Wheels Read Free Page B

like Joanne.
CHANG : Right. Chinese. And get this—she’s got massively curly red hair.
NICKELS : Weird!
KRUMM: Fifty years ago, yes. Today people can have whatever color hair, skin, or eyes they—or rather, their parents please. You’re right…it is weird.
CHANG : Totally! Plus, she always wears it pulled back in a rubber band.
NICKELS : I mean, like, why would she do that? It’s so beautiful. That’s not natural.
KRUMM : Anything different about her behavior? Anything… odd ?
NICKELS : Absolutely. She doesn’t like Joanne.
CHANG : And she hates Penny!
NICKELS and CHANG : And we’re like the most popular girls in school!
CHANG : OH. And she acts like a boy.
NICKELS : Joanne’s right. McKenzie likes boy things. Science, math, basketball.
CHANG : Hey! I like basketball. Oh, my gosh—does McKenzie take steroids? Steroids are illegal. McKenzie would be kicked off the team!
NICKELS : Agent Krumm, are you all right? Like, are you gonna puke? Cause if you feel like you gotta puke—
KRUMM : Thank you, girls. Thank you. That’s all for today.
    ***
    HURRICANES & DAYDREAMS
    Monday, March 16th
    M cKenzie waited inside Principal Provost’s office. When the door didn’t open…when Miss Chantos didn’t stick her head in—when she could no longer stand it—McKenzie raised the eReader in front of her face. “I can do this. I can make this stupid old tablet disappear,” she whispered, squinting, as if to see right through it.
     Seconds passed. A minute. The eReader—still present, still solid—dropped to her lap. McKenzie shoved it into her backpack, “Nuts,” and turned away from the door. “I’m crazy and nuts.” She laughed. “I’m double nuts!”
    While the rest of the school smelled of dirty gym socks, baloney sandwiches, and the overlying smell of too much antiseptic spray, Principal Provost’s office had its own distinct scent…musty paper and wood. His huge wooden desk faced the door in front of which McKenzie was now sitting. Beside it was a large set of windows with blinds, overlooking the school entrance. Along the other two walls and surrounding the door, cherrywood bookshelves stood like sentinels, stuffed to overflowing with antique newspapers and books, binders and a variety of framed documents and photos—everything above the fourth shelf was too high for McKenzie to reach.
    How does he manage?
    Principal Provost’s wheelchair was big, bulky and old-fashioned. By comparison, McKenzie’s was light-years ahead. Though not one of the newer chairs made by her dad’s employer, Sphaera Technologies, its lightweight, scandium construction gave it a sleek, high-tech appearance. It not only looked faster than most chairs, with her help, it was faster.
    McKenzie closed her eyes allowing the scent of wood to merge with memories of sweat, burning rubber and the echo of basketballs smacking against the gym floor. She loved the feel of the rims against the palms of her hands, the rush of metal crashing against metal and balls cracking against the backboard. The way her heart pumped and the crowd yelled—
    Snaps!
    Two more victories and the Warriors would win the championship. McKenzie took a deep breath and held it. But not without me. She continued to hold her breath, afraid releasing it might make this thought come true. She’d already missed one game because of detention. Because of Hayes. Why do I let him talk me into these things?
    Sunlight trickled in through the slanted blinds and spilled over her. McKenzie allowed a long, slow sigh to escape her lips. Principal Provost loved wheelchair basketball. He attended all of their games. He wouldn’t dare keep me out of such an important one. She frowned, twisting a strand of curly red hair around her finger . Or would he?
    McKenzie turned and rolled over to a bookcase filled with several impressively thick books. Curious and slightly bored, she began reading the titles: Strategies in Effective Discipline ; Progressive School Discipline ;