And then Margaret went all historical, and the art teacher went all historical, and nobody could think of anything to do except the regular thing, which is: send me to the principal’s office.
While I was waiting there, I drew a picture of Margaret with her chopped-off hair. I made her look beautiful, like a dandelion. Here is a picture of that:
If they had a special class for gifted kids in art, I would definitely be in it. But they don’t, which is also unfair—only for math and English. I am not so good at English, okay, fine.
But this year I am in the gifted class for math. And here is the bad surprise—so far, no gifts.
I told Principal Rice about that problem when she got back from calming down Margaret’s mother.
“So far, no gifts,” I told her, extremely politely.
Principal Rice rolled her eyes to the ceiling then, like she was looking for something up there.
Ceiling snakes maybe, just waiting to drip on you. That’s what I used to be afraid of when I was little, anyway. Now I am not afraid of anything.
Okay, fine, I am afraid of pointy things. But that is all. And boomerangs.
“Clementine, you need to pay attention,” said Principal Rice. “We need to discuss Margaret’s hair. What are you doing on the floor?”
