Read Eighth-Grade Superzero for Free Online Page B

uniforms”?
    “What are you doing?” he asks.
    Standing in a free country,
I think. I stand straighter.
    Joe C. looks up, sees us, and waves me in. I shake my head, and the cop gives me some extra glare and moves on. I look straight ahead. Joe C. comes out, and I start walking right away so that we don’t have to talk about it.
    “Hey, I have to visit my dad this weekend. Do you want to come?” he asks after a while. “There’s this guy who rented the basement apartment who’s pretty cool. He’s a DJ.”
    “Like on the radio?”
    “No, a real DJ, at a club. He said he would show me how to spin records.”
    “Spin records?” I ask. “Don’t DJs use digital equipment now?”
    “Yeah, but Gunnar is old-school. He says we have to respect the past before we tackle the future.”
    Joe C. sounds like a Black History Month public service announcement. Since when does he care about DJ-ing anyway?
    “Maybe not,” I say. Mr. Castiglione always invites me in like he wishes I’d use the back door. “I need to work on
Night Man.
I guess we can do stuff on our own and compare notes.”
    We don’t talk too much as we head into school. Science lab instead of homeroom today, so I have to race to the fourth floor to beat the last bell. Hector, my lab partner this week, is already there, and he’s eaten the sulfur that we’re supposed to use for our experiment. Mrs. Rostawanik sends him to wash his mouth out and I start working alone.
    When Hector comes back, he acts like he won something. “I don’t think you’d be able to handle the sulfur, Pukey,” he says. I don’t bother to respond. There’s not much time left, so we justwork. I’m surprised at how fast and efficient he is during the experiment. He doesn’t even look at my notes; he never takes any of his own. I don’t know what he uses my pens for. He does most of the work and we finish early.
    “So you’re friends with Ruthie Robertson,” he says slowly, as though that hasn’t been obvious for years. I just look at him. “Are you guys going out?”
    “Going out where?” I ask.
    “Going
out,
you vomitocious fool,” he snarls. “Is she your girl?”
    “What are you talking about?” I ask. “That sulfur is rotting your brain.”
    “You don’t even realize how badocious she is,” he mutters, shaking his head.
    “Don’t you mean ‘bodacious'?” I say.
    “No, I mean ‘badocious.’ Better than bodacious. Don’t you know anything? How did you even get into this school?”
    I open my mouth, and then close it.
    “Forget it, Pukey. I forgot that you wouldn’t know what to do with a girl. Except maybe spill your guts.” He starts laughing so hard at his “joke” that he knocks over our experiment. Mrs. Rostawanik immediately sends him to the office and I’m left to clean up. The bell rings before I’m done.
    “How’s the campaign going, loser?” Donovan “bumps” into me as I leave class.
    “Leave me alone,” I mutter. Great comeback, Reggie.
    “Oooh, I’m intimidated,” he says. “Like that ugly skank wouldn’t have lost it on her own. Now I get to crush you too. This is going to be so much fun. I love politics.”
    Even though my next class is right down the hall, I make a sharp left and take the stairs up two flights. I can still hear him as I go upstairs.
    “
V
is for
venereal disease
,” he calls. “Have fun with Vicky the Virus, punk. I know you’re desperate….”

OCTOBER 9
11:00 A.M.
    “Okay, okay people,” says Dave. “Let’s just get to the meat of the sammich.” That’s one of his favorite sayings, along with “If you think you know everything about God, you know nothing about God.” He bangs his fist on a table, making a little coffee spill. Tiffany Parker, his unofficial youth groupie, wipes it up.
    The cashier behind the counter frowns. Javalove Café doesn’t love our youth group all that much. Saturdays are pretty quiet here, but sometimes they act like that’s our fault.
    “What’s the point