Middle School: Get Me Out of Here! Read Free Page A

things we look for are talent and persistence,” he said. “Not only is that portfolio of yours full of artistic promise, it’s also just
full
. When I see that, I see a boy who would probably keep drawing whether anyone was paying attention or not.”
    I looked at Mom, trying to see if she was happy. I still couldn’t tell if this was good news or bad news yet.
    “All of which is to say—”
    Mr. Crawley put out his hand for me to shake, and I felt like everything was moving in slow motion.
    “—we’ve approved your application.”
    I couldn’t believe it. Like maybe it was a joke, or they had the wrong Rafe or something.
    “Are you serious?” I said.
    “Serious as Picasso’s Blue Period,” Mr. Crawley said, and Mom and Ms. D. cracked up while I shook his hand. “Welcome to Cathedral!”
    And even though it still didn’t feel real, I’ll tell you what else. Those were the three best words I’d heard in a long, long time.

GREETINGS FROM THE BIG CITY!
    B ack at Grandma’s place, I got up my nerve to do something absolutely terrifying: I wrote a note to a girl.
    To: [email protected]
    From: [email protected]
    Subject: You’re never going to believe this
    Hey, Jeanne,
    How’s it going over there in bad old Hills Village? Anyone miss me yet? (Anyone even notice I’m gone?)
    You’ll never believe how things are going here. On a scale of one to ten, I’d give it about a fourteen, because guess who just got into Cathedral School of the Arts? (I’ll give you a hint. It starts with an
R
and ends with an
AFE
.)

    Are you still there? Or did you just die of shock? I was pretty surprised too, but I won’t tell them they made a mistake if you won’t, ha-ha. School starts on Monday, so wish me luck because I think I’m going to need all I can get.
    And write back if you want. (No pressure.)
    Rafe

TWENTY-TWO HOURS AND FORTY-NINE MINUTES LATER (NOT THAT I WAS COUNTING OR ANYTHING)
    To: [email protected]
    From: [email protected]
    Subject: Re: You’re never going to believe this
    Hi, Rafe—
    That’s great. Congratulations!
    —JG

THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF MY LIFE
    T hat weekend, Mom got me a bus pass so I could get myself back and forth to Cathedral while she drove Georgia to her own school in a different part of the city.
    But on Monday morning, she said she wanted to drive us both, just for the first day. I think she was more excited about Cathedral than I was.
    “You’ve got your sketchbook?” she said.
    “Right here,” I said.
    “And your good pen?”
    “Got it.”
    “Should I come in with you?” she asked when we pulled up in front of the school.
    “Nah, I’m good,” I said. About a million kids werehanging out on the sidewalk, and there was no way I was going to let them see my mommy walking me inside for the start of seventh grade.

    “Okay, then. Well…” Mom kept looking at me the way she does when she’s about to get all mushy. And then sure enough—
    “You know, art school was always a dream of mine,” she said. “And even though I never got to go, it feels like that dream is coming true right now.”
    I was afraid she was going to start crying next. If there’s one thing I can’t deal with, it’s when Mom cries, even the happy kind of tears.
    But then—for once!—my sister’s big mouth actually came in handy.
    “Come on, come on, LET’S GO! We’re going to be LATE!” Georgia screamed from the backseat, like there was some kind of lifesaving information handed out in the first ten minutes of fifth grade.
    “All right,” Mom said. “Well… good luck, honey!”
    “Let’s GOOOO!” Georgia said. “Rafe, get out!”
    That was fine with me. Before Mom could kiss me good-bye in front of the whole school, I opened the car door and made my getaway. Then I headed straight inside for my first day as a real, live, actual art student.
    Whatever that meant.



First up, I had something called New-Student Orientation. Basically, it was me and about a hundred sixth