I think so, too.

Seventh-Grade Writing

I thought carefully about what to say to Ms. Trepky about my idea for the Smithsonian contest. I didn’t need to tell her about the Universe Deal or the financial black hole, but I knew she could help me write the best letter ever. I knew she’d be willing to help me.

I stayed after class while everybody else packed up and went out for lunch.

“Ms. Trepky?”

Ms. Trepky sat in the chair at her desk and pulled out a book. “What can I do for you, Ms. Monroe?”

I hitched my bag over my shoulder and stood in front of her desk. “I have a question.”

“Excellent.” She leaned back in her chair.

“It’s about what you said about that Smithsonian contest where people do a project and write a letter.”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if … well, I was thinking I really want to submit a letter, and was wondering if maybe you could look over it after I write it to help me make it better?”

Ms. Trepky smiled one of her rare smiles. It was an excited smile, not an Aren’t You Cute smile. “I would be delighted,” she said.

“It’s not due until February, but I want to get started on my project and my letter now so I can make them the best possible.”

“Would you like to start a draft over the weekend and then have me look it over?” she said.

I knew she’d ask the right questions.

“That would be great,” I said.

“I’ll tell you what,” Ms. Trepky said. “If you start working on your letter for the contest, I’ll look it over as soon as you’re ready. And at the end of the year, if you’d like to turn in your letter to me as well, I’d be more than happy to give you extra credit for class. Not that I expect you’ll need it.”

“That … that would be amazing!” I said, giving one hop instead of jumping up and down like I wanted to.

Ms. Trepky pulled up the contest instruction page on her computer, then printed it out for me so I’d have a copy of the instructions to look at. I planned to tape them on the wall above my computer. Instructions that were going to solve so much. Fix so many problems.

I put the paper carefully into my backpack and headed for the classroom door. See, Cecilia, I said in my head. I’m already on the job. You’re watching, right? You’re going to help me out?

“Libby,” Ms. Trepky said. “Speak and write as clearly as you do in my class, and they will listen.”

“Thanks,” I said.

They better, I thought.

Beach Bum

People like Dustin Pierce don’t ignore new students.

I’ve heard him and his cronies come up with nicknames starting with almost every letter of the alphabet. They work harder on those mean nicknames than on homework, it seems.

They ignore me, usually.