“Yes; I am。 But thanks for thinking about me。” I eyed her and said; “And Darla? Its not a
given anymore。”
She laughed。 “How longs this diet gonna last?”
“Its not a diet。 Ive just; uh; lost my taste for him。”
She looked at me skeptically。 “Uh…huh。”
“Well; I have。 But thanks for; you know; caring。”
All through first period I was still feeling strong and right and certain; but then Mrs。 Simmons
ended the lesson a full fifteen minutes early and said;
“Clear your desks of everything but a pen or pencil。”
“What?” everyone cried; and believe me—I was right along with them。 I was not prepared for
a quiz!
“Everything!” she said。 “e on; youre wasting valuable time。”
The room filled with grumbles and the sound of shuffling binders; and when wed all pretty
much plied with her request; she picked a stack of
bright yellow papers off her desk; fanned them with an evil grin; and said; “Its time to vote for
basket boys!”
A wave of relief swept across the room。 “Basket boys? You mean its not a quiz?”
She ticked through the stack; counting ballots as she spoke。 “It is like a quiz in that I dont
want you conferring with one another。 Its also like a quiz
in that you have a limited amount of time。” She slapped a set of ballots down on the first desk
of row one; then went on to the second row。 “I will
collect them from you individually when the bell rings; and I will inspect to see that you have
plied with the following instructions。” She scooted
over to row three。 “Choose five; and only five; of the boys on the list。 Do not put your name
on it; and do not discuss your choices with your
neighbors。” She was on to row four now; talking faster and faster。 “When youve made your
selections; simply turn your sheet over。” She slapped the
remainder down on the last desk。 “Do not; I repeat; do not fold your ballot!”
Robbie Castinon raised his hand and blurted out; “Why do guys have to vote。 Its lame to
have guys vote。”
“Robbie …;” Mrs。 Simmons warned。
“Seriously! What are we supposed to do? Vote for our friends or our enemies?”
A lot of people snickered; and Mrs。 Simmons scowled; but he had a point。 Twenty of the
schools eighth…grade boys would be made to pack a