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you keep reading the same sentence over and over but the words don’t sink in. That’s
     when you keep reading the same sentence over and over but the words don’t sink in. (Kidding.)
    I tried to catch a glimpse of what was happening in the hall, but I couldn’t see much from my seat. Futterman and Miss Honeywell
     were probably discussing where to roll out the red carpet for the new kid. I looked up at the clock. Three hours and forty-five
     minutes until showtime. I could feelthose water balloons expanding with every
tick, tick, tick.
Then my stomach gurgled so loudly that heads popped up from their books. It was like the Battle of Hastings was being reenacted
     in my intestines.
    Miss Honeywell swept back into the room with a thick manila folder and sat at her desk.
    “Excuse me, Miss Honeywell, but what about the play?” Darlene asked. “I mean, it’s still scheduled for today after lunch,
     right?”
    “Right,” Miss Honeywell said.
    “Well, can we do a quick line-through right now? Just so we don’t forget anything?”
    “Oh, we’re in good shape,” Miss Honeywell said, leafing through the folder. “There is such a thing as being over-rehearsed.
     Let’s just continue with our quiet time - but you may review your lines individually if you wish.”
    She filed the folder in her bottom drawer, removed a tiny mirror, and dug out some makeup crud from the corners of her eyes.
     Then she got up and straightened the stacks of paper next to the computers - three times. When she sat down again, she couldn’t
     stop staring at the door.
    I was beginning to think that Miss Honeywell didn’t give a squat about the play anymore. She was all wigged out because this
     new kid was coming.
    “Dustin?” she said in a half whisper. “Dustin Grubbs?”
    Okay, maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was time for her toconsult with her top-notch assistant director to go over some last-minute production notes.
    “Yes?” I answered.
    “Would you be a peach and lower the shade on the window next to you? The sun is blinding the fourth row.”
    That was
his
row - the famous kid’s row.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    I whipped down the shade in one quick jerk and shot her a look of deep concern with a hint of disappointment. She just smiled
     and fluffed her peonies.
    I didn’t get it. Weren’t there lighting and sound cues to go over? Sets and costumes to be checked? Fire alarms to be dismantled?
     I mean, I love you, Miss Honeywell, but get with the program.
    When I sat back down, the water balloons in my stomach had reached their breaking point.
    “Excuse me, Miss Honeywell?” I said, raising my hand.
    “Yes, Dustin? What is it?”
    “I - I don’t think I’m feeling very well.”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I feel kinda queasy. Can I -
may
I please use the restroom?” (Good English in the middle of a crisis. Major points.)
    “Why, of course,” Miss Honeywell said. “You do look flushed.” A sudden look of horror flashed across her face. “You’re not
     going to throw up, are you?”
    I think she was more worried about my messing up herspick-and-span classroom and spoiling the Boy Wonder’s arrival than she was about my health.
    “Uh - I’m not sure,” I said, wiping the sweat off my forehead.
    Now the whole class looked worried. See, Brian Flabner threw up the week before, and it still smelled a little. Ever since
     then Miss Honeywell had had to keep the back window open a few inches. She told us that if we felt the urge, we didn’t have
     to wait for permission to go to the bathroom, that we should just run. That’s powerful stuff.
    “It’s probably a case of the jitters,” Miss Honeywell said. “Take the hall pass from the cabinet. Do you want someone to go
     with you?”
    “No, thanks. I’m good.”
    Twenty-three pairs of anxious eyes followed me around the room. When I opened the cabinet door, I noticed that the entire
     row next to me was leaning, in the opposite direction.

Chapter 6
Stalled!
    I flashed my