No Girls Allowed (Dogs Okay) by Trudi Trueit Page A

denied.
    Are you a kid with a name you hate too? Access allowed.
    My real name is Salvatore Wallingford McNally. Kids were calling me Sally McNally from the second I stepped onto the playground. What were my parents thinking? Spit-swear you’ll never tell anyone my name and destroy this top-secret info immediately! If you could eat it, I’d really appreciate it. Put some chocolate syrup or peanut butter on the page or something. Thanks.
    MY MOST DANGEROUS STUNTS
    Going down Kamikaze Hill at eighty miles per hour my first time on a snowboard. Where are the brakes?
    Letting a tarantula crawl over my face at the zoo. It made my sister pass out!
    Hanging upside down on a broken roller coaster for five and a half hours. All the blood rushes to your head. Cool!
    Flying ten feet, nine inches off Alec Ichikawa’s Super Colossal Dirt Bike Ramp. A new world record!
    Not crying once while getting five stitches in my knee after I flew off Alec’s Super Colossal Dirt Bike Ramp.
    â€œKa-chunk,” I sing with the stapler. “Ka-chunk, ka-chunk. Your feet smell like a skunk.”
    Mr. Huckabee’s bald head appears. It’s extra shiny today. I’ll bet he uses car wax on it. He tells me to come inside.
    â€œScab, what is proper behavior during an assembly?”
    â€œDon’t smack anybody, even if Lewis Pigford smacks you first.”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œDon’t jump around like a frog, even if you gotta pee.”
    â€œNo. Well, yes, that’s true, but—”
    â€œI got in trouble for that last time, though I didn’t have to pee.”
    â€œI think you’re missing—”
    â€œSee, my teacher
thought
I had to pee and she got mad that I didn’t go before we got to the assembly because we’d all made a special bathroom stop. But I had on these new pants my mom made me wear for the school picture and—”
    â€œScab—”
    â€œI guess they had wool in them or something because I got these little red bumps all over my legs and I was itching like crazy—”
    â€œSCAB!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI am not interested in your pants.”
    I slump down. Well, he started it.
    â€œI was talking about your . . . uh . . . performance at the assembly.”
    Why didn’t he say so in the first place? Right now, I ought to be having a contest with Will Greenleaf to see who can toss the most Tater Tots into Cloey Zittle’s hood. Will is my second best friend, after Doyle. The three of us go fishing together every Saturday.
    Teachers have their own secret code. It’s not easy to crack, but I am getting pretty good at it.
    â€œI hear you were making noise while the orchestra was playing.”

    â€œNo,” I say. It wasn’t “noise.”
    It was music. My music. I can arm-fart the national anthem.
    â€œYour teacher says you were disruptive.”
    My armpit was in tune, which is more thanI can say for my sister and the rest of the violins.
Squeeeeeeeeak!
Try “The Star-Mangled Banner.”
    CRACKING THE TEACHER CODE
    WHAT YOUR TEACHER SAYS
WHAT YOUR TEACHER REALLY MEANS
Your drawing is interesting.
It looks like a furball my cat barfed up.
Be courteous to your neighbor.
Poke one more person with that ruler and your butt is fried.
Do your best work.
What you turned in last week was pretty stinky.
Please take this note home to your parents.
You’re in big trouble now.
People, let’s use our inside voices.
SHUT UP!
    â€œScab, if you can’t be considerate, you’ll have to go to the time-out room during school assemblies. Do you want that?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI want nothing less than your best behavior at the next assembly . . .”
    Out of the corner of my eye, I see something outside the window. “Uh-huh.”
    â€œ. . . and I expect you to be cooperative, quiet, and respectful . . .”
    It’s a dog! In the park across the street, a collie is chasing a tennis