The Itsy-Bitsy Spider

Mike pulled a chair close to the wall.

"Man, I can't do this. Please, I'll do anything else."

"Dude, it's a spider. It ain't gonna hurt you. Besides, it wont work without a spider."

"Yeah, yeah. But I hate spiders!" Mike said shaking on the chair.

"Hurry up, she's going to be here soon. Let's go. I drank the toilet water, you can at least put a spider into a container!

"Okay, here goes." Mike closed his eyes and slowly caught the tiny spider. The loud door bell rang in the quite house.

"Hey Megan, how's it going?" Jay, Mike's friend said trying his hardest to breathe on her.

"Fine, I guess. What have you been drinking? Toilet water? Your breath stinks. Here's some gum." Megan said popping a piece on gum in her own mouth.

"Where's Mike? I want to get started on the project."

"Here I am!" He said, almost screaming, holding the spider behind him.

"What's in your hand?" Megan asked.

"Nothing, nothing's in his hand." Jay tackled Megan to the floor and started to breath on her.

"Get off me! You reek! Mike get him off me!" When she opened her eyes, she found the tiny little spider, crawling on her nose. She pushed the spider, then Jay away, screaming. "You guys are freaks!" She stood up. "You can find someone else to help you!" As she stormed out of the house, still shaken from what happened, Mike and Jay shook hands, yelling, "Hoot, hoot!"

Fabulous

"Hey. What are you doing?"

No answer.

"Hello? Nevermind. I'm Catherine, you are?"

"Why are you talking to me?" he asked.

"What are you talking about? I was just trying to be nice, you know, make you feel welcome here. It's a big school isn't it? You'll get used to it." Catherine said leaning on the back of her chair.

"I hate what you're wearing, I hate your hair and your make-up. That's what I'm talking about."

"Why you little punk!" Catherine said, getting up from her seat, "Excuse me for trying to make conversation with you! What is your problem?"

"I just don't like what you're wearing or you hair or your make-up." he repeated, taking a bite out of his sandwich, "My name's Gavin by the way. Gavin Marsh. I really hate your clothes. U-G-L-Y" Gavin spelled.

"Whatever. I have to go. And sorry again, for trying. I have to go find out who my Peer Pal is." Catherine said, walking for towards Student Services.

Student Services

"Hey, Mary. I was wondering who my little grade seven pal is."

"Hello. We're very happy to have you with us again this year! Let me just check. Whoever it is, your fist meeting is Monday at 10." Mary went to her desk and pulled out a file. "This year your 'little friend' is..." She put her glasses, and pulled the papers close to her face.

Please don't be the little punk. Please, God.

"It is Gavin..." Please God... "Gavin Marsh."

With a sarcastic smile, Catherine muttered, "Great."

Dummy

“F? I got an F? Do you know how hard I studied for this test?” Dylan said shaking his test in his teacher’s face. He really hadn’t studied as hard as he said. In fact, he didn’t study at all. But what would his father and mother say? Dylan didn’t care about his mark, but the parents always did. He planned that he wouldn’t show them the test. He didn’t even tell them there was going to be a test. Hopefully, that would work.

“Dylan, how was school today?” His mother asked when he returned from school in the afternoon.

“Uh…Well, I only had three detentions today." He said, trying to advoid talking about his classes.

“Well, that’s a start,” his father said, walking into the room, " You usually have five." Dylan laughed as he stroked the back of his head.

While Dylan sat in bed that night, thinking about the test he had the next day, he wondered how he could do better. He had already blown the chance of studying for it. He decided to play sick.

Five minutes into sleeping, he quickly sat up.

“I’ll steal that answer sheet! Yeah. But the school's closed and the test is tomorrow. I guess I’ll just have to break in.” He hopped out of bed and put a sweater on. He peeked out the hallway to see if his parents were still awake. His father was snoring. Good. He tipsy-toed down the hallway and out the door.

Smash! Dylan threw a rock at his classroom window. Perfect. Slowly creeping in, he spotted

“Here are you test back everyone. I was surprised to see who had the highest score.” Dylan’s teacher handed him his paper. Dylan felt there was no need to look.

“Peter, please stand up. Everyone, please give Peter a big hand for the highest mark in class.” Dylan stood up in the middle of the applause.

“What? What? Peter, of all people, got the highest mark in class? I think your fooling with me. I got the highest mark.”

“Did you look at your paper? You had answers that had nothing to do with the unit. Go ahead, look.” Dylan glanced at his paper. In red ink, there was a large ‘F’ printed on the top of the page.

“But I took the answer sheet! I remember. Last night.”

“No Dylan, you took the grade seven’s unit test questions that were used in their last unit. You’re in grade eight. It’s called studying.” The whole class began laughing and clapping. Dylan’s teacher called to the office for Dylan to get a talking to. “Maybe you need to go back to grade seven.”