The Perfect Score Read online

  After that terrible mistake I made sure to inspect the slide first. But the only way to inspect it was from the top. A few times I climbed the stairs and discovered puddles and had no choice but to break that rule about no turn-arounds. I told everyone to stay off the slide whenever that happened, because I didn’t want anyone else to end up with a wet butt. That was the worst—or so I thought. What happened today was one for the record books.

  When I scurried to the top of the twisty slide this afternoon, I discovered something other than puddles of water on its surface. I found bird poop. White splotches were littered all over it, like the bird had aimed and dropped his bombs there on purpose. And it wasn’t the white chalky kind that you could brush off, but fresh, wet bird poop. There was no way I was going down that slide, but I also couldn’t leave it like that, because the unlucky kid who did go down would end up with white bird doo smeared on his behind. That was way worse than a wet butt. I had to do something, and I had to do it fast. So I did the only thing I could think of. I hid under the top part, where it’s covered and no one could see me, and I peed down the slide to wash off the poop. I have good aim, so I hit all the white spots. The way I saw it, I was doing everyone a favor. My pee stream did the trick. It worked like magic. When I finished, I hurried back down the steps.

  “No turn-arounds!” the recess aide yelled.

  We had the same dumb rule at Lake View Middle. I didn’t stop. I jumped from the stairs and joined the game of tag that had started.

  We always played with two taggers and two safeties, which were the tire swing and the large oak at the other end of the playground. Our rule was that you had to stay in the wood-chip area that surrounded the playground campus.

  I didn’t like the game as much when I wasn’t “it,” because no one ever chased me. But then Tommy yelled out, “Scott’s it!” For some reason, I was the only tagger when it was my turn. I chased kids everywhere, but I wasn’t able to get anyone, and then I saw Natalie standing nearby. She was all by herself. I knew what that felt like, so I took off after her. I just wanted her to have some fun. I don’t know if she ran from me because she was playing or because it was me, but I didn’t expect her to run to the top of the twisty slide.

  “Natalie, don’t go down,” I warned her.

  “You’re just trying to trick me, Scott Mason. Besides, the rule says if you go up the steps, you must slide down.” She stuck her tongue out at me and then disappeared.

  Poor Natalie was wearing an all-natural pee-fume after that. I felt bad for her. It would’ve been better if she’d broken the twisty-slide rule, but Natalie never broke the rules.

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF #5

  September: The Twisty-Slide Aftermath

  I knew it was urine I had gone through the moment I got off the slide, but I didn’t freak out. That would’ve only drawn attention to the situation, and the last thing I wanted was for everyone to know that I was soaked in pee. I simply walked off the playground and went directly to the nurse. I explained everything to Nurse Wilcox, informing her about the game of tag and the urine that was trickling down the twisty slide—but I never mentioned Scott’s name. I might be a know-it-all, but if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a tattletale.

  Scott knew there was pee on the slide, and I suspected it was his, but still, I couldn’t ignore the fact that he had warned me not to go down it. Did he really mean for me not to go down, or was he egging me on? I imagined what his trial would look like.

  From the Case of Scott Mason versus the State

  DEFENDANT: SCOTT MASON

  PLAINTIFF: THE STATE

  The Jury: Natalie Kurtsman

  EXCERPT FROM THE DEFENDANT’S TESTIMONY:

  I didn’t mean for it to happen….I warned her not to go down the slide….Afterward I didn’t run around telling everyone what happened….I didn’t want anyone to laugh and make fun of her….I kept my mouth shut.

  EXCERPT FROM THE PLAINTIFF’S ARGUMENT:

  Scott knew the condition of the slide, and he deliberately chased Natalie toward it. This was all part of his plan; he’s not that stupid. He knew she’d go down the slide, because she never breaks the rules. He chose not to run around telling everyone about the incident so that he would have an alibi.

  THE JURY’S DECISION:

  Was Scott truly innocent or guilty? In the court of law it doesn’t matter; he was innocent because of reasonable doubt. For a person to be found guilty there must be rock-hard proof. Therefore, the jury had no choice but to find Scott not guilty—but let the record show: I knew he was the pee-er.

  —

  Nurse Wilcox gave me some clothes to change into, and I put my gross ones in a plastic bag to take home. Mother left the office and picked me up early. Once we got in the car, my hands started shaking. I bit my bottom lip to keep it from trembling, but that didn’t stop the knot from forming in my throat. I was deeply upset. I’d put on a good face for Nurse Wilcox, but what had happened to me wasn’t only disgusting, it was humiliating. Still, I never shed a tear. If there’s one thing I’ll never be, it’s a crybaby. I’d be a tattletale before I was any sort of crybaby.

  Mother leaned over and put her arm around me. “I’m sorry about what happened today, Natalie.” She touched her head to mine and gave me a squeeze.

  I pushed her away. “Can we get going?”

  Mother didn’t say anything. She started the car and pulled out of the school lot. We rode in silence, but my brain kept going over everything that had happened. I felt myself getting angrier and angrier until I could hold it in no longer. “Do you realize I’m missing an entire afternoon of school because of this? Everyone’s going to find out why.” I kicked my bag. “And when I return to school tomorrow, they’ll all be whispering and calling me names behind my back.”

  Mother handed me her water bottle. “Try to calm down,” she said. “Getting upset isn’t going to do you any good.”

  “That’s what kids do, you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said. “And many of those same kids who are immature and mean and do that whispering-behind-backs stuff today will still be doing it when they’re so-called adults. I know because they’re the same ones getting in other kinds of trouble and then coming to your father and me for help. It isn’t easy, Natalie, but you’ve got to be bigger than that.”

  I took a drink. “I know,” I said, “but it’s hard to always ignore it.”

  “If you think you want to be a lawyer, this is good preparation. People love to say mean things about lawyers.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, people pass judgment all the time when they don’t know the whole story. It’s unfortunate, but it’s true.”

  “I still wish I could skip being a kid and just be a lawyer now. Being a lawyer seems easier than being a kid.”

  Mother sighed. “Not always,” she said. “Not always.” She pulled into her parking spot at the office and turned the car off.

  “What’s wrong?” Something I’d said had hit a sore spot.

  “Not now, Natalie. It’s been a long day for me, too. Some other time.”

  “Okay,” I said, respecting Mother’s wishes. I unfastened my seat belt.

  “You know, you don’t need to be perfect, Natalie, but make sure you’re a good person. That’s what’s most important.”

  This time I was the one to lean over and wrap my arm around Mother—and she didn’t push me away. She hugged me tight. “I’m still sorry about what happened to you today, honey.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll survive,” I said. “I’m sorry I got upset with you.”

  “Apology accepted.” She brushed the hair out of my face. “Now c’mon. Let’s go inside and see what your father is up to.”

  I walked into Mrs. Magenta’s classroom and sat at a table with Gavin, but not for long.

  “Okay, you smart thinkers,” Mrs. Magenta began, “I want you to stand up and sit wit
h the people whose birthdays are closest to yours—and you need to figure that out without talking. Ready? Go.”

  We looked at each other with puzzled expressions, but then Scott got us started. He hopped out of his seat and held up six fingers. After that Lenny held out three and then Tommy stuck up two. Eventually we understood they were telling us their birthday months, and we got busy arranging ourselves. When I heard Mark laughing, I glanced over and saw how Trevor was using sign language—by giving everyone the middle finger! I was glad not to be a January birthday.

  After we got settled, Mrs. Magenta asked, “Any idea why we did that?”

  “Because it was fun!” Scott exclaimed.

  “Fun for a weirdo,” Trevor grumbled.

  I was not liking him very much.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed the activity,” Mrs. Magenta said. “We did it because both problem-solving and communicating were needed in order for you to succeed, and problem-solving and communication are essential in math and science.”

  Little did we know how important silent communication would be in our not-so-distant future.

  “We will spend the rest of today with a different problem-solving challenge,” Mrs. Magenta continued. “If you look at the easel, you will notice a piece of chart paper with a series of pictures. Each of you will be given a set of Chinese puzzles called tangrams, which consist of seven shapes: five triangles, one square, and one parallelogram. Using all seven of these shapes, you are to create as many of the pictures as possible and draw the solutions in your notebook. You may begin when you have your materials. Good luck.”

  This was fun. Even Trevor and Mark got into trying to solve the puzzles. Mrs. Magenta walked around checking on our progress and giving us small hints, but she didn’t tell us how to do any of the puzzles. We worked right up till the end, and I still didn’t get all the pictures done. Gav did, but that was no surprise to me. His artistic brain was good with shapes, just not letters.

  “Okay, problem-solvers,” Mrs. Magenta called, “you’ve all done a wonderful job with this challenge, but now I need you to pack up your tangrams and get ready to return to your classroom.”

  “Aww,” my classmates moaned.

  “Before you go, I do have a couple last items to share with you. The first is the collage I promised you.” Mrs. Magenta held up her poster.

  “Whoa!” we gasped.

  Her entire collage was made out of tangrams. She had flowers, a person reading, a few animal shapes, and another person, who she said was a teacher. “These are all things I enjoy. I also love art, so I had fun creating this collage.”

  “How come you’re not teaching art, then?” Scott asked. He could go on and on with questions, but this was the exact thing I was wondering.

  “It’s complicated,” she said. “But the next thing I have to share with you gives me a chance to do more with art—and you too.”

  Mrs. Magenta passed out a flyer while she continued talking. “I’m excited to tell you about my new after-school program, which will be starting in just a few short weeks—Art and Community Service. This is an opportunity for you to do more art-related projects while also doing good. I hope you’ll consider joining.”

  It looked like Trevor was already done considering it, because when we were leaving, I glanced back and saw the flyer still sitting on his desk. I liked Mrs. Magenta and thought her program sounded interesting, but none of that mattered, because there was no way I could fit it in with my gymnastics schedule. Coach Jane needed my after-school hours to be spent perfecting the artistic element in my routines, and then I could do good by winning.

  “So how’s school goin’ with Mrs. Woods?” Dad asked when I got home after the second day.

  “It’s fine,” I told him.

  “Is your teacher nice?” Meggie asked, not knowing anything about Mrs. Woods.

  “She’s okay,” I said.

  “ ‘Fine’ and ‘okay,’ huh?” Dad said, making it sound like there was more to it than I was letting on. Truth was, I couldn’t stop thinking about Woods and her reading to us, but I wasn’t gonna try explaining that to my old man. Reading wasn’t something that happened in our house. He wouldn’t get it. “All right, then,” he said. “I’m off to my next job. You listen to your brother, Meggie. He’s in charge. Your mother will be home later.”

  “Okay. Bye, Daddy.” Meggie ran over and hugged him before he hopped into his truck and drove away.

  I grabbed my football and headed out back to throw some passes and do some thinking.

  Reading definitely wasn’t anything I was good at. I could read football defenses but not words. I didn’t know why, but when I tried, the letters would run around on the page like players on the field. Those “b’s” and “d’s” were always pulling trick plays on me. I couldn’t keep them straight. It was my bad luck that I had two “d’s” in my last name—Davids. You might say it was good luck that I didn’t have any “b’s” or “d’s” to worry about in my first name, and that would be true, but I’m a last-name sorta guy. My last name was the one going on my jersey. The big “d” in Davids didn’t give me fits, but the little one gave me more trouble than a blitzing linebacker. Davids came out right half the time, and it came out as Davibs the other half. I was probably the only sixth grader in the world who still goofed up spelling his name. If it were up to me, I woulda kicked “b” and “d” off the alphabet team.

  It’s safe to say I didn’t like reading all that much, which was why I was struggling to understand how my favorite thing about sixth grade so far was the way Woods read to us. Maybe she wasn’t a champion football player, but she deserved a trophy for reading aloud. She had a way of making the words come to life so I could see the whole story in my head. I’d never had anyone read to me like that, and I couldn’t believe how much I’d started looking forward to it.

  When Woods closed that book, Wonder, today, the only sound in our room was breathing. Nobody was quick to say anything, not even Trevor or Mark. I sat there thinking.

  “What’s going through your head, Mr. Davids?” Woods asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “I’m sure it’s a lot more than nothing. Tell us.”

  “Well…I guess I was wondering about that Julian kid in the story.”

  “He’s awful!” Rachel Livingsten exclaimed.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “maybe we should give him the benefit of the doubt. He might not be all bad.”

  “No, he’s all bad,” Rachel insisted.

  “Or maybe not,” Trevor said.

  No one added anything more after that, and I didn’t know if it was ’cause everyone was thinking about Julian—or about Trevor. I can tell you one thing, it was nice having this talk without snobby Kurtsman around. She woulda ruined it with her know-it-all attitude. Maybe Julian wasn’t all bad, but that girl was—no question about it. She was just like her mother. Good thing she disappeared after recess.

  “Gavvy, can you get us snack?” Meggie called from the porch.

  “Only if you catch my pass.”

  Meggie held her arms out, knowing I’d get her snack even if she didn’t catch it. A perfect throw would be near impossible for her to drop, so this was a fun challenge. I scrambled around, pretending I was being chased by ugly defensemen, and then I lofted a soft spiral that fell into her basketed arms like a feather.

  “Touchdown!” I yelled.

  “Touchdown!” she squealed.

  Her excitement made me smile. Deep down, I wished I could be throwing my touchdown passes on the football team, but that was a wish I quickly pushed out of my brain. That was never gonna happen. I had responsibilities.

  “C’mon, Megs. Let’s get that snack.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, and we headed inside.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, your honeymoon is over. This morning we start getting down to business,” Mrs. Woods announced.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Mr. Mason, it means we start doing some real work�
��and lots of it.”

  Mrs. Woods wasn’t joking. She peppered us with one worksheet after another. I tried, but after a while enough was enough. I’d hit my limit. “These worksheets are horrible,” I blurted out.

  “Watch it, Mr. Mason,” she warned me. “I’m not a huge fan of them myself, but the school wants us using them to get you ready for those CSAs you’ll be taking in the spring, so we’ll be doing lots of them. Get used to it.”

  “You want to know what CSA stands for?” I was on a roll.

  “I know what it stands for, Mr. Mason.”

  “It’s not Comprehensive Student Assessments, like they say. It’s Complex Student Abuse. Those tests stink worse than these worksheets.”

  “Those tests suck,” Trevor added.

  “Mr. Joseph, you will now spend your recess writing an essay for me on the appropriate use of the word ‘suck.’ ” (Poor Trevor was making a habit of losing his recess.) “You will also compile a list of its synonyms so you don’t make the same mistake twice.

  “As for you, Mr. Mason.” Mrs. Woods was the one on a roll now. “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like. Not everything in life is fun and games. But if you want your fun at recess this afternoon, you won’t have anything more to say, or else you’ll be joining Mr. Joseph.”

  Mrs. Woods had a way of getting me to do the impossible. I zipped my lips. The last thing I wanted was to spend my recess writing! After a morning of torturous CSA worksheets, I’d need my recess more than ever. It was my one and only chance to burn off some energy.

  Somehow I made it through those worksheets. Then Mrs. Woods decided to give us silent reading time, and I let out a ginormous sigh of relief. I couldn’t find my book, so I had to get something from our reading corner, but that was okay, because we had a good one. Mrs. Woods had chapter books, nonfiction books, and even picture books for us to choose from. I still liked picture books. They weren’t only for little kids, like a lot of people thought. The one called Grandpa Green caught my attention.