Stacey and I are on our way to study hall
when Timothy passes us in the hall
on his way to shop.
“What are you making?” I ask.
“A table. Wanna see?”
Then Stacey says, “Be careful, Timothy—
this girl gets crazy ideas.”
I look cross-eyed at her and say,
“There’s nothing to miss in study hall,”
and go the opposite way with Timothy.
The shop classroom smells so good—
like sawdust and oil and hot wood
and boys. It reminds me
of working with Timothy last spring.
I feel like I belong in this room,
and sit at one of the tables.
The boys at the table look at me
but don’t say anything.
Mr. Sperangio comes in.
I must stick out, because he sees me right away.
“I believe you’re in the wrong class.
This is shop.”
“I know. I want to be here.”
The boys laugh.
“Look here, young lady,” he says,
“you can’t do that.”
“But I know how to use all the tools,
so you won’t have to train me.”
“That’s not the point.”
The boys stare and twist and laugh
and look at Mr. Sperangio
to see what he’ll do next.
“You need to go back to study hall.”
I put on my best smile, and
say, “But I’ll learn more here
than in study hall.”
The boys say, “Oooh.”
“This is not a conversation,
Miss Oliver. Either go to study hall
or the office. It’s your choice.
But you can’t stay here.”
“What difference would it make
if I sat here and listened?”
“Do you want detention,
young lady?
Because that’s what you’re asking for.”
I don’t want detention again.
I do want to take shop.
So I get off the stool.
“That’s a wise decision,” says Mr. Sperangio.
At lunch, Stacey says, “You were late for study hall.”
And I tell her about shop.
She says, “I love drama. I’ll go with you next time.”
That’s another thing I love about Stacey—
she knows there will be a next time.