Free The House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer Page B

kitchen for a glass of milk and cookies. He brought Teacher coffee and watched intently while she drank it. He seemed as puzzled by the woman as Matt was.
    The rest of the day was spent counting things—beads, apples, and flowers. Matt was bored because he seemed to be doing the same thing over and over. He already knew how to count, even though he had to do it silently and write down the correct number instead of saying it.
    Finally, in the late afternoon, Teacher said that Matt had been very good and he was going to make his mommy very proud.
    Tam Lin presented a report of Matt’s studies over dinner, when Celia returned. “You’re my clever boy,” she said fondly, giving Matt an extra slice of apple pie. She gave Tam Lin an entire pie for himself.
    “Aye, the lad’s that,” the bodyguard agreed, his jaws full of food. “But there’s something uncommonly strange about the teacher. She says the same thing over and over.”
    “That’s how you teach little kids,” said Celia.
    “Perhaps,” said Tam Lin. “I’m not what you’d call an expert on education.”
    The next day went exactly like the first. If Matt thought he’d been bored before, it was nothing compared to writing the same letters, coloring the same pictures, and counting the same wretched beads and flowers all over again. But he worked hard to make Celia proud of him. Days three, four, and five passed in exactly the same way.
    Tam Lin went outside and juggled weights. He dug a vegetable bed for Celia in the walled garden. Matt wished he could escape that easily.
    “Who can tell me how many apples I have here?” warbled Teacher on day six. “I’ll bet it’s my good boy!”
    Matt suddenly snapped. “I’m not a good boy!” he screamed. “I’m a bad clone! And I hate counting and I hate you!” He grabbed Teacher’s carefully arranged apples and hurled them every which way. He threw the crayons on the floor, and when she tried to pick them up, he shoved her as hard as he could. Then he sat on the floor and burst into tears.
    “Someone isn’t going to get a smiley face on his paper,” Teacher said with a gasp, leaning against a wall. She started to whimper like a frightened animal.
    Tam Lin thundered through the door and gathered Teacher up in a bear hug. “Don’t cry,” he said into her hair. “You’ve done very well. You’ve fixed something the rest of us hadn’t a clue how to mend.” Gradually, Teacher’s breathing slowed and the whimpering stopped.
    Matt was so startled, he stopped crying. He realized something momentous had just happened.
    “I can talk,” he murmured.
    “You get two gold stars by your name today, lassie,” Tam Lin said into Teacher’s hair. “You poor, sad creature. I didn’t know what I was looking at until now.” He gently urged the woman out of the apartment, and Matt heard him talking to her all the way down the hall.
    “My name is Matteo Alacrán,” Matt said, testing his newly regained voice. “I’m a good boy.” He felt dizzy with happiness. Celia was going to be so proud of him now! He would read and color and count until he became the best student in the whole world, and then the children would like him and they wouldn’t run away.
    Tam Lin interrupted Matt’s ecstatic thoughts. “I hope that wasn’t a one-shot deal,” he said. “I mean, you really can talk?”
    “I can, I can, I can!” Matt sang.
    “Wonderful. I was going bonkers with counting beads. The poor thing—it was all she knew how to do.”
    “She was an eejit,” announced Matt, using María’s worst insult.
    “You don’t even know what the word means,” Tam Lin said. “Tell you what, laddie. We’ve got something to celebrate. Let’s go on a picnic.”
    “A picnic?” echoed Matt, trying to remember the meaning of the word.
    “I’ll explain it to you on the way,” said Tam Lin.

8

THE EEJIT IN THE DRY FIELD
    M att was wildly excited. Not only were they going on a picnic, but they would travel by