Free The McGillicuddy Book of Personal Records by Colleen Sydor Page A

that.
    Rhonda tried several more times to outlast Lee but lost every time. They were getting soaked.
    â€œCome on,” said Rhonda. “One more time. I know I can do it.”
    Lee took an extra huge mouthful and looked up just in time to see—oh no, please , no—gorgeous Charlotte Bailey crossing the street toward him. Had she ever said a word to him in her entire life? Of course not. Did she choose today, when he was holding a gallon of water in his mouth like some dork, to acknowledge him? Of course. “Hi Lee.”
    Lee tried swallowing his water in one gulp—what was he going to do, hork it out in front of her?—but he took in some air as he swallowed, and the pain of it going down made his eyes water. He opened his mouth to say “Hi,” but the word came out trapped inside a huge belch.
    She looked at him, stunned for a second, then shook her head and said one word: “Charming.” As gorgeous Charlotte Bailey walked off, Rhonda fell on the sidewalk clutching her gut with laughter.
    On any other day, this would have been enough to ruin Lee’s day (his year ). But, nope. Not today. Nope, nope, nope. I’m fine, thought Lee. Really, I’m fine . He looked down at Rhonda and yelled it out loud: “I’m fine!” which sent Rhonda into another wave of hysterics.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    I ain’t no physicist, but I knows what matters.
    Popeye the Sailor Man
    Doesn’t matter, thought Lee. I’m no Einstein, but at least I know what matters and what doesn’t, and this math mark doesn’t . Said it before, and I’ll say it again: Ain’t nothin’ gonna bring me down today.
    When Mr. Wood entered the class, Lee McGillicuddy wasn’t the only kid trying to convince himself that a failing math mark wasn’t the end of the world. Decimals are no picnic, and judging by the look on Mr. Wood’s face, the exam results were dismal.
    â€œ Peo ple,” he said, rocking on his heels and tilting his head back to look at them through the bottom of his bifocals. “Either I’m the world’s worst teacher, or you geniuses neglected to study. And I’d put my money on the latter. How about you?”
    No one bothered to answer. Most of the students stared down at various names scratched on top of their desks. On his own desk, Lee zeroed in on a badly carved heart with the words Charlotte Bailey Loves L.M. engraved inside; clearly the work of some brainchild with a turds-for-brains sense of humor, thought Lee.
    â€œNow, this was an important exam,” continued Mr. Wood. “It counts for twenty percent of your final mark. And as you well know, there are no rewrites for final exams.” He looked around at the glum faces currently avoiding his glare. “For those of you who weren’t listening, as usual, I will repeat that last sentence,”—and here Mr. Wood raised his voice for the benefit of the habitual non-listeners—“ THIS EXAM COUNTS FOR …”
    Few people in the class missed the undertones of someone’s disgusted mumbling.
    Mr. Wood certainly didn’t.
    â€œMr. Mc Gilli cuddy!” he said, his words as sharp as a yardstick whacking a desktop. “It seems you have something important to say. Please say it loud enough for the benefit of all.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” said Lee, reddening.
    â€œIt is not okay,” said Mr. Wood. “It is not okay, at all. If your thoughts are important enough to interrupt my class, they must be of utmost significance, and I for one would not want to deprive the class of such momentous thoughts.”
    Lee remained silent, and then he thought, Fine. You want to know, I’ll tell you . He stood up beside his desk and repeated what he had formerly mumbled. This time his words were loud and clear. “Not everything that counts can be counted , and not everything that can be counted counts .”
    Mr. Wood raised his eyebrows.