Free The Curse of the Campfire Weenies by David Lubar

knew he had plenty of time
to reach the exit before the balcony fell. He shot from his seat and turned around, planning to make a dash for the exit. Instead, Alexander froze, stunned by what lay in front of him. His row of seats was on a stage. He squinted into the lights, then looked out at the people in the audience. That alone wouldn’t have been quite enough to keep him frozen. But beyond the theater, he saw another, and another, and another, stretching away forever.
    â€œStupid kid,” a boy muttered from darkness.
    The boy shouted something else, but the words were drowned out in the crash and clatter of the collapsing balcony.

MRS. BARUNKI
    I hate Mrs. Barunki. She’s the worst teacher in the school. I can’t believe I got stuck with her for second grade. When I found out, I almost ran away from home. The worst part is that I came so close to not getting her. If I was one year younger, I’d have been safe. She’s retiring at the end of this year. That’s just about all she talks about. That and her stupid math facts. She makes us memorize stuff every single day. I’m sick of it. She makes us learn lots more math than we’ll ever need.
    But we get her back. All the kids hate her. We play tricks on her whenever we can. It’s war—us against her. She teaches us math facts, we hide all her pencils. She teaches us math facts, we make faces when she turns away.
    She used to shout a lot. That’s what I heard from some of the older kids. This year, she hasn’t shouted at all. But I still hate her. And she hates us. I know she does. Mom says that “hate” is a bad word, but Mom doesn’t have to sit here every day.

    At least the year is almost over. I made it through Mrs. Barunki’s class in one piece. I survived.
    â€œWell, boys and girls,” Mrs. Barunki said when there was only a minute left on the very last day, “I can’t say I’ll miss you, and I know you won’t miss me. But I’ll tell you one thing.”
    She stopped and grinned at the class, taking time to stare at each and every one of us. When her eyes reached mine, I felt like I was trapped on the wrong side of a cage at the zoo. I waited to see what she would say.
    â€œI’m going away—far away. But you’ll never forget me. I can promise you that. I’ll be a part of your life forever. I’ve made sure of that.” Then she started laughing.
    The bell rang. It was over. I was through with Mrs. Barunki and her meanness and her math facts. She couldn’t do anything more to me.
    And she was wrong. No matter what she said, I knew I wouldn’t ever think of her again. As sure as the sky is blue, as sure as water is wet, and as sure as two times three is seven, Mrs. Barunki was out of my life for good.

MURGOPANA
    T he old man held a large rock in his left hand and spoke a single word. He reached down with his right hand and grabbed a fistful of sand from the beach. Brendan, sitting on a fallen tree several yards away, watched as his father tried to find meaning in the strange sounds.
    â€œShanbruk,” the man said lifting the rock higher.
    â€œShanbruk,” Brendan’s father said, writing the word in his notebook.
    The old man grinned. Brendan noticed that he had lost most of his teeth. Holding out his palm with the small mound of sand, the old man said, “Shanpana.”
    Brendan got up, walked barefoot across the warm sand, and stepped into the gentle surf that rippled against the north edge of this small island in the Pacific. “I’m going out for a swim,” he called to his father.
    Brendan’s father gave him an absentminded wave. “Have fun.”
    â€œI will.” Brendan waded away from shore until he was
waist deep in the water, then leaned back and floated. This is the life, he thought. Even if his dad’s work was kind of silly, Brendan was enjoying his time on Senshoji Island. He just wished