Free Teacher's Pet by Laurie Halse Anderson

continues. “I’ll be meeting with you to discuss the quizzes later. If necessary, we can have a make-up class during study hall. I want to make sure you understand this information. Now”—he claps his hands together—“let’s get to work! ”
    He turns on the overhead projector. “Today we start the circulatory system. Everybody, please take out your notebooks and be ready to take notes.”
    I dig out my notebook and slam it on my desk. Scout looks at me, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything.
    There is a drawing of the heart projected on the screen. “The heart is the muscle that drives the circulatory system,” Mr. Carlson says. “It has four chambers: the left ventricle and left auricle, and the right ventricle and right auricle. Blood flows to the right ventricle through two large veins. It is pumped away from the heart to the lungs via the pulmonary artery.”
    The girl next to me writes all this down.
    â€œPlease draw this diagram of the heart,” Mr. Carlson says as he taps the projector. “Use your colored pencils to show the oxygenated blood and the nonoxygenated blood, just like in the picture.”
    I cross my arms and slump low in my seat. He’s like all the other teachers. He doesn’t know what it’s like for me. He doesn’t care.
    The rest of the class crawls by at a snail’s pace. Mr. Carlson talks about blood and vessels and getting oxygen from the lungs. Some of this stuff I know from listening to Gran. Most of it I tune out. I’m only in seventh grade. Is it going to be like this all the way through high school? And what about college? I’m never going to get in with Ds and Fs. I can forget about vet school. You have to do a good job in college before they’ll let you in there.
    Scout snores gently under Mr. Carlson’s desk. I watch the tip of his tail twitch every once in a while as if he’s dreaming. He wakes up when the bell rings and walks over to join Mr. Carlson.
    My classmates quickly gather their things and get up to leave. The girl next to me puts her colored pencils away, then flips through the pages of diagrams she drew and notes she took. My notebook is empty. I didn’t write anything.
    Who cares? It wouldn’t matter if I drew the most beautiful heart in the world. I’d still screw up the next quiz. I grab my notebook and backpack and head for the door. I am going home.
    â€œMaggie MacKenzie,” Mr. Carlson calls.
    I hesitate. I could walk out, pretend I didn’t hear him.
    He turns off the projector and gathers the transparency sheets. The other kids from class file past me, chattering, joking, acting like life is fine. Part of me wants to follow them. But, no. I’m J.J. “No Fear” MacKenzie’s granddaughter. I can’t sneak out.
    I turn around and walk back to my seat. Scout wags his tail happily.
    â€œI’m here,” I say.
    â€œI’ll be with you in a minute.” Mr. Carlson shuffles the transparencies into a neat pile.
    He pulls out the file drawer of his desk, feels the Braille labels on the file folders, and puts the transparencies into the right file. Then he and Scout walk down the aisle to where I’m sitting. Mr. Carlson sits in the desk next to me. Scout lies down in the aisle between us.
    â€œGood boy,” Mr. Carlson says, ruffling the fur on the dog’s head.
    He is doing a good job of praising Scout, but I don’t feel like telling him that.
    â€œWe need to talk,” he says.
    â€œYeah,” I answer. I pick at a hangnail on my left thumb.
    â€œIt’s not just the quiz,” he continues. “You didn’t take any notes in class today.”
    â€œHow do you know?” I exclaim.
    â€œIt was easy to tell that you weren’t writing anything down or turning pages. And you didn’t ask any questions. That’s not like you.”
    OK, so he’s observant.
    â€œYou