Scare School Read Free Page A

moving inside my mouth, I realized. Something alive !

6
    “Aaaagggghl”
    I spit a gob of potatoes noisily onto my tray.
    And stared down at a fat black beetle crawling over the potatoes.
    I felt something prickle my tongue.
    I spit again—and another big beetle flew out of my mouth, onto the table.
    “Uggggh.” I felt sick. I started to gag.
    I saw another shiny insect poke out from the pile of mashed potatoes on my plate. Then another one.
    “Oh—grossl” I choked out. I could still feel the prickle of the fat bugs inside my mouth, all down my tongue.
    My stomach lurched again. I gagged.
    I stared in disbelief as more shiny black insects swarmed over my food.
    My stomach heaving, I jumped to my feet.
    “You finished already?” Simpson returned to the table, carrying a milk carton.
    “Bugs—” I rasped. “My food—”
    He lowered his gaze to my tray. “Excuse me?” “I’ve got to tell the cook,” I said. “The food—it’s crawling with bugs l”
    A smile spread over Simpson’s face. “You’re kidding—right?”
    I pointed to the pile of potatoes. “They—they—”
    The bugs had vanished. No sign of them.
    I grabbed my fork and poked it into the potatoes. No beetles. Frantically, I spread the potatoes over the plate. Then I picked up the plate and peered underneath it.
    No. No bugs.
    I turned the plate upside down and let the food drop onto the tray.
    No bugs.
    “You’re weird,” Simpson said, squinting hard at me. “I don’t get the joke.”
    “It—it wasn’t a joke,” I muttered.
    But what had happened here? The beetles had been real. I hadn’t imagined them. My potatoes were swarming with them.
    How could they have disappeared so fast?
    Why weren’t any other kids complaining about bugs in their food?
    Simpson raised a chicken leg to his mouth and began to chew.
    My stomach began to heave again. I spun away and started to jog to the lunchroom door.
    “Hey—your tray!” Simpson called after me.
    I turned back. “We get in major trouble if we don’t return the trays,” he explained.
    I picked up the tray and carried it to the counter. My legs felt shaky and weak. I was kind of dizzy. I could still feel the prickle of the bugs on my tongue.
    I started to set the tray down—and saw a piece of yellow paper clinging to the tray bottom.
    I pulled it off. It was folded up.
    I unfolded it. Turned it around so I could read it.
    And stared at the message scrawled in red ink: READ MY LETTER: WHO WILL DROP FIRST?

7
    I found a boys’ room a few doors down. Inside, I pressed my forehead against the cool tile wall and shut my eyes.
    I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples. Taking a deep breath, I forced my heart to stop racing.
    When I opened my eyes, I saw that I was still gripping the yellow piece of paper. I raised it to my face and squinted again at the scrawled red letters: READ MY LETTER: WHO WILL DROP FIRST?
    I read it again and again. What did it mean?
    Was it meant for me? Or had I picked up the tray with the message attached by accident?
    WHO WILL DROP FIRST?
    Was it some kind of challenge? Some kind of threat?
    Was it written in some kind of code?
    I jammed the note into my pants pocket. Then I washed my face with cold water.
    I made my way upstairs. I searched for Tonya and Simpson. I needed one of them to explain to me what was going on.
    But I couldn’t find them. The halls were nearly empty once again. The buzzer rang for the start of the afternoon classes.
    Mr. Kimpall greeted me with a smile. I saw that I was the last one to return to the room. He closed the classroom door behind me.
    “I hope you all had an enjoyable lunch,” he said.
    I stopped halfway to my seat. I turned and opened my mouth to tell him about the bugs swarming from my potatoes.
    But the teacher spoke first. “Sam, I’m afraid you have to leave us now.”
    “Huh?” I let out a startled gasp.
    What had I done? Did I do something wrong?
    “The school band practices after lunch on Mondays,