“Good afternoon, Ms. Tinkle,” we all say. I think I say it a little louder than everyone else, because she looks straight at me.

“Welcome to drama class, everyone! We’ll be working together this spring. The word ‘drama’ comes from the Greek word for action, and here you will learn to act and tell a story onstage.” It’s hard to pay attention because I’m thinking about Ms. Tinkle—about her name, actually. Tinkle. It reminds me of something, but I’m not sure what. Then I remember a silly rhyme my mom made up and used to sing to me:

“My little Lola, with her smiling dimples,

Tell Mommy when it’s time to tinkle!

My little Lola, bumblebee,

Tell Mommy when it’s time to wee!”

All of a sudden, I really, really have to go to the bathroom.

“Ms. Tinkle! Ms. Tinkle!” I raise my hand. “May I be excused? I have to tinkle—I mean pee.” Did I just say “tinkle”? Cow barn, I think. I should have said “use the bathroom.”

Makayla Miller laughs and whispers something to Alyssa. When they whisper, it’s usually about me, and I dislike that very much. I see other kids giggling, too, and even Josh thinks it’s funny. Ms. Tinkle does not look too happy.

“Fine,” she says. “You may use the restroom.”

Then Juan Gomez raises his hand and says, “Ms. Tinkle, I need to tinkle, too. May I be excused?” Now everyone is laughing.

“Silence!” Ms. Tinkle says. “I’ll have you know that the word ‘tinkle’ is a sound, not only an action.” To prove her point, she waves her arms, and the little bells on one of her bracelets make a tinkling sound.

When Juan and I get back from the bathroom, the class is in a big circle, and Ms. Tinkle’s cheeks are red. I feel bad because I think I’m the reason everyone laughed at her name, and I sure know how that feels: not very good.

“Okay, class, let’s warm up,” says Ms. Tinkle.

“I can lead warm-ups!” I say. “I’m the captain of my soccer team, the Orange Smoothies, and I lead warm-ups all the time!”

“Nobody cares, Lola,” says Alyssa. I try to follow Dad’s advice to ignore people when they are being mean.

“We are going to warm up with improv games today, class,” Ms. Tinkle says.

“Why do we have to warm up for drama?” Juan asks.

“Well,” Ms. Tinkle says, “we need to warm up our acting muscles!”

I don’t understand. I don’t know what “improv” means, and I have no clue which of my muscles is my acting one.

“I’m not talking about the muscles in your body. I’m talking about warming up your mind and letting your imagination run free!” Ms. Tinkle explains. “Improvisation teaches you how to create without any preparation. You have to think on your feet. Now raise your hands in the air! Wave like wheat.”

“Wave like wheat?” I whisper to Josh. “How does wheat wave?”

“Like this,” he says, and waves his hands and bops me on the head.

“Now buzz like bees!” Ms. Tinkle says, and the whole class buzzes, which is fun until people start poking one another and yelling, “You’ve been stung!”

Alyssa doesn’t like that game, I guess, because she yells, “Lola just poked me in the eye, and my mom isn’t going to like this!” I actually poked Alyssa’s cheek, which is very different, in my opinion. Ms. Tinkle quickly tells us to pretend we are frogs, ribbiting and hopping around, but things get a little crazy when Juan tries to leap over Josh and ends up knocking over a trash can. A full trash can, which includes the grape juice someone didn’t finish at lunch and a smelly tuna sandwich.

Ms. Tinkle, who is looking a little less twinkly, says, “Statues! Stand perfectly still and SILENT like statues.” Then, with a tinkle and a clink and a clang of her bracelets, she walks toward the door of the gym, where Ms. Garcia is waiting.

“I think we’ve had enough drama, I mean, learned enough about drama today,” Ms. Tinkle says. “Class dismissed.”