The Power of Un by Nancy Etchemendy Page A

that’s not quite right. She
glared
at me. “I believe Gibson would like to apologize, too.” Her hand tightened around my arm.
    “Uh …” I said.
    Rainy’s eyebrows pulled together. The soda straw between her fingers trembled slightly. So did her lower lip. “But, but …” she stammered.
    I could see she was going to burst into tears and say she’d done it, which would ruin my whole plan. “I apologize!” I practically shouted. “I shouldn’t have shot the spitball, and I’m sorry you got blamed.”
    She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Maybe she was stunned. I mean, she must have thought I was suffering from mental illness.
    I thought,
I really, really, really hope I’m doing this right, and I really, really, really hope it’s going to he worth it
.
    Ms. Shripnole’s grip relaxed slightly. “Becauseyou’ve been truthful, Gibson, I won’t send you to the principals office this time. But if you ever shoot another spitball in this classroom, don’t expect further forbearance. Please be seated, and speak to me after class.”
    She let go of my arm, and I sat down gladly, because my knees were shaking. “Yes, ma’am,” I said. I picked up my pencil and bent over my decimals work sheet. My face felt hot as a campfire. I knew every kid in the classroom must be staring at me. Ash, who sat in the desk behind mine, kicked my foot.
    When I glanced over my shoulder at him, he gave me a look that said,
Are you out of your mind
?
    “Tell you later,” I whispered. As I sat there trying to figure out the answer to 40.587364 divided by 1.7337618112, I realized that if I told him, I’d seem even crazier than I already did. This time I couldn’t convince him by just giving him the unner and telling him to use it himself.
    I shivered, even though rivulets of sweat were meandering down my back. I was scared, and in a weird way, I felt more alone than I ever had before in my life.
    The bell rang, and everybody else packed up their books. The room filled with talk and laughter and a few shouts of joy as kids crowded out through the door. Ash frowned at me and said, “What are you doing? Do you
want
to be in trouble or something?”
    “No!” I replied. “Trust me. I have my reasons. I’ll explain later. See you tonight.”
    “Whatever you say.” He shrugged and shook his head as he left the room, probably thinking my brain was experiencing total system failure.
    I sighed, trying to get myself psychologically prepared to talk to Ol’ Shrapnel and find out what kind of punishment she had in store for me. I looked down at my desk. There sat a piece of pink paper, folded into a tiny square. I glanced around the room, wondering where it had come from. All the kids were gone. I unfolded it, and inside was a note, written in purple pen:
    Thank you SO-O-O-O much You are the nicest boy I know
,
    Yours truly
,
Lorraine
    Each letter was perfectly formed in Rainy’s careful, round handwriting, for which she’d won a citywide award the year before. A plump heart dotted the
i
over
nicest
. I groaned.
        Ol’ Shrapnel’s punishment was suitably hideous. I had to write one hundred times:
If I had not told the truth about the spitball, I would have to write this two hundred times instead of one hundred
. I wasn’t allowed to put 100 or 200. I had to spell them out. And I had to have it finished by Monday morning.
    I walked home, and as I turned up the path to our front door, my stomach started feeling like a cave full ofbats. The last time I’d been through that door, Dad was at Roxy’s bedside in the hospital, and Mom was crying herself to pieces as she learned Roxy would never wake up again—a complete nightmare. My brain knew that in the current version of reality, none of that had happened yet. But the rest of me wasn’t so sure.
    I turned the knob and stuck my head into the entryway, my heart banging. “Hi,” I called, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m home.”
    “Hi!” Dad called from the