Don't Make Me Smile by Barbara Park

still not paying attention in class, so I feel it’s time I let you know what is happening.
    In addition to his grades, his behavior has also taken a turn for the worse. Charles used to be a very well behaved boy. Lately, however, he has started to become rather rude, both to me and to others in the classroom.
    I would appreciate any effort that you and his father would make to see that Charles changes both his behavior and his grades. If all of us work together, I’m sure we can get him back on the right track.
    Sincerely, Edna Fensel
    Rude?
I couldn’t believe it! She actually told my mother that I was
rude.
    What’s so rude about telling a teacher that you think spelling stinks? Especially when it’sthe truth. And especially when Mrs. Fensel started the whole conversation herself.
    After I got my last spelling test back, she came over to my desk and asked me what was wrong with my spelling lately.
    â€œNothing is wrong with my spelling,” I said. “The reason I got a D is because you marked ‘russia’ wrong. I spelled ‘russia’ right.”
    She looked at my paper.
    â€œ
Russia
has a capital,” she said.
    â€œI know,” I said. “The capital of Russia is Moscow.”
    Mrs. Fensel didn’t laugh at my joke. She pretended she didn’t even hear it, in fact.
    â€œIf you don’t spell Russia with a capital, it’s wrong,” she said.
    That’s when I said, “Spelling stinks.”
    â€œPardon me?” said Mrs. Fensel.
    â€œStinks. S-T-I-N-K-S,” I spelled.
    Mrs. Fensel gave me an angry look. At first, I didn’t think she was going to do anything more. But instead of yelling at me, she wrote that note to my mother. What a squealer. A guy makes a couple of amusing comments, and boom … he gets a note sent home.
    Anyway, after I read the note, I was very glad I hadn’t shown it to my mother. At least I wasglad until about 8:30 that night. At 8:30, I stopped being glad about a lot of things. That’s when Mrs. Fensel called.
    I was in the shower when the phone rang. But after I got out, I could hear my mother talking. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who she was talking to. She kept saying stuff like “Yes, Mrs. Fensel, I know he’s having a hard time.” And “No, Mrs. Fensel, I don’t know why he didn’t show it to me.”
    I was doomed.
    Wait.
    Or
was
I?
    An idea popped into my head that just might work.
    I threw on my pajamas and ran into my room to get the note. I decided not to put it back in its torn-up envelope. I thought it might look suspicious. So I just folded it up and ran to my mother. She had just hung up the phone.
    â€œOh, wow, Mom,” I said. “I almost forgot to give you this note. I just thought about it while I was in the shower. It’s from Mrs. Fensel.”
    My mother grabbed the note out of my hand and read it. She had this look on her face like she was about to explode.
    After she finished reading, her expressionchanged. She got a funny grin. It wasn’t what you’d call a happy grin, though. It was more like the kind of grin that insane people have on TV shows.
    She began walking toward me very slowly. It really made me nervous. I started backing up. I backed all the way into the wall. She had me cornered.
    My mother leaned real close to me. Then she put her hands on my shoulders and began talking very softly.
    â€œCharles,” she said, “I’m going to give you three weeks. That’s three,” she repeated, as she held up her fingers. “One … two … three. And if at the end of three weeks, your grades aren’t back up to where they are supposed to be, you are going to be one very unhappy boy.”
    I looked at her face. The insane grin was still there.
    I gulped. “What do you mean? What will happen to me?” I asked.
    â€œOh … let’s see. Do you want a