Read The Life and Times of Benny Alvarez for Free Online Page A

expressionless.
    I don’t know why I wimp out so easily, but I say, “Sorry.”
    I’m waiting for her to accept or not accept it, or kick me in the shins, but she turns and strolls into Ms. D’s class.
    â€œWhat just happened?” I ask Beanie.
    Big Joe laughs. “You got punked, dude.”
    I look to Beanie for support, but he seems seriously disappointed. “When it comes to that girl, dude, you have to toughen up.”
    The last thing I hear before walking into Ms. D’s room is Big Joe’s stupid laugh.

Caulfield Thomas Jones
    M s. D’s room looks different today. There are twenty kids in class, and normally groups of four desks are arranged in five separate squares, so we’re forced to face one another while Ms. D roams the room. Some guys don’t like this setup. They’re usually the ones who nod off, and that’s hard to do when you’re staring across at another student, who’s always a girl. Ms. D makes sure of that. I sit with Beanie and Clare Davis and Bethany Briggs. I don’t have a problem with those girls because they’re what I call neutrals: girls who don’t pile on when Claudine goes after me or one of the other guys.
    But as I said, things are very different today. Actually, two things. First, the desks are rearranged, so two desks are side by side. Second, Caulfield Thomas Jones is sitting on Ms. D’s desk with his feet on her chair, his arms crossed, like the classroom is a beach and he’s the head lifeguard.
    Ms. D is making everyone line up along the chalkboard. “We’re doing something very different today,” she says.
    No kidding.
    â€œAnd we have a special guest,” she adds, pointing to Caulfield Thomas Jones (from here on known as Caulfield). “Mr. Jones has come to talk about poetry and challenge us to participate in a friendly competitive exercise.”
    Caulfield’s about six feet tall with short, curly brown hair and blue eyes, and he’s more hyper than Crash after four Reese’s Cups. It doesn’t look like he’s faking his love of literature, so you have to give him some credit, though Beanie’s leery of him because he thinks Caulfield’s English accent isn’t real, and because, according to Beanie, “The only thing worse than having a last name for a first name is having a last name for a first name and two more to boot.”
    But Ms. D loves this guy, and they tend to make private jokes, then look goofy at each other.
    The last time he visited, he laid out all these different things on the floor—a world map, a page from the sports section, an empty coffee cup from McDonald’s, some toy soldiers—and we were supposed to place them in a short story. That really threw Big Joe, but I liked it.
    I can’t say I feel the same way about poetry. In fact, I’d rather have Big Joe give me a wedgie than listen to Caulfield Thomas Jones recite Shakespeare or whatever he’s planning today.
    â€œThis exercise,” Ms. D says, “will involve boys and girls working together in pairs.”
    A collective groan goes up from the class, and Ms. D looks to Caulfield for support.
    â€œIt’s not as if you’re second or third graders,” he says, then addresses the boys, adding, “Girls are people too,” which makes Ms. D laugh louder than I’ve ever heard her laugh before.
    Old Caulfield obviously has some weird ideas on how we feel about girls. We’re not afraid of them, and I don’t dislike Claudine or Paige because they’re girls but because they’re troublemakers. Which is why I’m nervous about being paired with one of them. I’m trying to decide which one would be my worst nightmare when Ms. D announces the first two victims.
    â€œWe’ll start with Benny,” she says, scanning a list of names on her desk, turning toward Caulfield, and saying, “Benny is the wordsmith I mentioned