Adam Selzer Read Online Free PDF Page A

glad to see at least wasn’t falling for her “kids are evil” routine. “They’re good students.”
    “I’m just warning you, Max,” she said, “if you aren’t careful, the school could end up getting sued.” This was one of her catch-phrases. She was always on the lookout for reasons the school could get sued.
    “I’ll take my chances,” he said, finally looking in my direction. “Hi, Leon,” he said.
    “Hi,” I said, plopping my backpack, which weighed about a ton and a half, onto the ground.
    “Well, hi, Leon,” said Mrs. Smollet, smiling but sounding about as glad to see me as I was to see her. “How was your summer?”
    “Same as any other,” I said.
    “That’s what I was afraid of,” she said. And she got up to leave.
    “What was that all about?” I asked Mr. Streich as soon as she was out of earshot.
    “Well,” he said, stretching out and combing his mustache with his fingers. “You know what she’s like. She’s not too keen on letting you guys make these videos.”
    “I’m not surprised,” I said. “Based on what she has us do in class, she seems to think that the gifted-pool kids should just be using their gifts to solve crossword puzzles.”
    He chuckled. “Well, I’m sure she means well.” Teachers are never allowed to bad-mouth each other, but you know that half of them probably hate each other. They’re just regular people once they get into the teachers’ lounge. “I had to do a lot of convincing to get the board to authorize this project in the first place, but I’m sure you’re all mature enough to handle it.”
    “So, anyway,” I said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about my video. I have a lot of ideas already.”
    “Great!” said Mr. Streich. “I thought you kids…er, students might get excited about this project!”
    “It’s going to be a really artistic film,” I said. “I’m thinking of calling it
La Dolce Pubert.”
I pronounced it in such a way as to make it sound as artsy as possible. Like
pyoo-bare.
With the “r” rolling.
    He frowned. “Is ‘pubert’ a word?” he asked. He didn’t roll the “r.”
    “I’m not sure, but it sounds good.”
    “You might want to look that up before you finish the project.”
    “I will. Anyway, what I need to know right now,” I asked, “is what kind of budget we have to work with.”
    “Budget?” asked Mr. Streich.
    “Yeah,” I said. “How much will the school cover?”
    “Well,” he said, “none.”
    “None?” I asked.
    “None. We have plenty of equipment as it is, unless you want to make explosions. And we can probably find a way to do those with stuff from the lab.”
    I hadn’t thought of explosions before, but it suddenly seemed like a good idea. I’d known the school wasn’t going to be willing to pay for a helicopter or anything, but I’d figured we’d have some money for expenses! What were they doing with all our parents’ tax dollars? Probably fixing up the stupid gym.
    “But I have a lot of ideas for things that we can’t do with just the camera and the editing machine!” I said. “How am I supposed to get them to work without a budget?”
    “Well,” he said, “you might have to scale down your plans a bit. Or, if there are scenes that you absolutely can’t do without, I’m sure you can find a way to make it work.”
    “So what if I can’t find a way to do some of the stuff?” I asked.
    “Well,” he said, smiling, “you’ll just have to invent something.”

The day I turned thirteen, my parents officially began to consider me a rotten teenager.
    I had always sort of figured that once I turned thirteen, I’d be treated more like an adult. I mean, I knew I wouldn’t be able to buy beer or vote or anything like that; I just thought people might start taking me a bit more seriously. In reality, it turned out to be just the opposite. People occasionally listen to little kids, because they might say something accidentally wise that can be published in one of