FOURTEEN

Nervous Rex here. I guess it’s my turn to take over the story.

A week later, we were in school getting ready for art class.

Art class makes me nervous because I never know what to draw or paint or what to make. And I always think everyone else is better than me.

One day after class, I went up to Mrs. Hooping-Koff and told her how I felt. “I always think everyone is better than me,” I said.

“Yes, everyone is better than you,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do your best.”

Those encouraging words meant a lot to me.

We were all sitting on wooden stools around a long table, waiting for Mrs. Hooping-Koff to hand out art supplies. Wacky Jackie stuck two paintbrushes in her nose. “Check it out. I’m a walrus,” she said.

Cranky Frankie frowned at her. “Jackie, did anyone ever tell you you’re a riot?” he asked.

Jackie shook her head. “No.”

“Well, there’s a reason,” Frankie said. “Why don’t you shut your yap?

Rob Slob had a runny nose. He always has a runny nose. “Does anyone have a tissue?” he asked. He had already dripped a big puddle of snot on the table in front of him.

“Just use the back of your hand,” Wacky Jackie said. “That’s what I do.” She held up her hand, and it had a huge glob of green drippy stuff hanging from it.

“No one has a tissue? No problem,” Rob Slob said, and wiped a glob of snot onto the front of Luke Puke’s T-shirt.

Wacky Jackie turned to Babbling Brooke, who was sitting across the table from her. “Brooke, do you eat spaghetti with your right hand or your left hand?” she asked.

“My right hand,” Brooke said. “Why?”

Jackie giggled. “That’s funny. I use a fork!”

Everyone laughed. That was a pretty good joke.

Jokes make me nervous. I never know if they are funny or not. And then I don’t know how long I should laugh.

I tried to tell a joke once. But I got too nervous to finish it and I had to run away.

Rob Slob made a disgusted face. “Where is that horrible smell coming from?”

“Can you spell Y-O-U?” Cranky Frankie said.

Rob sniffed both armpits. “No . . . it’s not me.”

He’s so lucky. He can’t smell his own odor.

“Get real! You stink!” Luke Puke cried.

Just then Mrs. Hooping-Koff came into the room. “You need to broaden your vocabulary, Luke,” she said. “Rob doesn’t stink. He has a putrid aroma.”

“He has a putrid aroma that stinks!” Luke replied.

“That’s much better,” our teacher said.