How to Outfox Your Friends When You Don't Have a Clue Read Free

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    CREATURE FILE
    SPECIES NAME: Nicholsonian Academicus
    KINGDOM: The classroom. (One time I saw him at the grocery store buying kiwis, but I’m not including that because it was sort of awkward seeing him out of his usual classroom habitat. Also, kiwis are weird and their skin makes my mouth itch.)
    PHYLUM: Teachers who are giant nerd-balls, but it’s okay because deep down you really love those funny little stickers that they put on tests when you do well.
    WEIGHT: Including or not including the sweater-vest–tie combo?
    FEEDS ON: Pop quizzes; those little balls of cheese wrapped in red wax; smiles from Ms. Fenton (pretty sure he has a crush on her).
    LIFE SPAN: Based on the kiwi and cheese diet, he’s probably pretty healthy.
    HANDLING TECHNIQUE: Nicholsonian Academicus is even-tempered and nice. Loves it when you participate in class (even if your answer is wrong); strictly against gum chewing.
    I circled an answer without thinking and peeked at my watch. I have no idea how watches work, but you can bet there’s a snail inside mine, turning a crank and making the seconds tick by as mind-numbingly slow as possible. You know, Kevin is always going on about this guy Stephen Hawking, who has all these theories on space and time and all that. I bet that he could tell me why time slows down during boring school stuff and speeds up when you’re actually having fun.
    â€œTime’s up!” Mr. Nicholson announced, clapping his hands together once.
    I clutched my pen tighter as he walked up the aisles to sweep the tests from our desks and into a pile on his green folder.
    When the tests were in a neat pile on the quiz shelf, Mr. Nicholson leaned against his desk. His eyes were dancing with excitement, which meant one thing and one thing only: he had a new project for us.
    â€œOkay, guys. I know since you’re such excellent, intelligent students, you’re probably wondering what your major project will be this month,” he said, rolling his eyes playfully, pretending like he was appeasing us by spilling the beans.
    I giggled, while the boys in the class booed. You had to hand it to Mr. Nicholson—he sure liked his own jokes.
    â€œI’ve given a lot of thought to your November projects, and I think I’ve got just the thing for a group of students who are sick of Mr. Shakespeare.” He eyed the room expectantly. “Am I right?!”
    â€œ Yesss! ” we all chimed, with my own voice ringing loudest.
    Anything but Shakespeare, pleeeease.
    â€œGood!” He clasped his hands together. “So we’re going to switch gears here. Since this is your last year of junior high before heading off to high school, I thought it would be nice if you did a little reflection .”
    Cue the moaning.
    â€œNow hold on a minute,” he said. He scrawled the word influence on the board in large, swoopy letters.
    â€œFor one Superman eraser”—he held up the tiny eraser from the jar he kept on his desk—“who can tell me what influence means?”
    Brooke’s hand popped up. “Influence is the stuff that has an effect on you. Like, that changes you.” She caught my eye as she spoke, smiling.
    â€œBingo!” he said, tossing her the eraser. “Have any of you ever thought back about your early childhood? What you were like at five years old? Or even ten years old? Who can share what influenced you at that age?”
    Imaginary crickets filled my head as Mr. Nicholson scanned the room. My palms itched with sweat. I knew as well as everyone else did that if nobody volunteered to answer, we would be volun told to speak up. Personally, my early childhood was filled with reptiles peeing on my head and Daz trapping me in the washing machine, so yeah. Delicate cycle, my butt.
    I kept my eyes down.
    Bella lifted her hand hesitantly. I grinned into my notes; I knew Bella was trying to be braver in class, so it made my heart happy to see her