A Boy.
Page 36-37

5. Story

Chapter 9

Page 36

Bradley Chalkers!
What are you doing
out of class?”

It was a teacher.
Bradley didn’t know her,
but it seemed as though
every teacher in the school
knew him.

“I got a hall pass!”
he told her.

“Let me see it.”

He showed it to her.

“Mrs. Ebbel
gave it to me.
Go ask her
if you don’t believe me.”

“Where are you going?”

“Library,” he said.
“To get a book.”

“Okay, but make sure
you go straight to
the library.
No detours, Bradley.”

He had lied.
He wasn’t even allowed
to check books
out of the library.

The door
to the counselor’s office
was open,
so he walked right in.

“I’m here,” he announced.
“Whadda ya want?”

Carla smiled warmly at him.
“Hello, Bradley,” she said.

“I’m Carla Davis.
It’s a pleasure
to see you today.”

She held out her hand.
“I’ve been looking forward
to meeting you.”

He was amazed
by how young
and pretty she was.

He had been expecting
an ugly old hag.

She had sky-blue eyes
and soft blond hair.

She wore a white shirt
covered with different-colored
squiggly lines,
like some kid
had scribbled on it.

But as he stared
at the shirt
he realized that
it was made
to look that way,
on purpose.

Page 37

“Aren’t you going
to shake my hand?”
she asked.

“No, you’re too ugly.”
He walked past her
and sat down
at the round table.

She sat across from him.
“I appreciate
your coming
to see me,”
she said.

“I had to come.
Mrs. Ebbel made me.”

“For whatever reason,
I’m glad you came.”

“I meant to go
to the library,”
he explained.

“I came here by accident.”

“Oh, I don’t believe
in accidents,”
said Carla.

“You don’t believe
in accidents?”
That was the craziest thing
he’d ever heard.

She shook her head.

“What about
when you spill your milk?”

“Do you like milk?”
asked Carla.

“No, I hate it!”

“So maybe you spill it
on purpose,” she said.

“You just think
it’s an accident.”
She smiled.

He stared angrily
down at the table.
He felt like he’d been tricked.

“I don’t drink milk,”
he said.
“I drink coffee.”

He glanced
around the room.

It was full of
all kinds of
interesting-looking objects.

“This place is a mess,”
he said.

“I know,”
Carla admitted.
“I like messy rooms.
Clean rooms are boring
and depressing.

They remind me
of hospitals.”

“Don’t you get in trouble?”

The End