The Prisoner of Cell 25 Read Online Free PDF

popularity quotient might fall a point or two (I wasn’t sure how that worked), but she didn’t seem to care. She must have said “Hi” about a hundred times between my locker and detention. As usual I felt invisible.
    As we walked into the lunchroom, Ms. Johnson looked at Taylor quizzically. Taylor was one of those students who was always the teacher’s pet: perfect citizenship, always got her homework done, raised her hand to speak, never a cause of trouble. I once overheard a teacher say, “If only I could have a classroom of Taylors.”
    “Do you need something, Taylor?” Ms. Johnson asked.
    “No, Ms. Johnson. I’m here for detention.”
    “I’m surprised to hear that.” Ms. Johnson looked down at her clipboard. “I don’t have you on my list.”
    “I know. I didn’t get in trouble or anything. I’m just waiting for my friend Michael.”
    Ms. Johnson nodded. “That’s very kind of you, being supportive of a friend, but detention isn’t a place to hang out.”
    Taylor just looked at her with her big, soft brown eyes. “Please? I really think I can help him change his ways.”
    I turned and looked at her.
    Ms. Johnson smiled. “Well, if you really want to help, I don’t see why not. But you can’t sit together. We can’t have talking.”
    Taylor flashed a smile. “That’s okay, Ms. Johnson. I’ve got a lot of homework to catch up on.” She waved to me. “Be good.” She sat down at Ms. Johnson’s table, grinning at me.
    I’m pretty sure that Taylor was the happiest person to ever go to detention. Frankly, I wasn’t hating it too much myself. I couldn’t believe that the best-looking girl at school was in detention waiting for me. The lunchroom was at least ten times more crowded than the day before, which meant that there was either a sudden outbreak of misbehaving, or Mr. Dallstrom had had a bad day. I was about to sit at the end of a long table near the back wall of the cafeteria when someone said, “Not there, tickerhead.”
    I looked up. Cody Applebaum, a six-foot ninth grader, was walking toward the table, sneering at me. “That’s my side of the table.”
    I had no idea what a tickerhead was. “Whatever,” I said. I walked to the opposite end of the table and sat down. I opened my algebra book, unfolded the day’s worksheet, and began doing my homework. About five minutes into my studying something hard hit me in the head. I looked up at Cody, who was laughing. He had a handful of marbles.
    “Ow! Knock it off,” I said, rubbing my head.
    “Owww, knock it off,” he mimicked. “Puny wimp. Go tell your mama.”
    Sometimes I felt like I was wearing a sign that said pick on me.
    I went back to my book. A few seconds later another marble hit me in the head. I looked up. Cody was now leaning against the wall on the back two legs of his chair. He raised his fist and bared his teeth like an angry baboon.
    “Stop it,” I said.
    “Make me.”
    I went back to my studying. Less than a minute later another marble hit me in the head. As I looked up I noticed a metal trim that ran along the wall where Cody was leaning. 
    I don’t know why I did it—maybe I was still feeling great from finally putting Jack in his place, maybe it was the obnoxious smirk on Applebaum’s face, or, maybe it was that I was showing off for Taylor.
    But, most likely, it was the culmination of too many years of being bullied. Whatever the reason, I was done with playing the victim.
    With my hand below the table I touched the trim behind me and pulsed. Cody let out a loud yelp and fell back off his chair, smacking his head against the wall, then the floor. When Ms. Johnson stood up to see what had happened, Applebaum was lying on his back rubbing the back of his head.
    “Cody! Quit screwing around.”
    He looked up from the ground. “Something shocked me.”
    “Right, Cody. I saw you leaning back on your chair,” Ms. Johnson said. “One more outburst like that and I’m