Lessons I Never Learned at Meadowbrook Academy Read Online Free Page B

favorite part is when Clara meets the Sugar Plum Fairy for the first time and then they do a whole bunch of fancy dances. My dad’s favorite part is when Clara takes off her slipper and bonks the Mouse King in the head, knocking him out cold. He always leans over to me during this part and says, “Now that’s what you do if you’re ever in trouble.” And I always nod, armed with the knowledge of how to protect myself.
    A young female teacher sitting on an aisle seat touched my arm, reminding me where I was.
    â€œGo sit down, please,” she said.
    I nodded and realized I was pretty much the only person not sitting. I quickly headed down the aisle, which began to feel intolerably long. There was a wooden podium set up on the corner of the stage and a majestic-looking red velvet curtain hung down behind it. In a gigantic orange circle on the front of the podium were three black symbols inside a triangle. The symbols were a candle, a harp, and an opened book. Beneath the triangle in purple lettering, it read: Into the light brings learning and might. Meadowbrook Academy Established 1904.
    I could still hear muffled chatter going on, but apart from that, everyone was behaving. I couldn’t believe it. At West Orange during homeroom, we’d be throwing stuff, yelling at each other, and no doubt someone would be making inappropriate fart sounds with their armpit or their butt, but all of these kids were just being…good. It was odd. And highly uncomfortable.
    I had almost reached the rows assigned for sophomores when a burst of cool air from a vent in the ceiling hit my face. It made me feel better for about one second until I heard some girl say, “Nice shirt,” and start to giggle. My cheeks grew warm and I was sure I had turned bright red. I became hyperaware of my man’s Kmart shirt scratching against my thighs. If I had more of my senses about me, I probably would have turned around and called that girl a bitch , but I was just so desperate to sit down. Besides, she was right; I did look stupid.
    I found myself imagining Christine showing up today at West Orange. She told me she was going to wear her white skinny jeans and a tight, fluorescent pink tank top that made her boobs look big. She had also just gotten her nose pierced (she and her mom did it together) and was planning on putting in a black crystal stud.
    My parents have hated Christine since the day I met her. They blamed her for my “bad attitude.” My mother insisted I stop hanging out with her after I got suspended, but I blatantly didn’t listen.
    â€œI don’t care that Christine’s mother doesn’t care about what her daughter does with her life. She’s not my daughter, you are. And I’ll tell you something: you’re too young for boys,” my mother said, “and you’re gonna get in trouble and find yourself pregnant, and I will be the last person on earth to raise that baby.”
    That’s how my summer vacation started. My parents sat me down and told me that they had sent in an admittance application to Meadowbrook because apparently, in their opinion, I was headed toward self-destruction of inconceivable proportion. After the initial application was accepted, I had to take a series of tests at a local testing center to secure a spot in the sophomore class. My mother forced me to go or she swore I would be grounded for six months. It’s true that I had stopped caring about my grades at West Orange, but I’ll admit my ego did want to prove something. So I aced every test and then, at the bottom of each page, signed my name as “Donald Duck.”
    Later that night, my dad returned home from a three-day route up to some pharmaceutical company in Canada. He had on grey overalls with his name embroidered in red on the left pocket. Sitting on the edge of my bed, he crossed his legs and just looked at me. His eyes reminded me of the chocolate chips in a