The Clueless Girl's Guide to Being a Genius by Janice Repka

game as Angel, a burly man in a purple suit jacket, and Bruno, a dark-skinned man with a huge Afro, demonstrated. On each table, fifteen balls were herded together in a plastic triangle. Eight were solid and seven striped. One player had to knock the solid-color balls in the pockets and the other player had to knock in the striped balls. The black 8-ball would go in last.
    I put two students each at the pool tables; Mr.Finch joined them to make it even. The instructors—Angel, Bruno, Snake, Freddy, and Princess—demonstrated how to chalk the sticks and “break” the balls to start the game. During the demonstration, I grabbed a stick and sunk bank shots.
    â€œI never would have figured you for the pool hall type,” Roland said.
    â€œWe all have secrets,” I replied.
    Actually, I had never been to a pool hall. I had picked up the game while at Harvard. When I felt homesick, I would go to the recreation room at Dr. Goode’s house and play with Hershey Bear. Calculating the correct angles, I could usually sink every ball in order.
    â€œProfessor Wigglesmith!” yelled LeeAnn. “I got a hole in one!”
    â€œThey’re all holes in one in this game,” I said. “What was your angle?”
    â€œForty-five degrees. But I wasn’t even aiming for the hole it went in.”
    I had explained the rules on the bus ride. Before you take a shot, I said, you must decide what the best angle would be to hit the white cue ball to get the other ball in the pocket, and write down the degree of the angle. I explained how to use the specially designed protractors I’d brought to determine the angles.
    â€œProfessor Wigglesmith,” called Salvador. “Isn’t there a limit? Eugenia got two balls in a row and now she wants to take another turn.”
    â€œSorry,” said Eugenia. “I didn’t know I would be good at this. I’m awful at sports.”
    â€œIt’s all right. As long as you get the ball in the pocket, you may take as many shots as you’d like.”
    I wandered from table to table, giving encouragement. After a while, I was having so much fun, I almost forgot I was the teacher and the other thirteen-year-olds were my students. The volunteers from the pool hall were fascinated by the protractors.
    â€œMind if I try?” asked Snake, a skinny man with two gold teeth.
    â€œGo ahead,” said Keisha, handing him a protractor.
    Snake measured and sunk the ball. “I gotta get me one of these things,” he said.
    It was 11:30 when a student asked about eating, and I realized that we had left our packed lunches on the bus.
    â€œIt won’t be back for hours,” said Roland. “We’re gonna starve to death.”
    I thought about calling the school to see if someone could bring them over, but when I pictured Mr. Ripple hearing about my mistake, it made me cringe. I gathered my nerve. “Mr. Finch, I wonder if you could open your snack bar?”
    â€œNo problem,” he said. “Lunch is on the house.”
    The snack bar special was nacho chips with cheese, chili, and peppers. I had a salad made from the lettuce used for the cheeseburgers.
    â€œThis is my idea of a field trip,” said Roland as he loaded peppers on his nachos. He and the other boys spun on the bar stools.
    For dessert, Mr. Finch set the candy machine to dispense selections without money. The students lined up and worked it like an arcade slot machine. By afternoon, the class was not only good with pool sticks and protractors, but seemed to have made new friends. Snake showed Mindy how he could sink a shot using the folding baton she brought along, and Mindy showed Snake how he could twirl his pool stick like it was a baton.
    Mr. Finch seemed sad to see us go.
    â€œTake a souvenir,” he said, passing out tiny cubes of blue chalk. “Tell your friends and parents we run a friendly place here.”
    â€œCan I see your