Spanking Shakespeare Read Online Free PDF

anguish. Even though I go to great lengths to make myself invisible, deep down I crave the spotlight. I hear people laughing, but somehow it all seems very far away. I peek up and see Celeste looking at me and smiling.
    “You’re the man!” Rocco yells when Mr. Parke has finished.
    Mr. Parke shakes his head. “I must say, Mr. Shapiro, your writing certainly is provocative.” He hands me my paper and smiles. “Brilliant work.”
    Celeste comes up beside me as I leave class and puts her arm through mine. “You’re bad,” she says.
    There are very few things more exciting than being called bad by a girl you want to do bad things to. Why, then, do I feel like I might throw up?
    “Where do you come up with your ideas?” she asks.
    I shrug. It’s hard to concentrate with Celeste touching me.
    “I get it,” she says. “Great writers never reveal their inspiration.”
    “No, it’s just…I don’t know…I wish there really was a class like that,” I say. “I sure could use it right now.”
    Celeste laughs but does not say anything.
    “Do you want to maybe go to a movie after school?” I ask without looking at her.
    Celeste stops and turns to me. “Today?” She has a troubled look on her face. “I can’t today. I have an appointment.”
    “That’s okay,” I say quickly. “I should be working on my memoir anyway.” Idiot, idiot, idiot, what were you thinking?
    “I could go on Thursday,” she says.
    “Thursday? Yeah, Thursday’s good. Great.”
    We stand there looking at each other, smiling awkwardly.
    “So I guess I’ll see you later,” I say, already moving away. Miraculously, I manage to escape without tripping or bumping into any large objects.
             
    I’m sitting in Ms. Rigby’s math class basking in the glow of my conquest when the assistant principal comes in and calls Charlotte White out of class. Charlotte is a quiet, serious student, so it seems unlikely that she is in trouble. All I can think is that there must be some sort of family emergency, and when Charlotte walks from the room—quick and pale—I flash back to a poem she wrote in English last year. She never shared her work in class, but one time we were paired together, and I had to read what she had written. I remember she seemed uncomfortable sharing, and though I don’t recall exactly what the poem was about, I do remember a frightening image of a girl walking across a frozen lake, and knowing somehow she was writing about herself.
    She’s a strange girl, Charlotte, though it’s hard to pinpoint what exactly is off. It’s not her clothes or her mannerisms or the way she talks. She doesn’t have any tattoos or weird piercings or purple hair or unshaved legs. She’s actually very plain-looking, a little tall maybe, with a slightly tomboyish face. What sets her apart, I think, is the way she always keeps to herself. It’s like there’s an invisible wall she’s put up to keep people from getting too close. She came to the school partway through eleventh grade last year and, as far as I can tell, has never made any friends.
    I push Charlotte out of my mind and return to more pleasant musings. I imagine walking through the hallways hand in hand with Celeste, and people who have never paid me any attention suddenly taking notice. I imagine acknowledging my brother and his girlfriend with a knowing grin as I wrap my arm around Celeste’s shoulders. I imagine kissing Celeste by the lockers the way I’ve seen other couples kiss as if it’s no big deal.
    When I sit down at lunch I must look as smug as I feel because Katie asks me if I’ve just gotten laid.
    “Not yet,” I say with a smile.
    “What happened?” Neil asks.
    I draw out the silence, savoring the moment. “Got a date with Celeste on Thursday.”
    Neil nearly jumps out of his seat. “What happened?”
    “Jesus,” Katie says, looking at him. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
    I tell them what happened, leaving out any moments of