“Something’s up,” Red said when we got to Room 208 the next morning.
When Red says something’s up, something usually is. Though this time, even I could see something was up.
Mr. Acevedo was wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt. A blue sport jacket hung across the armrest of his chair. It was the first time all year he wasn’t wearing jeans.
As the other kids filed in, everyone had a reaction.
“Looking dope, Mr. Acevedo,” Attie said.
When Melissa arrived, she checked the number on the door to make sure she had the right room, just like she did the first time she’d laid eyes on Mr. Acevedo.
“Who died?” Declan said as he walked in. “What time’s the funeral?”
This was bad. Seriously, seriously bad.
“So no one freaks out,” Mr. Acevedo said, after most of the kids were in the room, “let’s start off with CC today.”
A few moments later, we were seated in the meeting area.
“What’s the story?” Miles asked.
“Spill it, Teach,” Declan said. “What’s up?”
Mr. Acevedo smiled. “What makes you think something’s up?”
Declan, who was lying in the bathtub, popped to his feet and stood in the tub. “Let me count the ways,” he said. “One, you’re not smiling. Well, you are right now, but you weren’t until a second ago. Two, you’re sitting in your chair. You never sit in your chair at CC. You always sit on the carpet. Three, you have your thermos. You never bring your thermos to CC. Four—”
“You can stop now.” Mr. Acevedo held up his hand. “You’re right, something’s up.”
I looked around. Avery was parked by the door. She was twisting a paper clip in her lap. Her head was down. Diego sat on the floor beside her. His head was down, too, and all I could see was his blue-and-yellow one-eyed Minion hat. Tiki was a couple beanbags to my left. Her arms were crossed, and her fists were clenched. She was staring at Mr. Acevedo. Red sat in a chair on the far side of the couch. He was spinning a pen cap on the cover of the composition notebook in his lap. Ms. Yvonne was beside him with her hand on his back.
“I have to attend a couple meetings today,” Mr. Acevedo said, pulling back his hair. “I’m not a big fan of meetings during our class time, but these are meetings I need to attend.”
My brain was bursting. The meetings were about us. The meetings had to be about us. We got him in trouble. Big trouble. We pushed the envelope too far.
“RJE is experiencing growing pains,” he said. “That’s no secret. So I’ve been asked to meet with some people today. Without going into too many details, we’re trying to get to the root of a few of these growing pains and maybe find a few solutions.” He bongo-drummed his legs. “But don’t you worry, I’ll be back in my jeans tomorrow.”