Free The New Kid by Mavis Jukes

riders who got tossed off a bull’s back by distracting the bull and then jumping into a barrel and hiding.
    “Good job, Weston. Next. Nancy?”
    Nancy read, “ ‘There are many things I am interested in, such as math and marine biology, and problem solving. I would possibly like to grow up to be a research scientist like my dad. However, I am not ruling out being a surgeon like my mom, a baseball player, or a detective like, you guessed it, Nancy Drew.’ ”
    “Well done, Nancy.”
    “When’s Star Jar?” Wes asked.
    “Wes? Raise your hand before speaking.”
    Wes raised his hand. “When’s Star Jar?”
    “Look at the schedule.”
    At 9:28, Nancy handed Mr. Lipman a brand-new tongue depressor with 20 neatly written on it in fine-point felt-tip pen.
    “Chloe and Zoe located your felt-tip pen. In the box in the cupboard along with the plastic eating utensils.”
    “Hmmm. What was it doing
there
?”
    Chloe shrugged.
    He stuck the number 20 in between the other sticks.
    “Mix ’em up,” Wes told him.
    “Okay. Give us an intro, Wes.”
    Wes made a drumroll sound. Then a loud crash of cymbals, which Mr. Lipman hadn’t requested.
    “N-u-m-b-e-r …”
    The class waited.
    “Fourteen!” called Mr. Lipman.
    “
Eeeeee-yes
!” Wes shouted. He jumped to his feetand ran to the front of the room, his arms extended and his fists in the air.
    “Brother,” grumbled Sydney. “Him again. That guy got picked twice last week and now again. Some people never get picked. And Wes always seems to get picked.”
    “Sydney? The Complaint Department is closed.”
    “She’s right, though. Zoe never gets picked,” said Chloe. “She’s never been picked once.”
    “Never? Not once?”
    Zoe made a sad face and shook her head.
    “That’s strange …,” said Mr. Lipman.
    “And actually, neither have I,” said Chloe. She slyly looked at Zoe.
    “You haven’t?”
    “Not recently.”
    Wes loudly sighed. “Can I start?”
    Cody whispered to Carson, “Brace yourself for the biggest lie you’ve ever heard. Or one of ’em.”
    “O-kay, Wes. Let’s hear it,” said Mr. Lipman. “Remember: details. Build it up. Don’t just tell the punch line.”
    “Last night …,” began Wes.
    “Last night—when?” asked Mr. Lipman.
    “About seven o’clock …”
    “Where?”
    “When we were driving on the freeway …”
    “Who’s we?” Mr. Lipman smiled at Wes. “I’m sorry, Wes. I’m sorry to interrupt. But I just want to make my point. Give plenty of details and build the story up. Go slowly. Capture the interest of your audience.”
    “O-kay,” said Wes. “O-kay, here I go. Nice and slow. Last night … at about seven o’clock … when me and my grandma were driving on the freeway … I saw …”
    His eyes got really big. “
Abby Crabbly riding in the back of a police car!
”
    “What?”
    “
Abby Crabbly riding in the back of a police car!
”
    “You did not, and her name is
Mrs
. Crabbly.”
    “Yes I did! Mrs. Crabbly was riding in the back of a police car on the freeway in the fast lane.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” said Mr. Lipman. “You saw an individual who looked like Mrs. Crabbly—not the actual Mrs. Crabbly. End of story. Sit down.”
    “See what I mean?” Cody whispered to Carson.
    Wes rambled on: “She was riding in the back of a police car and looking down. Looking guilty as anything. Like this.” He looked down at the floor. “And I said, ‘Gram! That’s my computer teacher! Speed up!’ I rolled down my window and yelled and waved. My grandma drove up close, right next to the patrol car, and blasted her horn!”
    Mr. Lipman frowned. “Your grandmother blasted her horn at a police officer in a patrol car?”
    “Yup, but Mrs. Crabbly just kept looking down at her lap.”
    “Wes?” said Mr. Lipman. “Sorry to say it: you’re full of beans.”
    “Were her glasses on top of her head?” Eva asked. “With hair poking out?”
    “Look. Enough is enough,” said Mr.