I stared at Tiki. She sat straight across from me. She and Red were chatting like besties.
“Mr. Acevedo’s a big fan of breaks,” Red said. “That’s why we’re taking one now.”
“I’m a big fan of breaks, too,” Tiki said, smiling.
“Breaks last about five to ten minutes,” Red said.
“It would be horrible if cars and trucks didn’t stop!” Tiki leaned forward. “I’m a big fan of brakes, too.”
“Mr. Acevedo is not a big fan of homework.” Red kept going. “Mr. Acevedo’s not a big fan of tests.”
“Something tells me Mr. Acevedo’s not a big fan of worksheets either.”
“Mr. Acevedo’s not, Takara Eid!” Red pointed to the large NWZ—NO WORKSHEET ZONE—sign next to the whiteboard.
I let out a puff.
After Bryan left last week, Mr. Acevedo said everyone could change seats, but Red and I didn’t because we liked our seats by the windows, and Red only sits facing doors. Miles moved to a table in the back so he could sit with Noah, and Trinity moved to the middle table with the OMG girls—Olivia, Mariam, and Grace. That meant the two seats across from Red and me were open. We had the table to ourselves.
Until …
“Do you know what T3 is, Takara Eid?” Red asked.
“I have a hunchabalooga you’re going to tell me, Blake Daniels.”
“Hunchabalooga isn’t even a word,” I said.
“It is to me.” Tiki pointed to herself with both index fingers. “I love making up words.”
“T3 is Teacher’s Theater Time,” Red said. “That’s when Mr. Acevedo reads to the class. Mr. Acevedo reads to the class every day. Mr. Acevedo’s the best reader.”
“You can’t just make up words,” I said.
“Why not?” Tiki placed her elbows on the table and cupped her hands around her chin. “I love having my own words. It’s so much fun. Fa-real-zees. That means for real.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Who says?”
I twisted a lock near my forehead at its root and looked over at Mr. Acevedo. He was sitting on the lip of the bathtub in the meeting area, talking with Diego and Xander.
Why do I have to show her around? Why can’t somebody else?
“At this one school I went to,” Tiki said, “there were fifteen fifth-grade classes. Fifteen! And at this other school, there were only forty-four kids in the whole school.”
“How many schools have you been to, Takara Eid?” Red asked.
“This year?” She counted fingers. “Four.”
“Why do you move around so much?” I asked.
“We just do,” she said.
“We call independent reading Choice,” Red said. “We call it Choice because we’re allowed to read whatever we want.”
“I like reading nonfiction,” Tiki said.
“Most of the nonfiction is over there.” Red pointed to the corner by the Swag Wall. “Some of the nonfiction is on top of the cubbies in the silver toolboxes. Some of the nonfiction is in the orange, green, and yellow milk crates.”
Ms. Yvonne walked in.
“Hi, Ms. Yvonne.” Red waved.
“Hi, Red,” Ms. Yvonne said, heading for our table. “And you must be Takara.”
“Yeppers,” she said. “Everyone calls me Tiki, except for Red.”
Ms. Yvonne sat down. “Honey, why don’t you put those away?” She nodded to the headphones still around Red’s neck. “You don’t need them now.”
Red slipped them off his neck, spun them around his wrist, and rolled them into his desk. Red can do tons of cool tricks with his headphones.
“As soon as break ends,” Ms. Yvonne said to Red, “we’re going over your writer’s notebook.”
“Thanks, Ms. Yvonne.”
“I want to see yours, too,” she said to me.
Whenever Ms. Yvonne was in ELA—which was most of the time—she helped all the kids, not just the ones with services.
I tilted back my chair, grabbed a composition notebook from the windowsill, and slid it across to Tiki.
“Here,” I said.
“All your writing work goes in there.” Ms. Yvonne tapped the cover. “So you’re from Egypt, Tiki?”
“My family is.”
“Have you ever been?”
“Not yet.” Her thick eyebrows curved up. “Most of my family has. Pop was raised there.”
“Pop?” I said. “You call your dad Pop?”
“Yeppers.”
I let out a puff and checked the clock. Less than three hours until lunch.