Pack of Dorks by Beth Vrabel Page B

staring at his sneakers for me to see what his face was saying.
    “I thought it was amazing,” I whispered when he sat down at his desk in front of me. Sam didn’t even turn around. Only the smallest tilt of his head my way let me know that he even heard me. “How did you learn how to do that?”
    He shrugged his shoulders.
    Tom asked to use the pencil sharpener, which was on the wall beside our row. “Ooo-oo, ah-ah!” he hissed like a monkey as he walked by. I glared at him as hard as I could.
    “Ignore him,” I whispered to Sam. But this time he didn’t act like he heard me at all. He slouched as low as he could in his desk and didn’t speak, smile, or move until Ms. Drake dismissed us at the end of the day. And then he wouldn’t get up from the desk until everyone—including me—left the room.
    I was really beginning to wonder what I had ever seen in Tom.

    During gym class the next day, the boys got to play kickball while the girls had to go into another classroom and listen to the nurse talk about all the “exciting changes” about to happen as we “embrace our womanhood.” I will never speak of what I learned and refuse to believe it.
    So the girls were already lined up for lunch in the cafeteria when the boys entered, sweaty and happy and loud. Tom and Henry made it to the line behind the girls first, and out of loyalty to Sam (and, let’s be honest, a general annoyance with boys), I turned on my heel and would not look back.
    Hoping for a chance to distract Sam from being called a monkey so much today, I loaded my tray with dare-worthy foods—the plastic-y pink moist stuff the lunch ladies called “turkey ham,” creamed corn, and refried beans. (Sidetrack here, but the beans only look gross. They taste divine. I usually gobble them down in three quick spoonfuls when the bell rings and no one’s looking.) But when I got to our table, Sam wasn’t there.
    A few tables away, Becky was holding her stomach, forcing out a laugh that was too loud and stinging to be real. Tom sat back in his chair, his elbows hooked on the sides and his legs spread out straight in front of him. It was like he was taking up as much room as he could; just the opposite of Sam trying to disappear during class. Henry was bragging about something to Becky, his face red and his grin huge.
    I stared at my tray, letting the sloshy something’s-wrong feeling in my stomach churn.
    “Oh no! Really?” April’s undeniable screech pulled my attention away from the tray. She and Sheldon were sitting at the table just behind me. I half-turned toward them so they would know I was listening.
    “Yeah,” Sheldon said. “First, Tom hit Sam right in the you-know-what during kickball. Coach was so steamed, Tom had to sit out the rest of the game. But you could see Tom smiling the whole time. I mean, he looked like a Dimetroden, his smile was so big.”
    “Wow!” April said politely.
    “Forget the dinosaur!” I broke in. “Then what happened?”
    Sheldon and April both stared at me. Then, very slowly, Sheldon said, “The Dimetroden isn’t a dinosaur. It was warm-blooded and therefore obviously not a dinosaur.”
    I stared back. “Fine. Not a dinosaur. What happened to Sam?” I hissed.
    “Finding out about your monkey boy?” Henry’s stupid snorty voice came from just behind me. “Don’t worry; he’s just hung up at the moment.” Tom and Becky bellowed from across the room.
    “You’re such a jerk!” I snapped. But I didn’t use the word jerk. I used the word Grandma had used that I’m not supposed to say but find myself thinking a lot recently.
    Henry’s already red face flared. “Whoops,” he muttered and then tipped my tray right onto my lap. How dare he touch my beans! The turkey ham landed with a plop on the floor beside me, but the beans and creamed corn splattered my jeans from my waist to my ankle.
    “Ugh!”
    “Jerk!” April shouted. But she didn’t use the word jerk, either. And she said it a lot louder