Free Lunch Money by Andrew Clements Page A

unicorn story look just awful. I know you said mine isn’t a comic book, but I don’t really get what that means. Prob’ly because I haven’t looked at comic books much. Tommy has some, but I never got into reading them. So I don’t really know what makes them so different.”
    Greg knew what the difference was. It was simple. Because a good comic book is almost like a movie. The words of a comic book are like the script. Every panel is a little scene that moves the story ahead, and time can be speededup or slowed down, just like in a movie.
    And because he understood comics, Greg almost started to explain.
    Then he remembered. This was Maura on the phone. Maura the copycat. Maura the idea thief. Maura the enemy.
    So Greg said, “Yeah . . . well, listen, I’ve gotta finish my social studies reading.” And since he didn’t want to be completely rude, Greg said, “Thanks. For the math assignment.”
    â€œYou’re welcome,” Maura said. “Well, see ya round.”
    Not if I see you first, Greg thought. But he said, “Yup. Bye.” And he pushed the phone’s Off button.
    Sitting there at the desk in his room, Greg knew the real reason Maura had called him. It wasn’t to try to help him out with his math grade. She had called to fish around for new ideas. She was trying to beat him at his own game. She was trying to get ahead, trying to figure out how to make her dumb little books better so she could make some cash.
    And Greg thought, Nice try, weasel brain. If you think I’m gonna help you make money, think again. You’re on your own.

 
Chapter 11

NOTES
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    How come they call it a black eye? Greg stared at his face in the boys’ room mirror. It was Friday morning, three minutes before first period, and his black eye was spectacular—just as the nurse had predicted. The deep semicircle was mostly a rich red and purple plum color, rimmed with brownish yellow highlights that arched all the way up to his eyebrow. But there was no black at all.

    After the teasing from his big brothers the night before, Greg had gotten on the bus with a good idea of what to expect from the guys at school. But nothing much had happened. Each time the bus stopped, he had moved around, scouting for comic-book customers, and kids had said things like “Nice shiner!” or “Rough night, huh?” Several had asked “How’d that happen?”And that was about all. It was a nice surprise.
    But as he left the washroom and made his way to Mrs. Sanborn’s class, he had to work up some nerve. He had only two classes today with Maura—math was one, and first-period social studies was the other. He wouldn’t get teased in math class—Mr. Z would see to that. But if word had gotten around that Maura had socked him, social studies could be a different story.
    Class began, and he could tell some kids were whispering about him. But as Mrs. Sanborn took attendance, Greg was determined not to give it another thought. And anyway, he couldn’t afford to. In social studies, daydreaming was dangerous. The day after each reading assignment, Mrs. Sanborn conducted a rapid-fire question-and-answer session, and class participation counted as one fourth of everyone’s grade.
    With her teacher’s edition of World Cultures cradled in her arms, Mrs. Sanborn began pacing around the classroom, her words firing twice as fast as her footsteps.
    â€œMesopotamia is a Greek word that means what—Eileen?”
    â€œBetween the rivers.”
    â€œCorrect. Name one of the rivers—Daniel?”
    â€œThe Tigris River.”
    â€œCorrect. And the other one—Brittany?”
    â€œThe Euphrates River.”
    â€œCorrect. A larger region in the area that includes Mesopotamia—Salina?”
    â€œThe Fertile . . . Triangle.”
    â€œHalf right. The complete correct name of this region—Dennis?”
    â€œThe