I Represent Sean Rosen Read Online Free PDF Page A

or her boss figured out that she didn’t like her job. I decided not to use her interview.
    I finished editing a few minutes before midnight. My parents don’t like me staying up that late on a school night, but when I turned thirteen they said, “We’re not going to be the Bedtime Police anymore.” I’m happy with the podcast. It makes me want a donut, but I’m too tired to get one.

chapter 8
    S omething funny happened at school today. It was about halfway through history. Some years I like history, but this year is really boring. You won’t believe it, but Mr. Knapp, my history teacher, was also my mom’s history teacher. I guess he wasn’t all that interesting back then either. She calls him “The Appropriately Named Mr. Knapp.”
    I was looking out the window thinking how cool it was that Martin Manager said I write a good letter, when I heard, “Sean Rosen!” From the way he said my name, it was probably the second or third time. “Perhaps we could interrupt your reverie to hear your assessment of the failures of Reconstruction.”
    I tried reading that chapter last night after I finished my podcast. I started it and I woke up with the book on my chest. I didn’t even make it through the first paragraph. “Yes. The failures . . . The failures of Reconstruction. Well . . .”
    Just then a light started flashing and a very annoying buzzer started buzzing. Fire drill! Or who knows, maybe a real fire. Right then I didn’t care which. Mr. Knapp didn’t look happy. “Perhaps Mr. Rosen will share some of his vast knowledge when we return.”
    We walked single-file out of the classroom. Javier was right in front of me. We’re not supposed to talk during a fire drill, but everyone does. “Javi, do you know?”
    â€œNo, mi amigo.”
    We got outside and stood on the grass. We’re not supposed to take anything with us, but Brianna had her bag. “Like I’m gonna leave a Prada bag sitting in a classroom.”
    I asked Brianna if she knew about the failures of Reconstruction. She pulled out her phone. It’s some kind of superphone that’s still being beta tested. She typed something in, waited one second, then pushed a button and out came a little piece of paper. She handed it to me.
    FAILURES OF RECONSTRUCTION
    â€¢ Status of former slaves didn’t improve.
    â€¢ Economy of South didn’t recover.
    â€¢ Division between North and South didn’t heal.
    Then we heard a long, loud beep. The fire drill was over. The assistant principal came on the loudspeaker. “Evacuation time: three minutes and twenty-six seconds. If this had been a real fire, we could have had some badly burned students. We can do better, people.” She definitely doesn’t want us to burn, but she also wants to break the county record.
    By the time we were back in our seats, I had the Failures of Reconstruction memorized. Mr. Knapp was just about to call on me when Mademoiselle Fou stuck her head into the classroom.
    What is she doing here? Is this some kind of meeting of the Sean Rosen Non-Fan Club? They stood near the door and kept whispering to each other. Break it up! We’re trying to learn some history here!
    Then the bell rang. Oh well.
    When I got home, I changed. I don’t care much about clothes, but after wearing something all day at school, I want to feel like I’m not there anymore. I have history homework, and since we probably won’t have another fire drill tomorrow, I better do it. Soon. But not yet.
    I can’t stop thinking about sending another e-mail to Martin Manager. He’s my only friend in show business. I know, he’s not exactly my friend. But compared to everyone else, he is.
    I’m not sure if anyone else does this, but sometimes I practice what I’m going to say to someone. Like if I’m nervous about it. I don’t actually say it out loud. I just say it in