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talking about in there, Nora? You like the shape of Ds?! What did you mean by that?”
    I shrugged. “Nothing. It was just something to say.”
    My dad muttered, “More like something that made no sense.”
    There wasn’t much chitchat in the car during the ride home.
    So I analyzed the situation, and here’s what I came up with:
    1. I had a gang of grown-ups thinking about my grades.
    2. Plus they were all convinced I was an idiot.
    3. My mom was so upset she couldn’t chat.
    4. My dad was ready to take a punch at someone.
    5. The school was going to do some “additional evaluation.” Of me.
    And I decided that, all in all, it had been a pretty good day.

eight
ROADKILL
    T here was a dead squirrel in front of the school on Tuesday morning. It had been there awhile, and a group of walkers were out on the sidewalk, cheering whenever it got run over again by a passing car or a bus. It was not a nice way to start the school day, and it didn’t exactly make me feel proud to be a human.
    In homeroom Mrs. Noyes handed me a note: “Please report to Dr. Trindler’s office immediately after lunch and plan to stay there during sixth and seventh periods.” Which was lousy news. That was during science and music, two of my favorite classes.
    And I knew what would be happening: evaluation. Of me.
    We had free reading time at the beginning of first-period language arts, and Stephen came and sat beside me on the pillows in the reading corner. He held up his book and whispered, “I heard about your big meeting yesterday.”
    â€œYou did?” I asked. “How?”
    â€œHow?” said Stephen. “‘Cause it’s all over the school, that’s how. I heard that Jenny Ashton was in the nurse’s room after school. She saw Mrs. Byrne take you to the office, and she saw all the teachers. And your mom and dad. Everyone knows you got bad grades, too. I guess that’s kind of my fault. ’Cause I told Ellen and she told Jenny. Sorry about that. And I’m really sorry you’re in so much trouble. Did they yell at you and stuff?”
    â€œOf course they didn’t,” I said. “And I’m not in trouble.”
    Stephen frowned and said, “You sure? ’Cause my mom would put me in a military school or something if I even got one D, let alone a bunch of ’em. And Jenny said you were crying when you came out of the office, and your mom was dragging you by the arm.”
    â€œ What ?! That’s a lie!” and I said it so loud that Mrs. Noyes looked up from her book and frowned at me. So I pretended to read until the coast was clear, and then I hissed, “No one yelled at all, and no one even came close to crying, least of all me. Oooh !—that Jenny Ashton is gonna get it!”
    Stephen needed more proof that I hadn’tbeen tortured in the meeting. He said, “So . . . if they didn’t yell at you, what did everyone say?”
    â€œNothing much,” I whispered. “My mom wanted to know how come she didn’t get any warnings about my Ds. And the teachers had to explain why I got the bad grades. It was all pretty stupid. I got bad grades because I did bad on some tests—duh. And now they want me to take more tests to see if I’m as dumb as they think I am.”
    â€œBut you’re not dumb,” Stephen said. “Even I know that, and I really am dumb.”
    I pushed him on the arm. “Don’t ever say that, Stephen. I hate it when you say that.”
    He shrugged. “You’re the one who always says you have to face facts. So face it: I’m dumb.”
    I pushed him again, and that was one too many disturbances.
    â€œNora.” Mrs. Noyes was using her soft, reading-time voice. “Either read quietly or I will find you some other work and another place to sit. Final warning.”
    I nodded and put my nose in my book. But Iwhispered to Stephen, “Bad test