Chill Read Online Free PDF

his glory almost blinding me as he approached.
    â€œMr. Fitzsimmons, having trouble finding your seat?” he asked.
    â€œI finished it,” I told him, almost bubbling over.
    â€œWhat did you finish?”
    â€œThe book.”
    â€œThis is an English class, Mr. Fitzsimmons. You’ll have to be specific as to which book you finished.”
    â€œMy book, sir. The one I’ve been writing.”
    â€œWhat?” he said. “Oh yes, that. Good for you. I remember when I finished my first book. It was quite a feeling. My publisher was almost salivating when I gave it to him. The size of it alone was intimidating and struck him with awe.”
    He got taller when he talked about his book.
    â€œBut enough about me. We must get on with studying the works of my peers. Now take your seat.”
    â€œI have a copy for you, sir.”
    â€œYou do? Oh, yes of course you do. Well, I can’t very well read it now, can I? Set it on the desk and take your seat.”
    â€œYou will read it, though?” I asked.
    â€œYes, yes,” he said impatiently. “Now take your seat.”
    I set it gently on his desk before returning to my seat.
    I sat down, twitching with excitement. I looked over at Chill. He seemed to be looking at me the way you look at someone who just received bad news, like their cat had died or something.
    I couldn’t figure out why at first. Then I figured that his jealousy had just turned to self-pity. I gave him a sympathetic smile in return. Maybe I’d been too hard on him.
    â€œWell, thanks to Mr. Fitzsimmon’s little delay, I’m only going to be doing one student’s career today. And who’s the lucky person?” He picked up my manuscript and tossed it in his drawer before shuffling through the last few papers and pulling one out.
    â€œMiss Langdon,” he said. “You want to be...” He quickly skimmed the paper. He laughed. “A doctor? Brains aside, with your clumsiness you’d be more likelyto cause injuries than cure them. No, I think you’d best go for a rethink on that, perhaps picking a profession in which your work environment has no sharp edges. But nothing with small children, please. You’d kill them for certain.”
    I heard a snap and looked over at Chill. He was holding a broken pencil.
    â€œMr. Holinground, is there a problem?”
    â€œNone I wish to discuss,” he said with the confidence and authority I used to admire.
    They stared at each other for a while before Mr. Sfinkter finally spoke. “Good. Now everyone take out your copies of
Romeo and Juliet
. We’ll be working on it for our final weeks,” he said. “This play has a lot to teach you. It shows not only that children should always listen to their elders, but the dire consequences which result when they don’t.”
    As we all took out our copies of Shakespeare, I saw Chill slip his sketchpad into his notebook.
    For the first while he was doing a good job at covering up, looking up at the frontand down to the pad as if taking notes on the passages that Mr. Sfinkter wanted us to pay the closest attention to. But as the class progressed, Chill’s sketching became more frantic.
    â€œMr. Holinground,” the teacher said. “Mr. Holinground!”
    Chill dropped his pencil. “Yes, sir.”
    â€œIt’s nice to see you taking such detailed notes.”
    â€œIt’s a great play, sir,” Chill replied.
    â€œDespite what you may think, Mr. Holinground, I am not an idiot. Now bring your sketchpad to the front.”
    â€œSketchpad, sir?”
    â€œBring it!”
    Chill looked down at the sketchpad and then up to Mr. Sfinkter. I could only imagine what he’d drawn in his anger. I was sure it wasn’t going to be complimentary to Mr. Sfinkter.
    Chill took a breath. With his usual sureness, he got to his feet, sketchpad in hand, and started to make his way to the front.
    â€œPick up