EllRay Jakes Is Not a Chicken by Sally Warner Page B

happening?
    Because it wouldn’t do any good, and here’s why:
    1. If the other boys in our class knew about this three-person war, they would take sides, and then it would just turn into a bigger war. But it wouldn’t be over for me.
    2. If the girls in our class knew, they would whisper and stare, and I hate that.
    3. If my mom knew what was happening, she would probably call Jared’s mother and complain. And of course that would only make things worse for me in the long run.
    4. If my dad knew about our war, he would FREAK OUT. First, he would call Ms. Sanchez or the principal. Then they would make a big announcement to the whole class about fighting, and then the grown-ups would study the problem to death, because studying things is what my dad likes best in the whole wide world.
    But there’s nothing to study about why Jared hates me. I think he’s just bored, and he is taking it out on me.
    Or maybe beating me up was Jared’s New Year’s resolution.
    Our war started for no reason, and it will probably end for no reason.
    I just have to live through it, that’s all.
    But the point is, this is a terrible Monday. And I know it sounds dumb, but I am a kid who usually likes Mondays—because Monday gives you a brand-new start.
    Monday is like a spelling test that your teacher has just passed out, and you haven’t had time yet to make any mistakes. It’s like a blank piece of art paper that you haven’t messed up. Monday is like the second after your teacher asks you a mental math question in front of the whole class—but you haven’t given the wrong answer. Yet .
    Any good thing can happen on a Monday!
    Not this Monday, though.

3
    â€œBEHAVIOR: NEEDS IMPROVEMENT”
    â€œYou don’t have to keep saying it, Dad, because I already promised,” I tell my father that night after dinner, which was pork chops and mashed potatoes, and some kind of vegetable that I spread around on my plate so it at least looked half-eaten.
    I am trying to keep my voice calm, steady, and well-behaved.
    Dr. Warren Jakes—also known as Dad—is giving me a “talking-to,” which is the same talking-to I’ve been getting from him ever since my progress report came out last week.
    â€œBehavior: Needs improvement,” Ms. Sanchez wrote.
    Teachers never think about what happens after they send home a report card or a note, because writing that comment in my progress report was like telling my dad that his hair was on fire.
    My father is a big, strong guy who wears glasses. He is also very smart. He is a college professor who teaches geology in San Diego.
    Geology is rocks, basically.
    Teaching about rocks must be the most boring job in the whole world. Do not tell anyone I said this! But I wish he were a fireman—or a professional extreme snowboarder.

    That would be a whole lot cooler, if you ask me.
    But even though his job is usually pretty boring, like I just said, my dad and I sometimes get to go on really fun camping trips to Utah, Arizona, and Nevada, where we collect specimens and eat hot dogs and s’mores.
    We’ve seen rattlesnakes and tarantulas and wild pigs called javelinas!
    I love to do alone stuff with my dad.
    The only bad thing about my dad is that I think he wants me to be a shorter version of him: smart, serious, and sensible.

    I think he might even want me to become a geologist some day.
    Don’t get your hopes up, Dad!

    â€œPay attention, son,” my father tells me, scowling.
    â€œI’m bringing up this unpleasant subject for a reason. Ms. Sanchez called to say you were bothering your neighbor in class this afternoon.”
    â€œMs. Sanchez tattled on me?” I ask.
    I am really, really mad at my teacher when I hear this, because you can get in trouble at school for something, and you can get in trouble at home, but you should never get in trouble both places for the same thing.
    I think it’s a rule.
    It