Amber Brown Wants Extra Credit Read Online Free PDF Page A

it . . . . . . . . . . . . . How to crochet those ugly dolls that cover toiletpaperrolls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . How to keep from having to get a list of daily assignments signed by my mother . . . . How to find time to do this project while I’m still finishing my makeup work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . How to have a worry attack about school . . . . How to not have a worry attack about school . . . . . . . . . . . How to come up with a great idea for this project.
    “Can we work together on the project?” Naomi asks.
    Mrs. Holt shakes her head no.
    My brain hurts from trying to think up a good project.
    I start to doodle and write on my notebook.
    I must, I must, I must improve my grades.
    I better, I better, before I have to take home a letter.
    Maybe I should just let Mrs. Holt write the letter and get my mother all upset.
    It would serve her right for going out with Max.
    And then she would have to tell my father and then he would get all upset.
    It would serve him right for going off to France and spending so little time with me.
    It would serve them both right for getting divorced.
    Amber Brown . . . . School Failure.
    Sarah Thompson and Phil Brown . . . . . My Parents . . . . . . . Family Failures.
    The lunch bell rings.
    I grab my lunch and head out the door.
    Brandi’s already rushed out.
    Some days she makes a fast dash to the girls’ room.
    She hates to ask for a pass in class.
    One of the boys always says, “Hope everything comes out okay.”
    Mrs. Holt smiles at me. “Your book report was very good, Amber.”
    “Thanks. What’d I get?” I need to know.
    “A
C,”
she says. “It would have been a
B
if you’d turned it in on time.”
    Walking down the hall, I think about it . . . . 
A C. Not a great grade, but not a bad one
—“C”
no evil
.
    I laugh.
    Sometimes I just make myself laugh.
    Lunchroom.
    Sit down with my friends.
    “That little dirtbag.” Tiffani opens her lunch.
    This time, a Barbie arm is coming out of the lid of a yogurt.
    “It’s Cultured Barbie,” I say.
    “Maybe your project should be ‘Things to Do with a Barbie Doll,’” Brandi suggests. “I bet that Howie could be a great help.”

    “I think . . .” Tiffani grins . . . . “it could be ‘Things to Do to a Little Brother.’ . . .”
    “Brother Ka-Bobs,” Bobby suggests. “Or what about . . . . . . Little Brother Sushi?”
    “EW . . . . . . GROSS . . . . Stop it. I’m eating.” Alicia makes gagging sounds.
    Bobby can’t stop . . . . “Microwave Brother . . . Brother McNuggets.”
    Bobby used to be an only child, just like me.
    Then his mom got remarried and just had a baby boy.
    I don’t think he’s overwhelmingly happy about not being an only child.
    I, Amber Brown, can understand that.
    “I know what I’m going to do for my project,” Brandi says. “I’m going to show everyone how to do sign language.”
    “I know sign language,” Bobby says.
    “The only sign language you know could get you suspended.” Jimmy starts to laugh.
    They are so immature.
    Brandi ignores them. “I’m going to teach some sign language and then show how a song we all know can be signed and interpreted. It’s really beautiful.”
    “How do you know it?” I am surprised.
    I thought I knew mostly everything about Brandi. I guess not.
    When she moved here a year ago, Justin and I were still best friends, so we didn’t really get to know each other until last month, and I guess it takes a while to learn everything.
    She says, “Remember my cousin in California, the one who taught me to make the braids?”
    I do remember. She made Brandi feel much better after she moved here and felt bad about not having any good, close friends.
    “Well,” Brandi continues, “her best friend is deaf, and they taught me to sign. I’m really good at it.”
    She moves