Rules to Rock By Read Online Free PDF

that this would be the third time Shaky Jake’s pancakes had been on the menu that week. What normal family eats pancakes for dinner?
    Rock stars’ families eat pancakes for dinner.

JONNY
    I was already late for Mr. V’s class on Friday, but I put up the sign anyway. So far, the Band Formation Plan wasn’t working. I had gotten the lay of the land. I had observed. But I hadn’t caught even a whiff of another actual musician. I kept hearing about Raising Cain and some supposed riot-girl group called Mad Unicorn. But nobody else seemed to be interested in putting together a new band. I had to step it up.
    I pulled out some thumbtacks and put my sign in the most conspicuous spot I could find on the activities board.
    F OR THOSE ABOUT TO rock , I SALUTE YOU .
    I’ M A NNABELLE C ABRERA ,
    AND I’ M FORMING A rock band .
    I PLAY BASS AND SING .
    W HAT DO you PLAY ?!?
    L ET ’ S JAM AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS .
    P.S. I’ M USUALLY WEARING A B EATLES HOODIE .
    It was kind of embarrassing standing up on a table and getting that prickly-hairs-on-the-back-of-my-neck feeling that meant people were staring at me. But I needed something to happen.

    Mr. V leaned against his desk holding a big blue mixing bowl. His eyes were twinkling even more than usual. Something was up.
    “Okay, this will be a bit more interesting, I hope, than reading assessments and grammar exercises,” he said. “Today we will become writers. We will learn to craft a work of art.”
    The idiots in the back groaned.
    “Here’s a work of art,” a boy named McNamara said, making a fart noise with his mouth.
    But Mr. V had my attention. Ever since meeting Ronaldo, an amazing writer, I had been trying to write. Songs, of course. I carried a pocket-sized notebook around with me like Ronaldo did. I jotted down lyric ideas, but they usually didn’t amount to much more than titles. I had lots of song ideas , but I didn’t have any actual songs .
    V stood up and displayed his mixing bowl, tilting it so the class could see. There were dozens of little slips of paper inside with words scrawled on them.
    “Writing is a simple but elusive art,” he said. “To write is to describe. Describe accurately and respectfully. And perhaps passionately.”
    Kissy sounds from the back.
    “Not that kind of passion, Mr. McNamara, although good writers can expect to attract ample attention from the opposite sex, if that’s what you meant to express. May I continue? Thank you so very much.”
    McNamara slumped in his seat, embarrassed.
    “Inside this bowl there are many assignments for a budding writer. Some of the topics are concrete and very simple, like the description of an object. Other assignments are more … complicated. You will see what I mean by this. Every Monday until Christmas break, each of you will reach into this bowl and pick a topic. And every Friday you will hand in some writing about this topic.”
    “ Every Friday?” asked McNamara.
    “Yes, although you will be pleased to know that your writing may be of any length. If it takes you five words to describe your subject, and you choose the perfect five words, you will receive a good grade. If you write five silly words, or five ridiculous paragraphs, one might surmise that you are not trying your hardest. And students who do not try their hardest sometimes do not receive excellent grades.”
    Of course, as Mr. V passed out assignments, all the dorks in the back row announced their topic to the class as loudly as possible.
    “What do you think your life will be like in ten years!”
    “If you could have two famous people over for the day, who would it be and what would you do with them!” Snickers all around.
    “Should we continue to fund the NASA space program!”
    My heart started to race as Mr. V came closer with his mixing bowl. Maybe I’d get a song out of this! I closed my eyes and fished around in the bowl for a couple seconds.
    “Don’t be afraid, Ms. Cabrera. Just pick one.”
    I grabbed a