Page 5 - My FlipBook

moment. Like that time he made us proofread all the graffiti
in the bafroom.
With a red marker, he crosses out the word always and
rereads it. He says, “See, always is what we call superfluous. It’s
clutter.”
Clutter? Like he knows my life.
“You’re pissing me off,” I say. I stay seated. I don’t get in his
face. Yet. I stay in my circle—draw a imaginary one around my
desk. (See C for Circle.)
Teacher turns his back. “I hear you, Macy,” he says. “I’m
sorry you’re angry.”
“I didn’t say I was angry,” I shout. My circle is bursting
with flames. “I said I was pissed.”
The teacher turns on the projector. He’s got a PowerPoint
with GIFs. He’s got Vines. He’s got everything but a top hat
and a cane. He is ignoring my behavior. This is a time-honored
teacher strategy that also royally pisses me off.
I reach into my desk. Take out History of the American People
Volume 1 and clean house. Cross out all the pages about shit
that’s got nothing to do with me. What’s left? Not much. The
teacher keeps clicking through his slideshow until he hears the
silence of the other kids. Until he hears the slashing of my pen.
“Macy!” he whips around, blinking in the light of the pro-
jector. “What are you doing?”
I guess he is no longer ignoring my behavior. “Are you
angry?” I crack my knuckles. “Or are you pissed?”
If he were a cartoon, smoke would be pouring out his ears.
A kid coughs as if he can smell it. “Put the Sharpie down, Macy.
Vandalism will not be tolerated. You—”
“Vandalism? I’m not vandalizing any more than you. I’m
just deciding which words count and which ones don’t. Which

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