JOHNNY TREMAIN
by Esther Forbes
That’s what it said on the front.
“Calista?” I called into the kitchen. I was staring at the book. “How come—?”
“After you’re done reading,” she called back, “be sure you spell the title right in your reading log, okay, Albie? Johnny Tremain. Just the one e.”
I looked down at the book.
Johnny Tremain, that’s what it said.
I smiled.
Then I opened the book, and I started to read.
being where
you’ve been.
Normally we didn’t have quizzes in math club, because it was a club not a class, but on Monday we had one. Mr. Clifton called it a “whiz quiz,” to try to trick us into thinking it might be more fun than a regular quiz, I bet, but I was not tricked. It was all about multiplication, and I got almost all the answers wrong.
After math club was over, I stayed behind to tell Mr. Clifton something when nobody else was in the room.
“I don’t think I should be in math club anymore,” I told him.
Mr. Clifton set down the stack of papers he was holding. “Albie?” he said, like my name was a question. “Why would you want to drop out?”
“I just . . .” I scuffed my foot along the carpet. “I’m not very good at math. I think I . . .” I scuffed my foot some more, harder. “I don’t think I should do any math anymore.”
“Albie.” That time my name was not a question.
Mr. Clifton didn’t say anything after that, and I figured maybe he was waiting for me to look at him instead of at my shoes. So finally I did. Even though my shoes were more interesting.
“I want to show you something.” That’s what he said.
Mr. Clifton walked around behind his desk and pointed to something on the wall—a small blue piece of paper in a square black frame. I followed him so I could look at it more closely. I stood on my tiptoes and stuck my nose right close to the glass.
It was a report card.
NAME:
Daniel Clifton
GRADE:
4th