Too Cool for This School Read Online Free PDF Page B

wrinkled my nose and shook my head. “I’d better not. I’m behind with some important stuff.”
    “I think it’s fine if she wants to hold down the fort. We’ll be back in thirty minutes,” my dad said.
    “Maybe we should get a sitter,” my mom fretted.
    “I’ll be fine,” I said.
    My mother finally agreed. “Okay. But try to do something productive.”
    Sometimes my parents treated me as if I was nine.
    “I’m working on my creative writing homework,” I said, lifting up my spiral notebook. “Mr. Guzman told us to write a poem from the point of view of one of our chairs.”
    “Really? I hope you say kind things about my butt,” my father joked, shaking his rear end back and forth.
    “Gross,” I said.
    My dad laughed again. “What a weird assignment. Can you believe that, Claire? Her teacher wants her to pretend she’s a couch.”
    “A chair!” I called after them right as they slammed the door.
    I decided it made sense to write the poem from the point of view of our wingback chair, which sat closest to the door. That was where most of our guests liked to sit. Of all the chairs in our house, it had the most severe butt dent. I’d only made it as far as the title, “Confessions of a Wingback Chair,” when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. So of course I was hoping it was Todd calling me from a random phone. I wanted to let it ring four times so I didn’t look too eager, but I couldn’t stop myself from picking it up on the second ring.
    ME: Hi.
    LESLIE: I’m so glad you answered. It’s Leslie.
    ME: Cool. Hi, Leslie. I didn’t recognize your number.
    LESLIE: Haven’t you programmed my number into your phone yet? You should really program all the class captains into your phone. Do you need me to email you those? I don’t have time to do that now. I mean, I’m in a wicked hurry.
    ME: Um, emailing them later works.
    LESLIE: So what are you doing?
    ME: I’m at home. Writing a poem.
    LESLIE: Awesome. You are so deep. So do you have a pen?
    ME: Yeah.
    LESLIE: Okay. Write this down. You need to make two dozen cookies for our cookie basket for Ms. Knapp. We like to look grateful, especially at the beginning of the year. Robin is making peanut butter. Derek is making magic bars. Fiona is making lemon squares. And I’m making chocolate chip. We need a fifth kind.
    ME: Wow. Ten dozen cookies for Ms. Knapp?
    LESLIE: Teachers like to share. Moving on. Robin thinks the basket should have a vegan option. Do you know a killer vegan recipe?
    Ring. Ring. Ring
.
    LESLIE: Is that your doorbell? Do you have to go?
    ME: No.
    It was the first time a class captain had called me. It seemed like I should stay on the phone until
she
had to go.
    Ring. Ring. Ring
.
    LESLIE: Don’t worry about putting them on a cool-looking plate. We’ll arrange them in the basket using special cookie sleeves. Robin’s mom is a florist. She has an eye for that stuff.
    Ring. Ring. Ring
.
    LESLIE: Do your parents hate answering the door or something?
    ME: They’re gone.
    LESLIE: Wow. You’re lucky. My parents didn’t leave me home alone on weekends until this year. ME: It’s not like they do it all the time.
    Ring. Ring. Ring
.
    LESLIE: I’m so torn right now. I totally have to go. But I think I should stay on the phone with you. Until you answer the door. Because what if it’s a psycho person?
    ME: It’s probably just FedEx.
    LESLIE: Not this late. Are you expecting anybody?Do you read the police crime log online? There’s been a ton of break-ins on the west side of town. Don’t you live on the west side? I probably shouldn’t be talking about those.
    I took a deep breath and began walking toward the door. I didn’t even know the police kept a crime log. I mean, I rarely ever thought about crime. Unfortunately, I did live on the west side.
    Ring. Ring. Ring
.
    LESLIE: So creepy! It’s like whoever is on the other side of that door is pathological. Because they won’t stop ringing your bell. Okay. Don’t