Mr. Dooley was looking right at me, curling his index finger.

“Um . . . yes, sir.” I scooted out of my chair and walked up to his desk.

“Arcade, is something wrong? You seem very distracted today. Is this test too hard?”

They’re all too hard.

“No, sir. I’m sorry. I’ll try to focus better.”

“Look, I know it’s been hard for you since Doug moved . . .”

When he said that, a bolt of heat shot from my token.

“. . . and middle school is a lot harder than elementary school.”

“Yes, it is.”

“But you’re still Arcade Livingston! You have all the same interests and talents and great character traits that you had last year. The world needs more caring people like you, so don’t let the challenges and setbacks throw you off track, okay? Keep digging in.”

“Okay. Thanks, Mr. Dooley.” I turned and walked back through the middle of the classroom. On my way, I spotted even more kids with extra papers under their tests!

“What’s with the extra paper,” I whispered to one of the Tolleys.

He tapped his pencil on his desk. “Scratch paper.”

I returned to my desk in the back row. We had twenty minutes left of test time. Wiley Overton got up and turned his paper in.

That’s odd.

“Thank you, Wiley,” Mr. Dooley said. “You may read a book now.” Wiley went back to his desk and, instead of pulling out a book to read, he brought out a sketch pad and some drawing pencils.

The Tolleys finished way before me too. In fact, half the class seemed to finish at about the same time, leaving Bailey, Amber, Carlos, Scratchy, and me working away until the break bell.

When I turned my test in on my way out, Mr. Dooley was playing with the lock on his desk drawer. “There’s bark in it or something,” I heard him say to himself. Then he looked up at me and reached out to take my test. “Mr. Livingston, make sure to stop by my office before you leave school today. My brother Patrick sent a package for you.”

“Patrick? From the Empire Fish Market?”

“Precisely. He told me that you and your friends LOVE shrimp. He found that quirky, yet refreshing, so he sent you a ten-pound bag.”

*  *  *

The next day, we got our tests back. I got a C plus. Not my best work. But I didn’t study nearly as much as I could have. Instead, the night before, I got distracted reading a book from the library about foster adoption.

“SOME OF YOU EXCELLED ON THIS TEST, WHILE OTHERS . . .” Mr. Dooley hung his head and pretended to cry, “. . . WILL NEED TO MAKE STUDYING A PRIORITY NEXT TIME.”