Eighth-Grade Superzero Read Free Page B

guys later.” He turns to me. “Low-pro. You know, just let it go.” He smiles and shakes his head. “Poet and didn’t know it! I could kiss myself.” Ruthie and I both groan, and he leaves.
    “Is youth group on Saturday or Sunday this week?” Ruthie asks. “Where are we meeting?”
    “I don’t know,” I reply. “I’ll e-mail Dave.” Dave is the congregation librarian and youth group leader. Youth group is basically a few of us hanging out and talking about churchy stuff, but it’snot boring like church. We’re supposed to meet in the library during services on Sundays, but sometimes we have to move the meetings when the bishop bogarts the library for “meditation on the Word.” That word is usually “nap.”
    Lunch is almost over and I can hear girls screeching and squealing as Hector does his grand finale cafeteria trick — shooting milk out of his nose. I see Justin standing next to Mialonie’s table, and she’s smiling up at him like he’s a movie star or something. Donovan is talking to her friend Josie, who’s cute, but not as cute as Mialonie.
    “Give me that,” I say to Ruthie, pointing to the empty milk carton. She hands it to me, and I stand up and toss it into the trash. Two points.
    “Woo hoo!” Ruthie yells, but nobody hears.
3:47 P.M.
    I make it home just in time to grab a new bag of plantain chips and a Coke before big sister Snuffleupagus gets back and sucks down all the food in sight. I think Pops is around, but he doesn’t come out, so I just head upstairs, skipping over the creaky steps. Who knows what kind of mood he’s in; sometimes it’s worse when he’s all fake happy, like a morning show host. He watches a lot of TV while he waits for job phone calls that never come. When I was little, I used to hate it when he’d work late, but now I’m praying for him to have a meeting to go to or something.
    There’s a Post-it from Mom stuck to my door about the mess in my room. She never gets that
I
know where everything is, and that’s what matters, right? Right. I don’t hear any roaring, soMonica must be out on the courts trying to dunk on some old guys. She spends hours out there, challenging anyone who shows up. She and Pops have been doing extra drills together so she can get ready for community-league tryouts in a few weeks. Guess there’s a Big Scary She-Male division.
    I step over the books on the floor and turn on my Mac. There’s an e-mail from Reverend Coles — he sends out these corny form letters to all the kids that supposedly belong to our church. I guess their parents don’t make them go as much as mine do. The subject line of his e-mail is “WAZZUP from a member of the God Squad!” I press delete. Mom and Pops are always pushing me to go see Reverend Coles to talk about spiritual things. They actually want me to open up to someone who says to call him “Reverend
Cools.”
    Sometimes I talk to Dave; he does God-talk without preaching. I never say anything to him about the whole Pukey deal, but I think he knows. I hope that’s not because he can smell it on me, like Loser Funk or something. I shoot him an e-mail and try to be kind of casual and jokey, like a guy who says “hey” instead of “hi” and gets hugs from all the girls.
    I log out and check out the rest of the Night Man ideas that Joe C. gave me. I pick up my notebook and a pen, but I’ve got nothing.
    “Reginald!” Uh-oh. It’s Pops.
    “Coming.” I wipe the crumbs off my face and run downstairs. Pops is in the kitchen.
    “I just bought some plantain chips…. You haven’t happened to have seen them, have you?” Uh-oh. That “have/haven’t happened” stuff — he’s in a bad mood.
    “Uh, yeah, sorry … I’ll go get them.” I start to run back upstairs.
    “Forget it. Let’s just figure out dinner so your mother doesn’t have to come home and cook.” He sighs. “So, what’s new at school, son?” he says in this real hearty TV dad voice.
    “Nothing,” I say. He keeps