So while everyone else was taking World Languages or Computer Technology, I was heading down to the resource room in the library to find out who else was “special” like me.
I guess Mr. Fanucci works with different kids every period. There were only five of us in my group, which meant I couldn’t exactly hide in the back. But it also means it won’t take you very long to meet them.
This is Maya Lee. She has something nice to say about everything and everyone, all the time. Seriously. I’m not complaining, exactly, but after a while it’s like, “Yeah, okay, I get it, Maya. You really like my pen. And my chair. And the way my shoelaces look.” But at least she’s nice.
Plus, she always brings homemade cookies for our group on Fridays. So I’m not complaining.
This is Dee-Dee Molia. And to be honest, I kind of thought there would be more kids like her in our group. I think her brain works fine on the inside, but she needs a lot of help. She even uses an iPad to talk with, which is actually pretty cool. They let her sit in the front of every class so she can read the board. And when we have reading assignments, Mr. Fanucci makes sure they’re all books she can listen to on her headphones. Sometimes I wonder if she’s just listening to Taylor Swift or something. Hey, I couldn’t blame her.
Jonny Hermenez knows a lot. And I mean a lot. As far as I can tell, the only thing he doesn’t know about is how to get his homework done. But when it comes to stuff like why octopuses have three hearts, or how there are more than fourteen billion lightbulbs in the world, Jonny’s got all that stuff down cold. If I’m ever on some game show and the million-dollar category is “Weird Little Facts,” I’m calling Jonny for help, no question.
And this is me. You already know what I look like, but I figured I’d throw myself in here anyway. Maybe I’ll never be best buds with Maya, Dee-Dee, or Jonny, but I don’t think I’m any better than them either. I just wished I didn’t have to take Learning Skills in the first place.
Meanwhile, if you’re keeping track, you know there’s one more kid in our group. Let’s just say I saved the best for last.
FLIP OUT
About ten minutes after I met Philip “Flip” Savage, all I could think was, “What is he doing in this class?” He seemed totally normal and even pretty cool. But after another ten minutes, when Mr. Fanucci had to separate him for some “quiet time,” I started to figure it out.
Flip is like a spinning top that never loses its spin. Like one of those gyroscopes that just goes, and goes, and goes, and goes…
… and goes, and goes…
… and goes.
He’s also possibly the funniest person I’ve ever met. He’s even funnier than that sit-down/stand-up comedian kid I heard about, Jamie Grimm.
For instance, I already told you Mr. Fanucci’s first name is Edward, right? On the first day, Flip said, “Hey, Mr. Fanucci, can we call you ‘Special Ed’?” That got a big laugh, so even when Mr.Fanucci said no, Flip kept going.
“Okay, we’ll just call you ‘Mr. Fun’ for short,” he said.
“I can live with that,” Mr. Fun said. (And for the record, Flip calls him “Special Ed” when he’s not around.)
Flip loves coming up with different names for everyone. He calls me “Short Stack” sometimes, because I’m half an inch shorter than him, plus I love pancakes. He calls Maya “Good News.” Dee-Dee is “Gadget.” And Jonny is “Factoid.”
The other thing about Flip is that he’s a total jock. Whatever nuclear power plant he’s got running his engine on the inside, it makes him perfect for football, baseball, soccer, and lacrosse on the outside. (He’s part of the reason I joined the football team, but more about that later.)
He even calls himself “Dumb Jock” all the time, which I think is hilarious.
He says that anything you can call yourself, it doesn’t matter if other people call you that too,because you said it first. Which makes a lot of sense to me.
I’ll tell you what else. This kid may not be very good at sitting still. And he’s definitely not the world’s best at math or English.
But I’ve never met anyone else besides Flip Savage that I just knew right away I’d be good friends with.
HOME RUN(BUT NOT THAT KIND)
As long as we’re on the good stuff, I’ll keep going.
Actually, it was more like a good news/bad news/good news kind of situation. First of all, I bumped into Jeanne Galletta right after school that Friday.
Like, actually bumped into her.
I had my head way down because the football team was just piling outside for practice again, and I wanted to look as un-Rafe-like as possible. Flip kept telling me not to worry so much about Miller, but Flip was Flip, and I was me. And Miller definitely had it in for ME.
Anyway, I was walking toward the bus, looking at my feet, when—BLAM! All of a sudden, I was bouncing off someone, stumbling back, and hitting the dirt.
Jeanne hit the dirt too. The way she looked, it was like she hadn’t seen me coming any more than I’d seen her.
“Rafe, I’m really sorry!” she said. “I wasn’t even paying attention.”
“Neither was I,” I said. “Are you okay?”
And then we both just laughed. Which was kind of awesome, for about 3.2 seconds. I was thinking it might be a perfect moment for Jeanne to realize that she was meant to be my girlfriend, and for the two of us to move away somewhere—far away, where nobody was “special,” and nobody got thumped in the chest just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Or even better… maybe we could go somewhere far, far away, where there were no middle schools. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about all those other problems either.
Yeah, that sounded pretty good. And maybe there could be a really cool beach too, where Jeanne and I could learn to surf together—
“Rafe?”
Jeanne waved her hand in front of my eyeballs, and I practically jumped.
“Huh?” I said. “I mean—sorry. What were you saying?”
“I just asked how your classes were going,” Jeanne said.
Oh, man! The one thing I didn’t want to talk to Jeanne about was how my classes were going. But before I could even change the subject, it got changed for me. That’s when I heard that familiar voice, calling out behind me.
“Yo—KhatchaDORKian!”
Miller the Killer was closing in fast. I don’t know what he had in mind, but I didn’t want to find out either. So between that, and Jeanne asking all the wrong questions, I knew it was time to go.
“SeeyaJeannegottago,” I said.
And then I ran. Like, really ran. Right past the buses, out onto Sylmar Avenue, and up the street headed for home.
Because you know how it is, right? Sometimes you have to hold your ground. Sometimes you have to face your fears.
And other times? You just feel like running.
So that’s exactly what I did.
NEW ADDITION
W hen I came home that day, it seemed like nobody was there.
Except then I heard voices outside. Mom, Grandma, and Georgia were all in the backyard. When I got a little closer, I could hear Georgia complaining about something (of course).
“This is unfair! Not to mention irresponsible!” she said. “How could you do this to him? He doesn’t deserve it!”
I stopped in the kitchen and listened through the door. I was the only him in our family. Which meant Georgia was talking about me. In fact, it sounded like she was sticking up for me about something. Which was weird.
Like, really weird.
“He’s going to be fine,” Mom said. “He just needs some love and care, like anything else.”
I thought that was nice of Mom to say. But then it went back to weird again.
“I love his big ears,” Dotty said.
My ears?
“Yeah, well, if he poops in my room, I’m calling the police!” Georgia said.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Mom said. “If you don’t want him in there, just k
eep your door closed.”
“HEY!” I yelled. I was getting mad now. I mean, I know I’m kind of messy sometimes, but did they really think I was going to do that in Georgia’s room?
“Rafe, is that you?” Mom said. “Come out here!”
“Everyone stop talking about me!” I was shouting… right up until I came outside. And that’s when I got one of the biggest shocks of my life.
“Surprise!” Mom said.
I was kind of speechless. “Is that…?”
“It’s a dog!” Grandma said.
“Well, yeah,” I said, “but does he…?”
“I give it a week,” Georgia said.
“I mean, is he… mine?”
“Yes, he’s yours, Rafe,” Mom said.
“This poor dog,” Georgia said. “It’s like giving a pet to a sloth. Or a mole. Or a—”
I didn’t even hear the rest. I was already down on the ground saying hi to my new dog (!!!!) and getting licked all over my crazy grinning face with a thousand sloppy kisses all at once.
(And NO, that’s not the “first kiss” I told you about in chapter 1. Give me a break!)
“We got him at the shelter,” Mom told me. “His last family couldn’t keep him, but he’s already house-trained, and they said he knows a few commands too. Why don’t you try some out?”
“Sit, boy!” I said, but the dog just looked at me.
“Lie down!” I tried, and he licked my shoe instead.
“Shake?” I asked doubtfully.
That’s when he sat down.
“I guess we’re not going to call him Einstein,” Georgia said.
But I didn’t care. So what if he wasn’t the world’s smartest dog? I’m not exactly the world’s smartest kid.
Still, I did have one huge decision to make. What the heck was I going to name this little guy?
NAME THAT DOG!
I thought about calling him Zoom, after my favorite drink.
Then I thought about naming him Chunks, since he looked kind of like a meatloaf with legs.
Or maybe Mutt, I thought. Because he was definitely one of those.
Or Steve, because how many people have a dog named Steve?
But I just couldn’t decide.
“Maybe you have to get to know him a little bit first,” Mom said. “How about we all go for a nice walk?”
She even had the leash and a plastic bag all ready to go. A few seconds later, we were out the door and headed for the park.
This was going to be AWESOME! Maybe I didn’t have a name for him yet, but I could tell he was going to be a great dog. And I was going to be a great dog-dad, or whatever you call it. I’d take him to the park every day. I’d take him to the woods. I’d take him everywhere. Someday, I’d have my driver’s license and we’d really get to travel. Maybe start with the Grand Canyon, then a quick stop in Las Vegas on our way to Hollywood, Calif—
“RAFE!” Georgia yelled somewhere behind me.
When I turned around, Mom, Grandma Dotty, and Georgia were all standing there, looking at something on the ground.
“Use the plastic bag!” Georgia said. “That’s what it’s for.”
And I thought, Oh, right. That too.
But even that wasn’t so bad. You just have to breathe through your mouth when you pick it up. Then it’s hardly gross at all. Warm? Yeah. Soft? Only if you grab it too hard.
I’m just saying—if you have a dog that you love, it’s totally worth it.
Once we got to the park, there was a big open place where I could let him off the leash to run.
And you know what? That little meatloaf was fast. Those four dog-sized legs of his were just as good as my two human-sized ones, plus a little bit more. I could barely keep up. By the time we got back to Mom, Georgia, and Grandma, I was about ready to throw up a lung.
“That was quick,” Georgia said. “I guess what he doesn’t have in brains he makes up for in speed.”
Just like me, I thought. In fact, it kind of seemed like that dog and I were made for each other. Like he was just a small, four-legged version of me.
And that’s when I finally figured out what his name should be.
Everyone, say hello to Junior, the best, not-quite-smartest, almost-fastest dog a kid could ever hope for.
LEARNING KILLS
That first weekend with Junior went by faster than Christmas. We must have covered twenty miles, running all over Hills Village. It was the best weekend I’ve ever had.
And then, just like that—poof!—it was time to get back to school. (Don’t you hate how that happens?) Back to math, science, social studies, killer bullies, killer food (not in the good way), and of course, Learning Skills with Mr. Fanucci.
“Good morning, everyone. I hope you had fantastic weekends,” he said, just like last week.
“I’d give mine an eight,” Flip said.
“Mine was super!” Maya said. “In fact, it was super-duper!”
“Did you know that the term ‘weekend’ didn’t exist until the sixteen thirties?” Jonny said.
“I went to the science museum with my mom,” Dee-Dee said through her iPad.
I didn’t say anything because I was sitting there thinking about where I wanted to take Junior after school.
Flip had a pretty good nickname for Learning Skills too. He called it “Learning Kills,” and here’s why. At the beginning of every period, we had to show Mr. Fanucci these notebooks he gave us on the first day. In the notebooks, we were supposed to write down every single one of our assignments for every class, so we could keep track of them. Then we had to check off one box if the assignment was done, another box if we had questions about it, another if it was late—
Just… kill… me… now.
Basically, it was like getting all the usual homework plus three extra periods a week for thinking about homework, talking about homework, and writing about homework. Which, by the way, is exactly as boring as doing homework.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m not against doing better in school. I’m just against getting truckloads of extra work. (Mr. “Fun” says it’s not extra work, it’s extra help, but he has to say that. He’s the teacher.)
And none of that was even the worst thing about Learning Skills.
The worst thing was, we met in the resource room. It’s a room off the library, and there’s this big window in the wall in between. So anyone who was in the library during fourth period could see us sitting in there, being “special” with Mr. Fanucci. It was like spending fourth period in the zoo, if you ask me.
Not at the zoo. In the zoo.
Mr. Fanucci told us we shouldn’t worry about those other kids. He said nobody was looking at us nearly as much as we thought. He also said that 99 percent of what we imagined people were thinking about us, they weren’t thinking.
But I’m pretty sure they were.
And right after class that day, I got some proof.
PROOF
When I came out of Learning Skills, guess who was sitting right there in the library?
Miller the Killer. Of course. He was at one of the computers, looking at meathead.com, or whatever it is he does with a computer. I didn’t worry about it too much. Mrs. Seagrave was at the desk, and let’s just say they don’t call her the Bulldog of the Library for nothing. She’ll bite your head off if that’s what it takes to keep you quiet.
But just when I was ready for a clean getaway, Miller pushed back his chair. Then he planted himself between me and the door like a big, steaming pile of NOPE.
“What’s up, Khatchadorian?” he said.
I noticed he didn’t say Khatchadorkian. But even that seemed like a bad sign, somehow.
“Watch out, Miller, I’ve got to go,” I said, like that was going to do me any good.
“What class is that?” Miller said, pointing at the resource room. He said it just loud enough so the kids at the other computers could hear too. But not Mrs. Seagrave.
“It’s Learning Skills,” I said,
and tried to get past him again. “Watch out.”
“Learning Skills? What’s that?” he said, a little louder. A couple of people looked over now.
“You know what it is,” I said.
“Oh, riiiiight!” he said, like he’d just remembered. “So I guess that means—”
“MR. MILLER, THIS IS NOT A SOCIAL CLUB,” Mrs. Seagrave barked. “AND MR. KHATCHADORIAN, DON’T YOU HAVE SOMEWHERE TO BE?” (I swear, she’s the loudest librarian you’ve ever heard.)
So I guess bulldogs can be useful sometimes. It got me out of there, anyway.
But the damage was already done.
See, I always figured I had two things on Miller. I knew he was bigger and scarier, and he could pound me like a railroad spike. But I was faster. I could always outrun him if I had to.
And up until that day, I also thought I was smarter. (Not smart. Just smarter than Miller, which wasn’t that difficult.)
Except—not anymore. Now that I was in Mr. Fanucci’s class, my brain was officially dumber than Miller’s. I knew it. He knew it. And worst of all, he knew I knew it.
And that stunk like an eight-week-old pile of fish guts sitting on the hot blacktop in the middle of August.
Plus just a tiny bit more.
THERE’S ALWAYS ART
The best part of my week was art class. I only had it on Tuesdays and Fridays, but it was with Ms. Donatello, which was cool.
When I started middle school, Ms. D was my English teacher. I used to think that she was the Dragon Lady and that all she wanted was to make my life miserable. (Kind of like you-know-who… Rhymes with Filler, Diller, and Chocolate-Vaniller.)
But it turned out that Ms. D was okay. She’s the first person besides Mom who ever told me I was a good artist. (She actually said “talented,” but that’s just embarrassing.) And she’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a teacher being a friend.