After the nurse left, Mr. K told us that this week we were going to learn about different jobs.

“Who knows what they want to be when they grow up?” he asked.

Cat raised her hand. “A bounty hunter.”

“Not surprising. Anybody else?”

One kid wanted to be a veterinarian. Another kid named Jeffers said he wanted to be a sound-effects guy for movies. He said he already figured out how they make a sound effect in Star Wars.

“If you hold one end of a Slinky up to your ear and wiggle the other end, it sounds just like a Star Wars blaster,” he said.

This girl named Myra said she wanted to either drive the truck that picks up roadkill or open her own burrito stand.

Note to future self: Never buy a burrito from anyone named Myra.

I didn’t raise my hand. The thing is, I have no idea what I want to be. You would think I’d want to be a Lego designer or something like that. The problem is that when someone tells me I have to do something, I wind up not wanting to do it. I’m worried that being a Lego designer would make me hate Legos, and that would be tragic. I figured I should choose a job that people would tell me I shouldn’t do. I even made a list of those jobs:

But most of these jobs end in injury or death, and as you know, I am a giant coward. So I figured I should rethink things.

Boris’s hand shot up.

“Yes, Big Chunks,” Mr. K said.

“I’m going to go into the family business,” he said.

Now this interested me, because I know nothing about Boris’s family. I’ve never even seen them. The only thing I know about them is that his mother makes good spaghetti and his father likes to pretend that his green beans can talk to each other. I know this because Perry once had dinner at their house.

“What is your family’s business?” Mr. K asked.

“They’re worm farmers,” said Boris.

Note to self: Never eat spaghetti at Boris’s house.