The Center of Everything - By Laura Moriarty Page 0,99

need all the help we can get in the next two weeks.”

“I’ll tell her,” I say, turning around with a wave. “Well, that’s my bus.”

“We could use your help too,” he calls out. But I am already walking toward the bus, and I pull my hood closer around my head, pretending I don’t hear.

If Eileen could see the way that Travis acts in algebra now, she would say he was being a pill. That little pill, she would say, shaking her head. Meaning his behavior is hard to take.

He comes to algebra now because he has to, but he does little things that probably make Mr. Goldman wish he would have just let him stay outside, smoking with Ed Schwebbe in the snow. Travis has joined forces with Ray Watley. They each sneeze loudly every five minutes and say “Bless you” to each other every single time. He doesn’t do his homework. He doesn’t even bring his book.

After three days of this, Mr. Goldman balks. “Travis,” he says, “where’s your book?”

Travis takes his time responding, his fish eyes moving slowly around the room. “Forgot it,” he says.

Mr. Goldman rests his hands on his waist, leaning heavily on one foot. “Okay,” he says. He walks back to Mr. Sellers’s desk and pulls an algebra book out of one of the drawers. The drawer squeaks loudly, but Mr. Sellers doesn’t wake up. “Here you go,” he says. “We’re on page two thirty-six.”

Ray Watley sneezes.

“Bless you, Ray,” Travis says.

Deena’s eyes catch mine. Travis sneezes.

“Bless you, Travis,” Ray says.

Traci Carmichael rolls her eyes, so Libby does too. Mr. Goldman goes back to the chalkboard, where he has drawn a graph with red and blue chalk. He is talking quickly, chopping off the words the way he always does, his hands moving in front of him. I like the way he talks about math, all breathy and excited, like he is letting you in on a secret and you are lucky to be able to hear it.

But only a minute later, he stops talking. “You going to open that book, Travis?”

Travis looks down at the cover of the book, as if he is considering this question for the first time. He yawns and leans his head to the right. “In a while,” he says.

Mr. Goldman nods, scratching the back of his neck. “Go ahead and open it now.”

Travis opens his book to the first page. Ray Watley sneezes again.

“Bless you, Ray.”

Mr. Goldman looks down at his shiny shoes, his mouth moving as if he is trying to do some sort of deep-breathing exercise. “Okay,” he says, clapping his hands together one time, “let’s try this. How about I give you guys the rest of class to work through the problems in this chapter in groups of three. That was going to be your homework for tonight, but you can do it now. If you have questions about tomorrow’s test, just come up, and I’ll help you individually.”

This is quite a deal, a generous offer, and we know it. Deena and I move our desks together, and she nods at Travis to join us. But he’s still looking down at the first page of his book, which has nothing on it but the acknowledgments and copyright dates, and he’s dropping his pencil on his desk over and over again, hard enough for it to bounce up on its eraser. Traci looks up from her paper, nudging Libby.

“Fifth grade,” she whispers.

It’s true. I hate to admit it, but she’s right. Mr. Goldman waits five minutes before he says anything, and when he does, his voice is quiet, calm. “Travis, you can work by yourself, or you can work in a group. But I want you to use this time to work on your assignment. You can’t just sit there.”

Travis catches the pencil in midair and points it at Mr. Goldman. “I’ll do it later.”

It’s so quiet now that all you can hear is the ticktock of the large electric clock on the wall, counting off the seconds, and the sound of Travis’s pencil bouncing on his desk.

“I want you to do it now, Travis.”

He bounces his pencil again. “Well, I want to do it later.”

Ray sneezes again, though even Travis has given this up by now. That’s how dumb it is.

“Then you can leave. You’re absent, okay? You’re not here today mentally, so you’re not here at all.” He walks to the door and opens it, one arm gesturing toward the hallway. “Just go.”

Travis laughs, tucking a

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