Trash Can Days

by Teddy Steinkellner

  From: rmorales@spjhs.org

  To: qgreene@spjhs.org

  Subject: Extra Funds?

  Sent: 9/27 7:10 p.m.

  Hey Quentin,

  I have a question about funding a special project for my classes. Hope the principal’s office isn’t too busy today.

  We just started a unit on poetry in all of my classes, and I was thinking it might be fun to do a special art project to go along with it. I’m calling it “Poetry for the Eyes and Ears.” The kids would write their own poems and use art to bring them to life. It would be great if we could buy some parchment, calligraphy pens, maybe some papier-mâché too.

  If we could secure the funds to do this project, then I would be quite grateful. The beginning of the school year is a tough time, especially for the seventh graders. I want to make the experience as fun and easy as possible for them.

  Please let me know what you think.

  Thanks,

  Ruben Morales

  From: qgreene@spjhs.org

  To: rmorales@spjhs.org

  Subject: Re: Extra Funds?

  Sent: 9/28 9:33 a.m.

  Hi Ruben,

  I appreciate your message. Unfortunately, times are tough right now, so what I’m saying to you is no. A project like the one you suggest is simply beyond our means at this point.

  Perhaps you could check with Peg Quinn in the art room and see if she has anything for you. Colored paper, crayons, that kind of thing.

  Poetry and creative assignments are all fun and good for the end of the year, but for now let’s stick to the basics, shall we?

  Best,

  Quentin Greene

  Principal, San Paulo Junior High School

  5 • Jake Schwartz

  Thursday, October 1

  I remembered to say “rabbit rabbit” this morning. If it’s the first thing you say on the first day of a new month, you’re supposed to get good luck. I’m not saying I’m a big believer in luck or anything, but I forgot to say “rabbit rabbit” last month and September ended up sucking, so, you know, I didn’t want to take any chances.

  Today started off pretty good. In science we got to play quiz games, and in health we got to design our own food pyramids. In English I asked Mr. Morales if I could take a look at my letter to myself from the first day of school—I wanted to change one thing—but he said I have to wait until June. He seemed to think he hurt my feelings by making me wait, so after class he gave me a watermelon Jolly Rancher. Guilt candy: tastes good.

  My run of luck seemed as if it was going to continue in fourth period, when Mr. Armstrong said that I didn’t have to make up the algebra quiz I missed when I was at Yom Kippur services on Monday. Obviously, this rules. Score one for the chosen people.

  Of course, one important detail I should mention is that Armstrong gave me that news in front of the entire class. So then a couple minutes later, when he started teaching again, Brendan Wheeler, who sits right next to me, sneezed “JEW!” under his breath. And, well, okay, I guess it was actually kind of clever. When you think about it, “Jew” does sound a lot like “achoo.” And it’s not like it was surprising. “Jew” has basically become my nickname these days. So I guess little stuff like that is more fun than mean. I shouldn’t let it bother me. But still.

  It doesn’t hurt my feelings exactly, but it makes me feel kind of limited. Really—that’s all I am? Three letters, one syllable, and I’m this greedy little gnome-person who cares only for shiny things?

  That’s school nowadays. People are all, “Hey, let’s find one defining thing about each person, and that’s all we’ll ever talk about when we see them.”

  It sucks. Danny was talking about it with me at lunch today. His big thing is that he really hates it when people call him “cholo.” And I get what he means. People assume that since he’s Mexican, he’s going to wear a big black T-shirt or a Raiders jersey to school and that he’s not going to do his homework and that he’s going to join a gang and stuff. Actually, it’s not even right for people to assume that he’s Mexican in the first place—Danny especially hates when people do that, because he’s half Salvadoran.

  The thing I don’t get about Danny though, is while he doesn’t like being seen as a tough cholo guy, he also doesn’t like when people think of him as a preppy Arlington kid. He doesn’t even want people to know that he went to Arlington, or that he lives in Seabrook. I suppose I can sort of understand why he doesn’t want people knowing those things. Most of the kids from Arlington are jerks, all my sister’s friends included. But on the other hand, Danny should realize that it was a great place for us with awesome teachers and a sweet playground and that it felt a lot more like school than SP ever will.

  Pretty much all the Arlington kids go to SP because the Honors classes are supposed to be good here and because the private middle schools are druggy and far away. There’s still no comparing Arlington and SP, though. At Arlington, the teachers never handed their students a work sheet and then tuned them out for an entire hour. The kids didn’t pretend to be so cool that they couldn’t remember your name even though they’ve known you since first freaking grade. Danny never left halfway through lunch so he could go hang out with his cousins.

  Okay, I know I’m overreacting to that. But come on! I’m moody! I’m angsty! I’m hormonal!

  At least I will be once I actually start puberty.

  Look, it wasn’t even a big deal when Danny left. There were only fifteen minutes left in lunch anyway, and our conversation was kind of dying and I still needed to study for my vocab quiz in Latin. The extra fifteen minutes gave me time to go to the library and do just that. And I got an A on my quiz, so it all worked out. When Danny told me that he had to go see his cousins because he promised them he would hang out today, I should have just said, “Flocci non facio.” In Latin that basically means, “I don’t give a crap.”

  Instead, what I said was “Have fun, man.”

  Obviously yeah, of course, I want to hang out with Danny since he’s my best friend and my brother, and since he’s the funnest to talk to. But I still get to see him for health and P.E. And it’s not as if he’s my only friend. I’ve got Sean and Robert and Russell, and I’ve known all those guys since I was five, and those are good guys. Do they have a slight preoccupation with hitting each other in the nuts? I mean, yeah. Sure. But, you know, they just…love the thrill of it. Or something.

  Not that I know what it’s like to get hit down there. When I take a Wilson or a Penn to the nuts—yeah, it hurts, but not the way people say it’s supposed to. I don’t feel that awful pain like the world is ending or anything, and that’s because, well…I think I’m still light-years—light-decades away from even starting puberty. My mom said Dad was a late bloomer too, and it’s just—dang it. Why is my body so behind the times? Mr. Morales told me that I’m at a college reading level. Why is it that when I look in the mirror, I see a third grader?

  Danny and I played one-on-one after school today, and the difference in physical-ness was so obvious. When we used to play, it was really competitive. Every single time. He’s always had some nice jukes and a quick first step, but I could usually keep it close with my three-point range. But when we played this afternoon it was just unfair. He posted me up down low, grabbed every rebound without jumping, and he even blocked a couple of my threes. He blocked my threes! It was like he had stretchy arm powers. But what kind of superhero blocks his best friend’s shot?

  Eleven to one. That was the final score. And I’m pretty sure that even the point I got was a pity bucket. It was near the end of the game and Danny kind of slipped and fell in an unrealistic way.

  But whatever. It was fun to hang out, and Danny said that I have more game than some of the guys he plays with over on the Eastside. That was nice to hear.

  After we played, we went inside and I helped him with his math homework and a writing assignment. Then we grabbed some Popsicles and played Xbox for a while. It was good times.

  When it comes to tha
t side stuff—Danny going over to the Eastside, “kicking it” with his cousins, hanging out with older kids…I mean, that’s all fine. Whatever. Flocci non facio.

  “Nuthin’ but a Grammar Thang”

  By Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, and Mr. Morales

  Special for Mr. Morales’s English Classes

  One, two, three and to the fo

  It’s your boy, MC Mo, gonna drop a little flow

  Ready to teach you somethin, so listen up

  ’Cause we ’bout to bring your test scores up

  Yes, I’m your teacher first, but see I’m more than just a nerd,

  I’ll pimp smack you with syntax ’cause I’m a mixmaster of words

  Aint nuthin but a grammar thang, baaaaabay!

  Without structure, we’d all go craaaaazay!

  You’ll need it for all your essaaaaays!

  Time to put our English skills on display!

  But, uh, back to the lecture at hand

  A sentence without grammar is like a beach without the sand

  From a young teach’s perspective

  Writing stuff that makes sense is our number one objective

  You wanna write the right quotations, man

  Exclamations, man, get crunk on punctuation, man

  Now y’all know I ain’t no joke, my students,

  I’m the teacher with the beat here so to listen would be prudent

  ’Cause I’m bomb with the commas like my man Obama

  I’m the best, bros and hos, so go tell yo momma

  Just sit tight, aight, and delight in my turn of phrase

  And in no time y’all be makin’ A’s

  It’s like this and like that and like this and uh

  It’s like that and like this and like that and uh

  It’s like this and like that and like this and uh

  So just chill till the next episode…

  (tomorrow’s class!)

  6 • Dorothy Wu

  Wednesday, October 7

  The Club Chronicles

  Part 12: Vengeance Strikes Back

  By Dorothy Wu

  “This is your last chance, Lunch Club,” the gray ogre growled as he licked his purple lips. “Give me the secret to your powers or else I shall destroy this entire junior high.”

  “You will never get away with this, Moo-dar!” cried Dorothy, her raven hair glistening in the library’s fluorescent light. “Our powers must be earned, and all you have earned is a one-way ticket to Ugly Island!”

  “Clever girl…” the elephantine ogre whispered, licking his lumpy lips again. “Do you know what happens to clever girls? They end up…DEAD!”

  He motioned toward the children’s section of the library, where Dorothy’s fallen comrades lay on the ground. Whitney, Willy, Devon, Ms. Dooling…only some of them had in fact been clever girls, but all of them were slumped on the floor, dead and bloodied and rotting. Now the fate of the whole school—nay, the whole city—nay, the whole county, depended on Dorothy, Micah, and Ms. Glass.

  “This is our last chance, Lunch Club!” shouted Dorothy in spunky leader fashion. “Let us send this baddie back to Dark Plunder where he belongs!”

  “Right!” shouted Ms. Glass. “It is Transformation Time!”

  There was a bright flash and the heroes took the form of their spirit beasts. Micah became Lieutenant Lemur, obedient and proud. He also had super-vision. Ms. Glass transformed into a kangaroo who could pull anything from her pouch. Dorothy became a warrior mermaid maiden with the power to fly. Her beauty was stunning and her gaze was fierce. The Lunch Club was ready to fight.

  But Moo-dar was also ready…for them. Using his summoning staff, he conjured a fire force field that surrounded them before they could unleash any potent attacks.

  Dorothy tried to break free, but the flames were burning hot. Yowch!

  What were they to do? All the hope in the universe was lost.

  Just then, there was a smashing through the front door. In jumped a handsome hero wearing a bronze mecha-suit. He was serious and brave, but he had a smiling look in his gold-brown eyes.

  “You are finished, Moo-dar!” the dashing savior cried. Dorothy looked at him with wonderment and glee. He struck an impressive figure in his metallic battle armor, and his poof of hair was quite a sight to behold.

  The hero made a swift motion with his hands and suddenly there was a huge heart-shaped blast. The Lunch Club stood in awe. Moo-dar cowered. The super savior had summoned the power of

  As you may be able to tell, I have not yet finished this story. I began writing it last month and I just love it so far, but I do not think I will be showing it to any others. I have never shown anybody any of my stories, not because I think the stories are poor, but because I do not think the world is ready. One day I will unleash all of my stories at once, and I think that I will probably make quite the heart-shaped blast in the world of literature. But until then, I must hone my craft.

  This particular story is a good one. I am not sure if it ranks up there with my best. It is no “Magick Rabbyt” or “Lord of the Sky,” and it definitely does not compete with any of the tales in my classic trilogy, Vortex Quest: The Tomorrow Dimensions. However, I believe that if I work on it enough, I can develop The Club Chronicles into my next grand series. The main element that I must work on is the budding romance between Dorothy and the savior.

  Behind every great work of fiction there is a classic love story. Think of Romeo and Juliet. Cinderella and Prince Charming. Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask. What would they be without their burning passions? Love is what makes characters feel alive—it is the force that keeps heroes moving past all their obstacles. Without his love for Princess Peach, how could Mario maintain the strength to make it past all the Koopa shells and warp pipes and Goombas in his way? He needs love. We need love.

  Love is probably the most necessary thing there is. However, while it is important to fall in love, it can be difficult to tell whether you are, in fact, in love or not. Take me. I develop affections rather easily, and perhaps too easily. For example, in my younger years, when I was playing Metroid on my family’s old Nintendo, I developed a mondo crush on the character Samus Aran. Samus is everything you could want in a mate: brave and adventurous, with an impressive armored suit that features a cannon, missiles, and beams. But there is a catch—when you complete the game, it is revealed that Samus is in fact a girl! And I am a girl! A heterosexual girl! That made me think about some things. Yipe.

  Then there was that time I fell in love with this tattooed man that I saw one time at the gas station, only to never see him again. Also there was the occasion in fifth grade when we were studying the Civil War and I began to “like-like” Confederate General Robert E. Lee. Very cute, but very forbidden. Oh yes, and then later on in fifth grade, I started to have sneaky feelings toward this first grader named Zachary. Yet I think I was mostly attracted to his lunch box. It is only natural for a girl to pursue a man for his Speed Racer lunch box.

  Surely, I was quite confused about love after these numerous embarrassing experiences. However, I rediscovered my sexual preferences this year in English class when I first laid eyes on Mr. Morales. Ohh, Señor Morales. As they say in the movies, “What a catch!” Or, as I sometimes say to myself, “Holy Table!”

  (An explanation of the phrase “Holy Table”: I wanted to start saying exclamations that begin with the word “holy,” but I did not feel like glorifying “cows” or “smokes” or “molys” or the s-word. So I came up with “Holy Table.” After all, who does not love tables?)

  As I was saying, Ruben Morales is every girl’s dream. He is very aesthetically pleasing, from his boyish smile to his nerdy glasses that he sometimes wears to his sandy skin (well, it is sand-colored, but smoother than sand, mehopes!). He is extraordinarily funny, kind, and cute in that smart-cute way that I especially like. Also, he wrote and performed that bomb-diggity rap for our class. I will never throw my copy of the lyrics away. Doing that would be like throwing away an expe
nsive porcelain cat, and I am still enraged at my father for doing that.

  But when I think about it, I realize that what exists between Mr. Morales and myself is not love. It is just my girlish mind playing tricks on me. He is an adult with his own life to worry about, and I am just a tween. We are from different worlds. It can never be. I love him not. I feel lust for him—that is all.

  So whom do I love? That is the question.

  And after much pondering, I will say that right now I do not know. I must love someone, but it has to be the right kind of someone. Someone who understands me. Someone who finds me physically enchanting. Someone who enjoys my stories. Someone who loves to have silly times. Someone who likes the same video games and mangas that I like.

  Oh yes! I know the person whom I love!

  …’tis me!

  lilbeachbabe777: hey

  CHAD4lyfe: hey hannah

  CHAD4lyfe: hannah bannana

  lilbeachbabe777: lol

  CHAD4lyfe: sup

  lilbeachbabe777: nm u?

  CHAD4lyfe: nm

  CHAD4lyfe: my moms making me clean my room

  CHAD4lyfe: im like mom noooooo

  lilbeachbabe777: lol

  lilbeachbabe777: that is so funny

  CHAD4lyfe: haha yea

  CHAD4lyfe: so wats up

  lilbeachbabe777: omfg

  lilbeachbabe777: i was over at kristens house

  lilbeachbabe777: after club vball practice

  lilbeachbabe777: and alex came over

  lilbeachbabe777: and so we were like lol what r u doin here

  CHAD4lyfe: yea

  lilbeachbabe777: and alex just smiles

  lilbeachbabe777: and he holds up this big sign that says “kristen—go to the halloween dance with me or lose at life”

  lilbeachbabe777: omg it was the cutest thing ive ever seen

  lilbeachbabe777: literally ever i think

  lilbeachbabe777: im so happy for krist shes been crushing on alex forlikever lol