An eraser bounces off the back of my head. “Two points!” yells Brian.

“Quit it. I’m not playing,” I grunt.

Brian shrugs and hurls an eraser at Seth, who ducks behind his chair.

They’re just ignorant.

Brian burps.

They’re just ignorant burping moose.

I ignore them and think of yesterday. I look around the class. I still can’t believe we made it through the entire field trip without being caught.

Yow. Yow. Yow.

But not everyone is celebrating our success. Maggie runs around in a panic and yanks her hair. “We need to practice the play! We are not prepared! Friday is in two days!” she shouts.

No one pays much attention to her. But she’s right. If we don’t practice, our performance will stink.

I want to impress our parents Friday night. I want to impress my mom, most of all.

I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time on a homework project before. I’ve been spending a lot of time revising and editing the play, even at home.

Not that this is homework, because I assigned it to myself.

No, I think it counts as homework. It should count as homework, anyway.

The crowd applauds as we act and sing—

Maybe I could get used to this homework thing.

I’m especially proud of the songs. Everyone loves a musical.

But instead of rehearsing, Adam and Lizzie doodle on the floor. Danny and Gavin play paper football. Cooper eats a candy bar.

I whistle. Loudly. Everyone looks at me. “Maggie says we need to practice the play,” I snap.

Maggie throws me a grateful smile. Adam and Lizzie stop doodling and join her, and so do all the other actors. Behind me, Giovanna and Samantha remove a roll of large brown paper from our supply closet to start the set decorations.

Brian and Seth continue to hurl erasers at each other and burp.

Don’t they get sick of goofing off?

I think about last night. Mom was busy changing AJ’s diaper, and she asked me to take the meat loaf out of the oven. I told her I would in a moment, and I was planning to do it at the next commercial break, except I forgot.

Mom was pretty steamed, although she was not as steamy as the burnt meat loaf, which Mom made us eat even though it was charred and black. Marley and Nate wouldn’t talk to me the rest of the night.

Later, I asked Mom about the promotion and she said she was turning it down. I begged her to reconsider. I told her I’d hold down the fort.

She told me that she didn’t want the promotion and it had nothing to do with me.

I don’t believe her.

I haven’t told her I wrote the class play. I want to surprise her. Maybe, if the play is absolutely fantastic, she’ll see that she can depend on me.

I’ll prove to her that I’m good for something. I’ll prove that to everyone.

A flying eraser grazes my hair. “I said I’m not playing,” I grumble to Seth.

“You’re no fun anymore,” says Brian.

I ignore him and join the actors. As the playwright, I need to be prepared to make more script changes and help the director.

I should write a part for our hamster, Soda. Soda can play the part of George Washington’s dog. I think he had a lot of dogs.

Wait. Soda! I forgot to feed him this morning. That’s my job.

How am I supposed to take care of my brothers and sisters if I can’t even remember to feed a hamster?

I hurry to Soda’s cage to fill his food bowl with hamster food pellets and to refill his water bottle.

The top of the cage is open. That’s strange.

“How are you doing, Soda?” I ask with a smile.

But when I look inside, Soda is missing.

“Hey! Who has Soda?” I ask loudly, scanning the room.

No one says a word. Everyone stares at me. I point at the cage. “Soda is gone. Who has him?”

I’m met with silence and blank stares.

“Who was the last person to go in his cage?” I ask.

I’m met with more silence. More stares.

I fed him yesterday before the field trip. I remember, because I lifted him from the cage, stroked his fur, and pretended to throw him at Emmy and then Jasmine.

They fall for that joke every time, screaming and cringing. It was funny. It’s always funny.

After that, I put Soda down on the floor while I poured some food into his dish. Then I put Soda back, right? Then I closed the door, right?

Or did I start playing Eraser Wars?

“You’ve lost our hamster?” Jade sounds very angry. She glares at me.

“No, of course not,” I say. I mean, I couldn’t have lost Soda, right?

I’m not that completely worthless, am I?

My stomach starts twitching with worry. My mouth fills with spit, like I’m going to get sick. I duck down to look under the desk, but there’s no Soda hiding there. “Help me find him!” I shout. My voice fills with panic.

“Soda’s a girl,” says Ryan.

“Then help me find her!” I shout, louder.

But, really? Soda is a girl?

Everyone in class stops what they were doing to crawl around the floor, checking under desks and in the corners. Even Brian and Seth quit throwing erasers to join the search.

Maggie looks in the teacher’s desk, opening drawers as if our hamster suddenly acquired the magical power of opening and hiding in drawers. But I suppose we need to check every inch of the room.

Cooper looks in the supply cabinet. I check the bookshelf.

Nothing.

Soda is gone. Vanished. And it’s all my fault.

I really am good for nothing.