Avery and I kicked butt on our project this week. We wrote the persuasive essay and finished the final draft of our page. All we had left to do was work on the oral presentation. We were doing that this weekend.
Mr. Acevedo needed to conference with all the groups today to go over another schedule change. The oral presentations were supposed to start on Monday—it still said so on the due-date chart—but they were now starting on Wednesday because Mr. Acevedo had to attend a teacher-training workshop.
“For the life of me,” he said when he told us, “I don’t understand why they schedule these things during the school day. It’s disruptive and disrespectful. I’d much rather be in here with you than have to sit through two days of PowerPoints and lectures.”
We weren’t going to have a sub while Mr. Acevedo was out. We were going to have two days of extra math and science.
I lay on the carpet with my legs across a beanbag chair. Avery sat parked beside the bathtub. We were up next, waiting to conference with Mr. Acevedo.
Suddenly, I shot up.
“No way!” I spun to Avery.
“What?” she said.
I scrambled across the carpet and sat on the lip of the tub. “Your name,” I said.
“What about it?”
“I figured it out.”
She squeezed her brakes. “Dude, what are you talking about?”
“Avery Goodman.” I tapped her name on the front of her project folder.
“So?”
She knew what I was talking about. I could tell. She knew exactly what I was talking about.
“Avery Goodman,” I said again. “A very—”
“Don’t!” She cut me off. “Come with me.” She wheeled for the door. “Mr. Acevedo,” she said, interrupting Noah and Lana’s conference, “we’ll be in the hall.”
I followed her out.
“Who told you?” she asked, hockey-stopping in front of the stairs.
“No one.”
“Someone had to tell you.”
“Honest, no one did.” I smiled. “A very good man. Avery Goodman.”
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Dude!” She rolled into my leg.
“Ouch.” I jumped back.
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“Okay.” I laughed. “But I don’t see what’s the big deal about—”
“I’m serious, dude. I don’t want people to know.”
“Okay, I heard you.” I still smiled.
“I don’t want people to know,” she said again. She lowered her voice. “You’re my first friend to figure it out.”
“What did you just say?”
“I said you’re the first one to figure it out.”
“No, that’s not what you said.” I smiled more. “You said I was your first friend to figure it out.”
“No, I didn’t.” She squeezed her brakes.
“Yes, you did, Avery. You called me your friend.”
“No, I … well, I meant anyone.”
“You meant friend.”
“Whatever, dude.”