A Whole New Ballgame--A Rip and Red Book Read online

  I love it when teams call me Gnat.

  Red set himself on the line and went through his routine.

  Swish!

  “Fifteen!”

  Coach Acevedo grabbed the rebound.

  “Listen, Red,” he said, walking the ball back to the line. “I know you’re not allowed to play in games. Your mom and I had a long conversation earlier in the week.”

  “You did, Coach Acevedo?” He pinky-thumbed his thigh.

  “We did. The hospital where she’s a nurse is right near my apartment. I met her after work.”

  I gripped the back of my neck. This was it. This was the moment. I had no idea how Red was going to react.

  “I want you on our team, Red.” Coach Acevedo glanced at me and then flipped the ball to Red. “You show up for practices, I’ll make sure you’re both on our team.”

  “I’ll show up for practices!” Red dropped the basketball and hugged Coach Acevedo.

  I’d never seen Red hug someone he just met.

  “I’ll show up for practices!” he repeated. “Did you hear that, Mason Irving?”

  I hammer-fisted the air.

  Lesley Irving

  “Knock, knock.”

  I looked up from my book. “Hey, Mom,” I said, pulling out my earbuds.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, walking into my room. She pushed aside my stuffed animals and sat down next to me on the bed. “How did it go today?”

  “It was a day.”

  “I had a feeling you might say something like that.” She tilted my book so she could see the cover. “I adore Sharon Draper. Melody’s such a beautiful character.”

  I was reading Out of My Mind. I read all the time, but I’m a slow-mo reader. It takes me forever to finish a book. Even books I love.

  “Did you know about Ms. Hamburger?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She picked lint out of my hair. “We need to relock these. Maybe this weekend.”

  I ducked away. “Maybe.”

  “You’re not moisturizing enough, Rip. Your scalp is dry.”

  “You knew I had a new teacher?”

  “Yes. What’s his name again?”

  “Mr. Acevedo. Wait, you knew it was a guy? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise. Having a male teacher is going to be good for you this year.”

  I turned down a corner and closed the book. “He has long hair, piercings, and tattoos.”

  “Does that matter?”

  “I’m just saying.” I shrugged. “Did you know about Coach Lebo?”

  She leaned against the wall. “Yes, I knew about Coach Lebo and about the new teacher taking over the basketball program.”

  “It’s a league now,” I said. “We’re playing games against … you know all this, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything.”

  “I’m not holding your hand this year, Rip. I said that to you all summer.”

  “I heard you.”

  “Did you?”

  “‘Life is about playing the cards you’re dealt.’” I tossed the book onto the table by my bed. “You said that a gazillion times.”

  “Glad you listened.” She patted my leg.

  “How many times did you say that to your students today?”

  She laughed. “You have no idea!”

  My mom is the principal at River West, a public middle school about twenty minutes away. She started the school a few years ago with some educator friends.

  “How did Red do today?” she asked.

  “I think okay.”

  “You think?”

  I shrugged. “He did fine.”

  “I’m sure he was happy you were there.”

  “Suzanne spoke to the new teacher about … you know that, too.”

  “Yes.”

  I smacked the bed. “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything. I was buggin’ at practice.”

  “The new teacher has been so accommodating. Suzanne’s so relieved. It would’ve been awful if—”

  “I didn’t think Red was going to be allowed to play. It was all I could think about at basketball.”

  She flicked lint from the locks by my ear. “Are you excited about the new league?”

  “We’ll be lucky to win a game.”

  “How can you say that? You haven’t even seen the other teams yet.”

  “Don’t need to.” I grabbed the Nerf ball from under my purple teddy bear. “Everything’s so different with fifth grade. Nothing’s what I expected.”

  “Honey, I tried to tell you this over the summer.”

  “I know.”

  “Once the voters rejected the budget and bond initiative back in the spring, I knew we were in for it.” She shook her head. “People didn’t understand what they were voting for. The cuts I have to make … It’s awful. Everyone’s going to see this damage.” She bumped my shoulder. “Hey, fifth grader, why are all your clothes on the floor?”

  I shot the Nerf at the hoop above my closet. It bounced off the front rim. “I always leave my clothes on the floor.”

  She pinched her thumb and index finger together. “I just thought there was a teeny-tiny chance things might be different this year.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  “Work a little harder.” She swatted my leg and stood up. “I’m not entertaining the thought of a dog around here until you learn to pick up after yourself.”

  “I’m learning.”

  “Come downstairs in ten for dinner.”

  “Text me.”

  “Text you?” She shot me a look. “And you wonder why you don’t have a phone yet?”

  “Just playin’.”

  “You’d better be, Mason Irving.”

  Community Circle

  “Let’s have a conversation,” Mr. Acevedo said after attendance the next morning. “Come join me in the meeting area.”

  In Room 208, the meeting area was on the left when you walked in. A blue carpet began by the door and went all the way to the cubbies in the back. There was a denim sofa, six green polka-dotted beanbag chairs, and a bathtub. Yeah, a bathtub, one of those old-fashioned ones with feet. A cardboard sign propped against it read: ONE FIFTH GRADER AT A TIME.

  The kids sitting at the tables closest to the carpet grabbed the beanbag chairs, and since Mariam was first to the sofa, she saved spots for Olivia and Grace. Zachary snagged the bathtub.

  “You don’t need your chair,” Mr. Acevedo said to Red. “Leave it at your table.”

  Red stopped.

  Red doesn’t like sitting on the floor. He only sits on the floor in his bedroom and in my basement. He was bringing his chair because there weren’t any seats left.

  He turned to me and squinched his nose and forehead.

  Old-man face.

  I checked the couch and beanbags. If Ms. Yvonne were here, she would’ve asked someone to get up. But I couldn’t, because if I did and no one got up, I had no idea how Red would react.

  “It’ll be fine, Red,” I said. “It’s only for a few minutes.”

  He hunched his shoulders and tightened his grip on the chair.

  “It’s only for a few minutes,” I said again, hopefully.

  He still didn’t move.

  “A few minutes, Red.” I placed my hand next to his on the chair. “Just for a few minutes.”

  Slowly, he loosened his fingers. When his hands were back by his sides, I returned the chair to our table. Then we made our way to the carpet and sat down by the door.

  Red sat with his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs.

  “Where would you like to sit, Ms. Goodman?” Mr. Acevedo asked Avery.

  Ms. Goodman.

  Yesterday, when Mr. Acevedo asked Avery what she wanted to be called, she said Ms. Goodman.

  She pointed across the carpet.

  “Let’s make some room.” Mr. Acevedo motioned for everyone to clear a path.

 
; “Dude, move,” she growled at me.

  Avery had plenty of room to get by. But I knew better than to say anything.

  Everyone does.

  I looked away and checked the room.

  There were already a whole bunch of charts up on the front wall. They all said WRITING TIPS across the top, but only one had something written on it.

  In the back above the cubbies, a large sign said CONFUSING WORDS AND HOMOPHONES. There were already a few listed—pier/peer, your/you’re, aloud/allowed, fir/fur. The definitions were underneath each. Most of the back wall was going to be covered in confusing words and homophones.

  The corner by the windows was the Swag Corner. It said SWAG CORNER in big blue graffiti letters. One of the teachers at my mom’s school has a Swag Wall in her class. It’s where she puts up the best work.

  In the other back corner, written in the same graffiti font, were the words YO! READ THIS! There was a scan of a book cover and beneath it, a plot summary and review. Book recommendations were going to go there.

  Books were everywhere in Room 208. Most were in clear plastic bins, and every bin was labeled either by author or genre. No lie, it looked like Mr. Acevedo had raided the Container Store! The only books not in clear bins were the ones on top of the cubbies. They were in all different containers—silver toolboxes, colored milk crates, and old-fashioned metal lunchboxes.

  “Welcome back to Room 208,” Mr. Acevedo said. He sat cross-legged on the floor between Danny and Hunter. “Welcome to—”

  “Where’s Ms. Hamburger?” Declan interrupted.

  “Patience, grasshopper,” Mr. Acevedo said. He folded his hands in his lap. “For starters today, I’d like to tell everyone a little about myself: Yo soy dominicano, y toda mi familia también. Mi familia es de Santiago, una ciudad situada en el centro de la República Dominicano.” He paused. “Levanten sus manos aquellos que pueden hablar español.”

  Bryan, Diego, Zachary, Christine, and Isa raised their hands.

  “Bueno,” Mr. Acevedo said. He drummed his legs. “I’m Dominican. My family is from Santiago, a town in the middle of the island of Santo Domingo. That’s what I just said. Then I said, if you know Spanish, raise your hand.”

  “I also speak Italian, Mr. A.,” Zachary said.

  “We speak Russian,” Lana said, pointing to her twin sister, Ana. “Not as well as everyone in our family, but we understand it.”

  “Excellent,” Mr. Acevedo said. “For those of you who can speak a second language, keep on learning it. Learn to read it, write it, master it. For those of you who don’t know a second language, learn one. It’s never too late to start. My girlfriend just started learning Arabic.”

  I checked Mr. Acevedo. He wore the same jeans as yesterday, just like he said he would, but today he wore a T-shirt, a red one with an equal sign across the front. Since he was wearing short sleeves, everyone could see his tats. I tried reading the quote on his arm, but it wrapped all the way around, so I could only make out some of the words. Something about a ship.

  “Welcome to Community Circle—CC,” Mr. Acevedo said. “That’s what we’re calling this.” He drew a circle in the air with his finger. “A few times each week, we’re coming together and having conversations. Sometimes they’ll last two minutes, sometimes they’ll last twenty, and sometimes they may last the whole period.”

  “What are we going to talk about?” Attie asked.

  “All different things. We’ll have conversations about school, we’ll have conversations about current events, we’ll have conversations about books. We’ll definitely have conversations about books.”

  I checked Red. He still had his arms around his legs. His eyes were fixed on Mr. Acevedo.

  “Now who can tell me what was the last thing I said yesterday?” Mr. Acevedo asked.

  Red’s hand shot up. Mr. Acevedo pointed to him with his chin.

  “‘Tune in tomorrow for another exciting episode of Room 208, Unexpected.’” Red grinned. “That was the last thing you said yesterday, Mr. Acevedo.”

  “It sure was, Red.” Mr. Acevedo laughed. “What about the sentences before that?” He nodded to Miles.

  “We have to bring something to read to class every day.”

  “Exactly. We have independent reading every day in Room 208, every single day. We’re calling it Choice. We can read whatever we want: books, poetry, comics, graphic novels, magazines, e-books. So long as you’re reading. I know I’ll be reading. I’ll be wearing my sign, too.” He pointed to the do-not-disturb sign on the back of his chair. “Feel free to make your own signs.”

  “How long will we have for Choice?” Melissa asked.

  “It depends. Some days maybe ten or fifteen minutes, some days an hour.”

  “Can we listen to audiobooks?” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” he replied. “Reading with our ears is definitely permitted.” He brushed the hair out of his eyes. “So we have Choice in here every day, and I’ll be reading to you in here every day.”

  “Does that have a special name, too, Mr. A.?” Danny asked, smiling.

  “As a matter of fact, it does, Danny.” Mr. Acevedo smiled back. “We’re calling it Teacher’s Theater Time—T3.” He pointed his index fingers at Declan. “Now it’s time for those answers, answers, answers. Ask me your question.”

  “Where’s Ms. Hamburger?”

  “She retired. A lot of teachers did.”

  Red wrapped his arms around his legs again and swayed.

  I placed my hand on his back.

  “Why did everyone retire?” Declan followed up.

  “Money.” Mr. Acevedo rubbed his thumb against two fingers. “Money is super tight. That’s why I’m here. We new teachers are getting paid a whole lot less to do a whole lot more. I’m teaching fifth-grade Language Arts, fourth-grade science, third-grade—”

  “Fourth grade?” Isa said. “Ms. Wright retired, too?”

  “She did,” Mr. Acevedo said. “I’m teaching three different grades here, driver’s ed two afternoons a week up at the high school, and—”

  “How can one person do all that?” I interrupted.

  Mr. Acevedo laughed. “I’ve been asking myself the same question, Rip.”

  Red swayed faster. He turtled his neck, too.

  “Is Ms. Darling still the principal?” Isa asked.

  “She is.” Mr. Acevedo nodded. “But she’s going to be out of the building a lot the first few weeks. That’s why you haven’t seen her these first two mornings. They’ve cut almost all the assistant-principal positions in the district, so all the principals are trying to figure out—”

  “Wait a sec,” Declan said. “The principal’s out of the building, and there’s no AP. So who’s in charge?”

  Mr. Acevedo patted his chest. “That would be me, the brand-new teacher who’s not afraid to shake things up.”

  “You’re in charge of the whole school?” Piper asked.

  “Not exactly,” Mr. Acevedo said. “But I am in charge in here. That means I’m teaching this class the way I want. That means we’re going to have fun in here.” He chuckled. “Of course, it may also mean I’m a delusional rookie teacher, and if you don’t know what delusional means, look it up.”

  I had no idea what delusional meant. It sounded like something contagious or deadly.

  “I’m only here for a year,” Mr. Acevedo said. “I have a one-year contract. So I’m looking at this as an opportunity—an opportunity for everyone.” Mr. Acevedo drummed his legs again. “Now let’s get poppin’. Time for our first T3.”

  Teacher’s Theater Time

  With my basketball eyes, I followed Mr. Acevedo as he walked the classroom while reading Lawn Boy by Gary Paulsen. It’s an awesome story about this kid who gets a beat-up old mower from his grandmother for his birthday. Then he goes into business with his crazy but super-smart neighbor named Arnold. Before he knows it, he’s making loads of dough.

  At RJE, all the teachers read to their classes, but I’d never had a te
acher read like this. It didn’t feel like Mr. Acevedo was reading. It felt like the boy—the narrator—was reading. For the different characters, like the grandmother and Arnold, Mr. Acevedo used different voices. Sometimes he read quickly, sometimes slowly. His voice rose and fell as he strutted, dipped, slid, and danced around the tables. He stood on the tables, too. And when Mr. Acevedo stopped to ask a question about a character or to have us make a prediction, he did it in such a way that it didn’t interrupt the flow. It was almost as if that was part of the performance, too.

  Yeah, it was a performance. Like being at a theater.

  Teacher’s Theater Time.

  “That’s all, folks,” he said, closing the book just before the end of a scene. “Tune in tomorrow for another exciting episode of Room 208, Unexpected.”

  Up

  Twenty-two hours and thirty minutes later …

  “Here are your instructions,” Mr. Acevedo said, hopping onto his desk. “I want everyone to get a journal.” He pointed to the composition notebooks on the windowsill behind Red and me. “Put your name on it, and then go stand on your table.”

  Go stand on your table.

  Red raised his fists to his face and tapped his cheeks.

  “Just be careful,” Mr. Acevedo said. “I don’t want to have to write an incident report on my third day.” He jumped down and scooted to Avery. “What can you do, Ms. Goodman?”

  She curled her lip. “Well, I can’t exactly stand on my table.”

  “I didn’t think you could.” He tapped her armrest. “But you’re a member of this class, and everyone in Room 208 participates. So what can we have you do instead?”

  “Whatever,” she said.

  “Nope.” Mr. Acevedo shook his head. “We need to come up—”

  “I can climb,” she interrupted.

  “Excellent. Be right back.” He slide-stepped to the door and leaned into the hallway. “Ms. Waldon,” he called, “can you send one of the custodians our way?”

  Ms. Waldon, the parent coordinator.