Free Schooled by Gordon Korman Page A

lockers for T-shirts and gym shorts—anything that would take paint.
    “But I thought we were drawing the human figure in motion,” said one seventh grader.
    “Tomorrow,” Miss Agnew promised absently. “Today we tie-dye.”
    She even called down to the office and got Cap and me excused from period one so we wouldn’t get in trouble. But I guess the conversation didn’t stop there, because a few minutes later, an announcement came over the PA:
    “Those students interested in tie-dyeing with eighth grade president Capricorn Anderson should report to the art room.”
    Well, what self-respecting middle school kid would turn down a free pass to get out of work? We were mobbed in there. People were lined up with their towels, socks, underwear, and any canvas bag that was supple enough to be twisted and tied. Miss Agnew was in her glory. Never before had her art room seen such enthusiasm.
    The star of the show was definitely Cap. He was demonstrating, helping, mixing colors, and hanging up finished work. This was more than just Tie-Dye Palooza. Kids were asking him about the bus-driving incident and the Halloween dance, and hanging on his every word. It hit me then—everybody had seen Cap at the assembly, and around the halls here and there, but no one really knew him. Today had started out as my attempt to get a couple of shirts tie-dyed and hang out with Cap in the process. Yet before my eyes, it had turned into the eighth grade president’s coming-out party. There must have been eighty students in that room, and I’ll bet ninety-five percent of them approached him at some point.
    True to character, he asked all their names and wrote them in his notebook.
    For the rest of the day, the halls were ablaze with color as the artists proudly wore their creations, most of them still wet. It was a carnival atmosphere, with lots of pointing and laughing and high fives.
    Which might explain why I almost didn’t notice something else that was different about today: there wasn’t a single spitball lodged in Cap Anderson’s hair.
    Not one.

 
    16
    NAME: CAPRICORN ANDERSON
    I knew something was wrong the minute I got off the bus and walked to the Donnellys’. The Saturn was in the driveway, which meant that Mrs. Donnelly was home early. And the TV was off, even though T & T would be on in a few minutes.
    Sophie and her mom were in the kitchen. I heard Mrs. Donnelly’s voice first:
    “Oh, honey, don’t feel bad. You know how he is.”
    I hurried into the room. “What happened? Is everything all right?”
    An empty Dasani bottle missed my ear by inches. “Get out of here!” Sophie shrieked. “Mind your own business!”
    “Sophie!” her mother exclaimed in horror. “You apologize to Cap!”
    In answer, she leaped out of her chair and raced for the stairs. “Mother, don’t you dare tell the freakazoid anything about this!” She pounded up to her bedroom and slammed the door.
    I looked at Mrs. Donnelly. “What did I do?” It was a silly question. What did I ever do? Nothing. And Sophie still treated me as if I’d crawled in from the septic tank.
    “Please forgive Sophie,” Mrs. Donnelly begged. “She’s just had some bad news.”
    I was worried. “Did something happen to Mr. Donnelly?”
    “Nothing that hasn’t happened before,” she sighed. “He took off without so much as a good-bye.”
    “But what about the driving test?” I protested. A license might have been just a piece of paper, but to Sophie it meant everything.
    She shrugged. “We’ll just have to reschedule for when I can take her. My ex-husband is not a terrible person, but he doesn’t see things through. He rolls into town, gets everybody’s hopes up, and then he’s gone until the next time, when he does it all over again. I learned my lesson and got off the roller coaster. My daughter hasn’t figured it out yet.”
    I felt terrible for Sophie. She was really crushed. Mr. Donnelly left town so suddenly that she hadn’t even gotten her