Just Stupid! Read Free Page B

squiggles, draws a perfect caricature of herself.

       ‘That’s me,’ she says.
       The whole class is laughing. Even me.
       Then she draws another figure with a really crazy face. Boy, is it ugly and stupid-looking. It’s much better than the one I drew.
       ‘And that’s you,’ she says.
       The class laughs even harder. I stop laughing.
       ‘So you’re not angry?’ I say.
       ‘Angry?’ she says. ‘Of course not. I’m flattered that you’ve gone to so much trouble to welcome me.’
       ‘Well,’ I say, ‘aren’t you at least going to tell me off for wearing my cap inside?’
       ‘No,’ she says, I find the fluorescent light very harsh myself. I don’t blame you.’
       I’m thrusting out my chest.
       ‘What about my T-shirt?’ I ask.
       ‘What about it?’ she says.
       ‘It’s got an offensive slogan on it,’ I say.
       Ms Livingstone laughs.
       ‘Who would be offended by that?’ she says.
       ‘Anybody who reads it, I guess,’ I say.
       ‘Well, not necessarily,’ she says. ‘Whether something is offensive is very much in the eye of the beholder. For example, in our
    culture burping is considered offensive—but in some cultures not to burp after a meal is a dire insult to the host. Once, when I was travelling in Saudi Arabia I was invited to dine with Sheik Achmed Ben Bala. It was a magnificent feast but afterwards I was almost put to death because I was unable to show my appreciation by burping.’

       The class gasps.
       ‘It wasn’t until he had the scimitar at my throat,’ she continues, ‘that I was able to reach deep within myself and produce the burp that saved my life. After three months in Saudi Arabia I became quite an expert.’
       She gulps some air and lets forth with the most earsplitting burp I’ve ever heard. It’s even louder than one of Danny’s.
       The whole class applauds. But not me. I can fake-burp any time I feel like it. It’s no big deal.
       I stomp back to my desk.
       There must be some way to annoy her. I know—I’ll ask some stupid questions.
       ‘Excuse me, Ms Livingstone,’ I say without putting my hand up.
       ‘Yes?’
       ‘Have you ever been to Germany?’
       ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘I have.’

       ‘Do people get sick a lot in Germany?’
       ‘No more than other places, I expect,’ she says. ‘Why do you ask?’
       ‘I just thought with all the germs and everything . . .’
       The class erupts with laughter.
       One to me.
       Ms Livingstone runs her hand through her hair.
       ‘Well, that’s actually a very interesting question you’ve raised, Andy,’ she says. ‘Standards of health vary all over the world. For instance, when I was living with the Eskimos, I noticed that . . .’
       Danny leans forward.
       ‘You lived with Eskimos?’ he says. ‘In an igloo?’
       ‘Oh yes,’ she says. ‘I was part of an expedition searching for the Abominable Snowman.’
       The whole class is silent while she explains. One to her.
       ‘Dan,’ I say. ‘Dan!’
       But he can’t hear me. He’s too involved in Ms Livingstone’s story. To tell you the truth, it is quite interesting. Especially the stuff about falling into the crevasse and trying to light a fire with only one match and a handful of wet wood—but that’s not the point. We want to be expelled! Or at least I do. Danny can stay here if he wants. I’ve got things to do, places to be. I’m not sure what they are yet but I’ll think of something.

       I might as well stop beating around the bush.
       ‘Ms Livingstone?’ I say.
       ‘Yes, Andy?’
       ‘Can I be expelled?’
       ‘I’m sorry, Andy, but I don’t have the power to do that. That’s a matter for the principal.’
       ‘Can you send me to him?’ I say.
       ‘But why?’ she says. ‘What have you done wrong? What rules have you broken?’
       ‘What rules haven’t I broken!’