Things Are Gonna Get Ugly Read Online Free PDF

little bit of window at the top of the cinder block wall. “The fog’s about burned off by now. Good for ducks.” Winking, he rips open a Hostess Twinkie and stuffs it whole into his mouth. I don’t get this man. What does this all mean? Well, for one thing, since my eyes are all teary my mascara is probably running.
    Dribble opens his mouth to talk, revealing Twinkie cream on his right front tooth. “See, you’re upset. We don’t want that. I want to help you out. My accountant told me I’m the only honest person in San Mateo County. With my consulting business, I used to report every tip and bit of money coming my way. My accountant told me to go to a restaurant with a mirror behind the counter so I could see the drawers of the register after I paid in cash. And sure enough, I watched them pocket the cash and push ‘no sale.’ Then I walked around feeling like a giant lollipop. A huge sucker. After that, I did what everybody else was doing. I got smart.” He peers at me. “Wouldn’t you say that I got smart?”
    â€œUh, yeh-aah.” I still had no idea what he was talking about.
    He chews extra slowly like he’s assessing something. Suddenly, Dribble jumps in front of his desk. “How would you like a chance to do things differently?” His mustache wags and I can see his banana-colored teeth again. “A fresh start?”
    What does that mean? “Like a complete do-over?”
    He smiles fully so that the yellowness is now overpowering. “Yup. A complete do-over.”
    I nod, thinking about him canceling out that test, letting me retake it after winter break and pretending like none of this ever happened. “Wow. That’d be amazing.”
    â€œWhenever I think you’re ready for the fresh start, it can happen. We’re talking about a glimpse of a whole new world.” It’s just a test. What the heck is he talking about now?
    â€œSo you’re going to erase what I did,” I rephrase, just to make sure I’m getting this. It seems too good to be true.
    â€œMmm-hmm. If you’re really sure that’s what you want to do.” He glances at me, arching his eyebrows so they practically touch his hairline. Am I sure that’s what I want to do? I’m sure I’m sure. Is the man crazy? Who wouldn’t want that?
    â€œYes. I’m so there.”
    â€œOkay, if that’s what you really want,” he says, adding an extra syllable to the word “really.”
    I try to take in the meaning of this, to make sure my ears aren’t playing tricks. He smiles big so I will get his drift. I do. I stand there, in total awe. Hallelujah! Yes! Yes! Yes! It’s a bonafide miracle. Everything’s going to be okay, I think, glancing up at the pinholes in the ceiling, then down at the dry-erase board filled with dates and facts comparing and contrasting the Magna Carta with the Mayflower Compact. More than okay. Mr. Dribble isn’t mean. They have it all wrong. He is truly an excellent teacher and deserves every accolade available to a middle school educator. I try to take in everything and freeze-frame the moment. The way that the fire alarm evacuation map is stapled crooked on the bulletin board, even Mr. Dribble’s Spam sandwich and sour dill pickles.
    My life is converging upon perfect.
    â€œThank you. Thank you so much. I promise you won’t regret it.”
    â€œI know I won’t.” I can imagine him soon tearing up my paper. The ripped-up shreds that used to be my test will flutter like snowflakes into the pine green trash can.
    â€œA fresh start,” he says in a trancelike tone.“Everything will be wiped clean. You’ll be like a whole new person.”
    A deep cold shoots through my veins. My body feels all tingly, as if I have the chills. My legs shake as if a tremor is rollicking under the floor, and little pinpricks of static energy roll through my arms and