Straight Punch Read Free Page B

around the classroom, her gaze falling on each of us individually. “I have a sheet for attendance, a sheet for grades and another sheet for recording any cases of misbehavior. If you misbehave more than twice, you know the consequences.”
    â€œNo training for a week,” said a deep voice at the back of the classroom.
    I hadn’t heard Randy come in. His soapy smell traveled to the front of the room.
    â€œThat’s right, Randall.”
    I didn’t say what I was thinking—s o what if I don’t get to train for a week?
    For me, that would be a reward, not a punishment.
    Miss Lebrun made each of us say our name. I knew she did the exercise for my benefit, since the others already knew each other. Don’t make us say what brought us here , I prayed, and she didn’t.
    I really hoped New Directions wasn’t going to be some sort of group therapy for troubled teens.
    Miss Lebrun reached into a cardboard box beside her desk and took out a stack of notebooks. They were the kind you get at the dollar store, with black speckled covers. “Say hello to your new journal,” she said as she walked to the back of the classroom and began handing them out.
    A couple of students groaned.
    â€œThis journal thing must be her latest experiment,” Pretty Boy whispered to me. “Consider yourself a guinea pig.”
    Miss Lebrun smiled when she handed me my journal. Then she went back to her desk. “I took a great online course this summer about journaling,” she said—and when I turned to look at Pretty Boy, he whispered, “Told you so”—“and so this year, I’ve decided we’ll begin every morning with journal time. Sometimes we’ll do what’s called free writing . Other times, like today, I’ll assign a subject. I have two subjects for you today. First, I want you to write a greeting to your journal.”
    â€œYou gotta be kidding,” Jasmine said.
    â€œLet’s get this straight—you want us to greet a book?” William asked.
    â€œI’m not kidding. I just want you to take a few minutes to say hello to your journal. After all, the two of you are going to be spending a lot of time together this year.”
    Miss Lebrun took a black speckled notebook for herself too. She sat at her desk, writing her own greeting. I wondered what she was writing— Lord, give me strength to deal with this gang of delinquents ?
    I didn’t know what to write. As I was thinking that, Miss Lebrun looked up from her notebook and said, “It doesn’t matter what you write as long as it’s honest. By the way,” she added, “I should have explained that you won’t have to share what you write in your journal with me or with the class. Unless, of course, you’d like to.”
    That helped. I picked up my pen and started writing.
    Greetings, speckled notebook. I can’t think of anything else to say. Well, okay, here’s one thing. I really don’t feel like I belong here with these kids. And here’s another: I just want to get this school year over with. And here’s another: I really hope I don’t get the shit beaten out of me by one of these demented boxers.
    I figured swearing was allowed if I was the only one who’d be reading my journal.
    When I ran out of ideas, I looked over at Pretty Boy. He must have felt me watching him because he slid his notebook over to the edge of his desk so I could see it. Only he hadn’t written a single word. Instead, he was making a drawing. A drawing of me—with butterfly wings. The drawing freaked me out. It isn’t every day a person sees herself with wings sprouting from her shoulders. But I had to admit, he’d gotten my expression right. Pretty Boy’s butterfly girl looked lost and confused, as if she couldn’t decide if she was a butterfly or a girl.
    Miss Lebrun wanted us to try one more exercise before starting math.