The Life and Times of Benny Alvarez Read Free Page B

now,” I say. “Yeah, it was crazy at my house this morning. It was definitely dementia praecox.”
    â€œNot so fast. You got the dementia but not the praecox.”
    â€œThat’s not even English.”
    â€œNo, it’s Latin,” a familiar, sarcastic voice butts in from behind. “It means ‘premature.’ So ‘dementia praecox’ means, put crassly, ‘crazy before your time.’”
    â€œHow did you know that, Claudine?” Big Joe, somewhat in awe, says. Big Joe is always gaping at Claudine. She could order him to kneel on his chair and bark like a puppy if she wanted to.
    Claudine doesn’t answer, but instead holds up a black book. It’s a Latin dictionary she lugs around because she signed up for an experimental class. Some big-shot administrator decided that we’re all dummies unless we know Latin, so the school is offering a special section to seventh graders. After I discovered the Book, I almost signed up, but my father said learning Latin is about as useful as speaking Martian.
    Although Claudine annoys me, she’s right that many English words come from Latin, so I always tell Beanie and Jocko not to play our game around her. I can’t stand it when she acts superior.
    â€œAnyone can look a word up,” I say.
    â€œYou should know,” she counters.
    â€œNot true. We guess words from their contexts,” I say, making myself feel smarter than I am.
    Big Joe just won’t stay out of it. “What’s context?”
    Context is something our English teacher Ms. Bogan taught us last year, but before I can answer, Beanie starts in. “It’s like if I say, ‘Big Joe is a constant vexation to his peers,’ everyone knows Big Joe makes fun of everyone and threatens them, so it’s easy to guess the meaning of the word ‘vexation.’”
    Big Joe squints, his left eyebrow jutting up about an inch higher than his right. He points his little index finger at Beanie. “Recess,” he says.
    Now Beanie’s going to have to volunteer in the library if he doesn’t want to get hassled, but he’s smiling, so it must be worth it.
    â€œYou’re just annoyed, Benny,” Claudine says, “because I know more about words than you do.”
    â€œYeah,” Big Joe says, “what’s your problem with Claudine?” Then he looks at her. “If he bugs you, let me know and I’ll teach him a lesson.”
    â€œI don’t have a problem with you,” I say to Claudine. By now everyone in the class is listening.
    Becky Walters starts fake-coughing into her hand, and Paige Burnett, another friend of Claudine’s, says, “So not true.”
    â€œWell, I don’t,” I repeat.
    â€œYou can’t even look at me when you talk to me,” Claudine says.
    She’s right about that. Claudine has long, reddish-brown curly hair that falls over her shoulders. Her face is thin, her nose tiny, but she has big eyes that freak me out. They tend to sparkle every time she gets excited, which is always, sometimes morphing from green to blue for no apparent reason. All I know is that when she stares at me, I get very confused and feel my face redden. I’ve thought about mentioning it to Jocko because he’s friends with a lot of girls, but he’d probably laugh at me.
    Fortunately, before I can answer, Ms. D comes into the room, placing her satchel on her desk. She looks around, then at me, and says, “Have I interrupted anything, Benny?” as if she assumes I’m causing trouble. “No, Ms. Butterfield,” I say. She’s looking snazzy today in white jeans, black sandals, and a red silk sleeveless top. She’s also wearing a white pearl necklace. She has a round face and high cheekbones, her blue eyes seeming to have grown larger since she got her hair cut short. She looks like an older version of Claudine, especially because her hair is red. I