Teacher's Pet Read Free Page A

MacKenzie,” I say clearly.
    He shuffles through the papers on his desk, his fingertips skimming the surface.
    â€œMargaret MacKenzie?” he asks.
    â€œNot Margaret,” I correct him. “Maggie.”
    â€œI’m Mr. Carlson, Maggie. Welcome to biology. If you take your seat, I’ll explain all about Scout and his job.”
    This dog does not look like he’s working. He’s lying around, waiting for something fun to happen. Mr. Carlson is busy collecting some papers, so I sneak in one more pat on Scout’s head before I stand up.
    â€œWhat is his job, exactly?” I ask.
    Mr. Carlson puts the papers down. “He’s a guide dog,” he answers. “My guide dog.” He looks up at me. “I’m blind.”

    Blind? How can a teacher be blind? I’m still in a daze as I take my seat. Did he say just what I thought he said?
    The other kids in the class are all exchanging glances. They look just as confused as I am. Scout watches the door as the last stragglers hurry in. His ears perk up as the bell rings. It’s time for class to begin.
    The science classroom is like the other rooms I’ve seen today, longer than it is wide, the far wall filled with windows. What sets it apart is the collection of cages crowded on the broad counter below the windows. The cages contain all kinds of small animals: mice, gerbils, hamsters, guinea pigs, and a large rabbit. As the rabbit hops from one end of its cage to the other, Scout watches it eagerly. I wonder what he’s thinking.
    Mr. Carlson stands up and walks around to the front of his desk, his fingertips gently brushing against the side of it. He looks out over the classroom. No, wait. He can’t be looking, can he?
    Scout starts to stand up, his eyes on his companion. He looks anxious, as if he’s waiting for a command. But he doesn’t get one. Mr. Carlson leans against the front of the desk and crosses his arms over his chest. Scout makes a small whining noise, but he lies back down and rests his head on his front paws.
    â€œAs you might have guessed, I’m your teacher, Mr. Carlson, and this is seventh-grade science—biology. Biology is the cool science, the study of living things. We’re going to study cells, body parts, worms, rats...you’re going to love it.”
    I already do! A class with a dog? I’m in heaven —well, as close to heaven as you can get in school.
    Mr. Carlson continues. “I’ve taught seventh-grade science for ten years. Middle-school students are the best. You’re energetic, you’re curious, and you tie your shoes by yourselves.”
    That gets a few giggles. Mr. Carlson smiles and relaxes a little.
    â€œNow, let me talk about the whole blindness thing.”
    The giggles stop.
    â€œTwo years ago, I developed a condition called retinitis pigmentosa. Most people call it RP. RP made me blind. I can’t see you.”
    â€œI took last year off from teaching and went to a special school. I learned how to read Braille, a code that uses raised dots, and lots of other things that help me get around. It was hard, but I made it. Today is my first day back in the classroom.”
    He stops and takes a deep breath. The class is silent.
    â€œI am a teacher who is blind, a very good teacher. I’ll use my computer a lot. It has a special program on it that reads text out loud. Anything you can read on a computer screen, I can hear. Sometimes I’ll ask you to help me by writing on the blackboard. And if anyone is planning to cheat—don’t. I’m blind, not stupid.”
    The class groans a bit. Mr. Carlson smiles.
    â€œNow, a few class rules. Don’t raise your hand. I won’t call on you.”
    A couple of kids laugh at that.
    â€œIf you have a question, just ask—quietly, not at the top of your lungs. My ears work fine. I’ll hold a meeting for parents next week. I suspect your folks are going to have a few