We’re walking to the next museum exhibit when Brian yells to me, “Last one to the drinking fountain is a rotten egg!”

I’m no rotten egg, that’s for sure. I don’t even like regular eggs, unless you’re throwing them at someone.

I think:

Some eggs are hard and others are runny.

But throw an egg at a head? That’s pretty funny.

Brian gets a big lead to the fountain because he starts running before he even finishes saying “egg,” which is cheating. But I’m way faster than him or Seth.

Seth gets off to a poor start, so he’s got “rotten egg” written all over him.

I almost smack into an old lady who’s walking in the hallway—“Excuse me!” she snaps—but I sidestep her just before we collide. I skid slightly on the floor but overtake Brian at the wire, reaching the water fountain one arm length in front. “I smell rotten eggs,” I say, and then take a long winner’s sip from the spout.

Seth arrives last. I keep my finger on the fountain button so the water keeps spraying, and slap my palm against it.

Water splashes onto Seth and Brian, a big wave on their shirts, and a little puddle lands on the pants of an old guy standing next to us. “Watch it!” he huffs at me.

“Sorry,” I say with a giggle.

A few other adults glare at us in the hallway.

Still, this is the best field trip ever. No teacher. No rules. We can run in the halls.

The rest of our class is already looking at the Native American exhibit, and we join them. Inside the room, glass displays feature Native Americans wearing long feathery headdresses and tan shirts with bright red and green patterns around the shoulders. On the wall hangs a painting of an entire caravan of Native Americans hunting buffalo. An old canoe dangles from the ceiling.

A sign next to me describes how people lived back in the early 1400s, way before English settlers came to the area. I lean over to read it.

“Boring!” Brian burps out from behind me.

I open my mouth and push out a burp of my own. It’s not as loud as Brian’s, but for an on-the-spot, unprepared burp, it’s not half bad.

“Listen to me!” says Seth. His burp rumbles for ten seconds, easy. We crack up.

“Knock it off,” says Paige, who is standing near us with Lacey and Maggie. She folds her arms and glares at us with disapproval etched into her pursed lips. “You guys should grow up and try learning something. You sound like burping moose. You can’t be ignorant bullies your whole lives, you know.”

“I know stuff!” I retort as Paige shakes her head.

The three girls glare at us and I frown back at them. Sure, I don’t get grades like they get, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know stuff. Books and school things aren’t the only things worth knowing. For example, it takes real talent to burp well. You have to swallow a bunch of air, open your airway, and then let it out quickly. Not everyone can do that.

And I wrote a play. I make up rhymes. That takes talent, too.

I’m not just an ignorant bully or a burping moose.

Don’t worry—you can count on me!

I’m a new Kyle! Just wait and see.

The girls stomp away as Brian burps again, short and quiet. Seth laughs, but I don’t. Burping doesn’t seem so funny anymore.

This exhibit is actually interesting. I turn my back on the burping-moose boys and try to focus on it. Right next to us, a glass case is filled with all sorts of arrowheads, and over in the corner sits a tepee. I hear Seth burp behind me and snicker.

Paige, Lacey, and Maggie stomp straight toward Mr. Chips, who stands with Samantha and Giovanna. As the girls talk to him, Paige points at us with stabbing, angry gestures.

I bet she’s telling him we’re ignorant.

Mr. Chips answers her in a loud, booming voice. It’s even louder than Brian’s burps, so I can hear it clearly, even across the room. “Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none!”

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

Brian burps. Seth laughs.

There are plenty of other people in the exhibit room, too. Some stare at Mr. Chips, and some glare at us. Brian burps again.

“Knock it off,” I say.

“What’s gotten into you?” snaps Brian.

“Nothing.” I read the exhibit sign next to me.

Brian burps, but I ignore him.

“Let’s go to the next room,” says Seth.

I’m not ready to go, though. I haven’t finished looking at the exhibits in this room. There’s a display across the room showing a bunch of people dancing around a fire, their faces covered in paint. It looks interesting.

“I bet we could make a break for it,” Brian whispers to me. “The old dude wouldn’t even notice.”

“Last one to the cafeteria is a rotten egg!” says Seth.

“Knock it off, guys,” I grumble. “You’re acting like ignorant moose.”

Someone shouts, and it’s not Brian or Seth doing the yelling, either. It’s Mr. Chips again. Now he’s arguing with a security guard. Samantha and Eric are with them. I wonder what’s going on.

“Thou lump of foul deformity!” Mr. Chips says loudly. “The tartness of your face sours ripe grapes. I denounce you, sir.”

I have no idea what Mr. Chips is talking about, but he’s angry and he looks like he wants to punch the guard.

Yow. Yow. Yow.