soon as we are seated (the three faculty members on one side, us on the other, which, unfortunately, gives me the idea that we were auditioning for some reality competition, and for the life of me, I can’t shake this thought despite the seriousness of the conversation—I suck like that sometimes), Ty proceeds to pull his “Genius” folder out of his backpack. I’m about to open my mouth to ask what the people across from us would like to discuss further when the Kid pulls out a thin metal stand from his bag, which he unfolds and props up next him. He then pulls out a little black device that he clicks on and off. A laser pointer. He stands and grabs the “Genius” folder, opening it and pulling out papers, placing them on the stand. The top page on the stand says: Why I Should Be Allowed Into The Fifth Grade By Tyson McKenna.
My God, the Kid is about to give a presentation.
I glance at Otter, wondering if we should try and stop this or see how it plays. But Otter is watching my brother with such adoration that it takes my breath away, leaving me unable to say a damn thing. For a moment I forget about stupid fucking David Trent and his gigantic muscles, and as if he can hear me thinking (which, to be honest, I think he can), Otter turns his eyes to me, and that adoration doesn’t lessen. If anything, it grows. Christ. I start getting choked up, and I have to look away. He knows, as he always does, reaching out to pat my hand gently, his thumb caressing my knuckles. I nod my head once, letting him know I get that he gets it, that we’ll step back and let the Kid go and see what happens.
The three opposite us stare dumbfounded as Tyson takes a moment to gather his thoughts, rifling through his notes, muttering to himself, his brow furrowed in deep thought. I feel slight unease, having not known that Tyson was going to make this a big deal. The Kid isn’t exactly known for his discretion (what kid is?), and I can only hope he won’t be going along with his normal thought process. But while I hope this, I know that it won’t matter in the end. I figure I can cut it off if need be and deal with the consequences later.
At the very least this should be entertaining.
The Kid finally seems ready and looks across at the others, ignoring Otter and me completely. He stands, taking a deep breath. I can see his hands are shaking a little bit, the laser pointer clutched in his tiny fist, the knuckles going white. He’s nervous. The Kid is fucking nervous. It is enough to break my silence and heart both at the same time. Otter feels me tense, and his grip on my hand tightens. I look over at him and he smiles quietly at me, shaking his head just once. So much is said in that one look, like he knows every fear I have, how it’s killing me to see the Kid nervous, because he’s never nervous. Worried, yeah. But nervous? No fucking way. And if he’s nervous now, it means he’s scared, and it means that I have to go to him. I have to protect him. I have to make it better. It’s my job. It’s who I am. It’s what I’m supposed to fucking do. I glare at Otter but he knows. He knows.
“Thank you all for agreeing to meet with me today,” the Kid says, his voice small but firm. “I am here to tell you why I feel you should allow me to be moved up from the fourth grade to the fifth at the start of the upcoming school year. It is my hope that, after my presentation, you will see that I have many interests, such as animal rights and math.” He raises an awkward hand and removes the top page from the stack, and I have to put my hand to my mouth to keep myself from laughing and bawling all at the same time as I see next page says, I LIKE ANIMAL RIGHTS AND MATH in large block letters, to which Ty points the laser pointer, highlighting each word to emphasize something. I don’t know when he would have printed this stuff off the computer.
Similar Books
