Story "Zero"

Zero

by Paul Logan

Vocabulary Words

1.  Blend: to mix thoroughly.

2.  Mocked: to treat with contempt or ridicule.

3.  Lack: to be missing.

4. Freshman: a first year student.

5. Skim: to read rapidly and superficially.

6. Peers: classmates.

7. Stunned: to make senseless or dizzy.

8.  Dismal: showing of depression

9.  Asphalt: petroleum used in paving streets.

10.  Apathetic: lack of emotion.

11.  Cluster: group.

12.  Ignited: to set a fire.

13.  Dreary: sad, gloomy.

14.  Coasting: to move without effort.

15.  Tumbled: to fall or cause to fall.

16.  Crumpled: to crush together.

17.  Mediocre: of low quality.

18.  SAT: college admission exam.

19.  Guidance counselor: professionals that help students focus on academic, personal and career development so they can achieve success in schools and their lives.

Story Zero

Three F’s and two I’s. 

            My first semester grades hit me like a kick in the stomach.  The F’s were for classes where my work was poor.  The I’s were “incompletes” –for courses in which I never finished my assignments.  They eventually became F’s too. 

            I crumpled the report card and shoved it deep in the trash can.  I can’t say I was surprised.  A zero grade point average was what I deserved, no question about it.  But seeing my name in a print on the worst possible report card still hurt.  It also lit a spark in me, one that changed my life.

            I was nineteen when I bombed out my first year of college.  I hadn’t always been a poor student.  During elementary and middle school, I was consistently at the top of my class.  But when I transferred into a huge regional high school, everything changed.  I started “underachieving.”  Guidance counselors, teachers, and members of my family noticed.  “You have potential,” they’d say when they heard of my mediocre performance.  “You just don’t apply yourself”

            They didn’t understand.  The truth was I did apply myself-just not to academics.  As a shy, acne-prone teenager thrown into a enormous and unfamiliar high school, grades were not my priority; survival was.  During my freshman year, I was constantly hassled and teased by a group of older guys at my school.  They shoved and threatened me on the bus, teased me in the halls, and mocked me during lunchtime.  Nerd.  Geek.  Loser.  These insults were fired at me like bullets.  Sometimes they came with fists.  I got scared. 

            This fear transformed me.  Constantly stressed and distracted, I stopped worrying about classes.  Too embarrassed to admit to teachers or my family what was happening, I quietly dropped from an A student in 8^th grade to C student just a year later.  My definition of success changed just dramatically.  To me, a good day at school was no longer about doing well in class.  It was simply about getting home without being hassled.  To achieve this goal, I learned to blend in to the crowd-to look, talk, and act like the popular kids.  First, I changed my clothes and hairstyle.  Then I started behaving differently, hanging out with new “friends” and teasing the few kids who fit in the worse than me.  By the end of freshman year, I escaped being at the bottom of a social ladder, but I also gave up on being a good student.

            Instead, my focus was on following the crowd and being a social success.  In 10^th grade, I got a job at a nearby mall, so I could buy what seemed important: name-brand clothes, expensive sneakers, the latest CD’s, and movie tickets—things I thought I needed to be popular.  So what if my grades tumbled because I neglected my studies?  At least no one was laughing at me anymore.  By 11^th grade, a new girlfriend and my used car were what I cared most about.  Classes were a meaningless activity I endured weekdays.  Senior year was more of the same, though I took the SAT and applied to a few colleges—because classmates were doing it.  Despite my mediocre grade, I managed to get accepted.  The following September, thanks to my family’s savings, I followed the crowed and floated straight to college. 

            That’s when I started to sink.  Years of putting social time and my job ahead of school left me without study habits to deal with college work.  Years of coasting in class left me unready for assignments that required effort and time management skills.  Years of following others left me unequipped to make smart choices about my education.  In addition to lacking skills, I also lacked motivation.  College felt as meaningless to me as high school.  Though I’d gotten accepted at a four year university, nothing pushed me to succeed there.  I arrived on campus in September without skills, goals, and a plan.  I figured I could continue doing what I had done for years: coasting.  It was recipe for disaster.

            My first week on campus, I coasted through freshman orientation, skipping activities because I didn’t take them seriously.  My second week, I attended a few parties, got home late, and overslept, missing a bunch of classes.  No big deal, I thought.  I’d just float by and hand in my homework late.  But I quickly discovered, unlike high school, catching up was difficult in college.  Readings in my English and History classes wore longer and more complicated that I was used to—too difficult for me to skim.  Writing assignments were more numerous and required more time than I’d expected.  Unaccustomed to the workload, I started cutting “easy” classes to complete overdue assignments from other courses.  This strategy made me fall further behind, which, in turn, made it even more difficult to motivate myself to attend class.

            Why bother if you’re already behind? I thought. 

            Deadline passed and work kept piling up, and I began to realize I was over my head.  Halfway through the semester, I stopped going to classes regularly, hoping instead that I could score well on final exams to offset my missing assignments.  But without attending class and taking notes, there was no way I could adequately prepare for test.  While coasting worked in high school, it didn’t work in college.  By the end of ten weeks, I knew I was done.  No longer able to float, I’d sunk.  My family was stunned and dissapointed at my failure.  I was, too, though the lesson hadn’t yet fully sunk in.  That happened a few months later when I was working at a large warehouse store called Sam’s Club—the one place near home that would hire an unskilled college dropout in the middle of winter.  My job was to retrieve shopping carts from the store’s massive parking lot and stack them in rows for customers.  Days and nights, I trudged across the dismal asphalt, collecting carts and cleaning up piles of garbage and soiled diapers shoppers left behind.  On this March afternoon, it was raw and stormy, and I was wearing a used yellow Sam’s Club raincoat that made me stink of sweat and vinyl.  My hair was dripping, and my shoes squished like soaked sponges with each step. 

            The store was crowded with shoppers, and I’d just shoved a heavy train of carts next to the front door when a cluster of young people walked out.  I recognized them immediately: four popular classmates who’d gone to my highschool.  They were giggling about something—a sound that brought me back to the time, years earlier, when I feared being laughed at by my peers.  My face began to burn.

             “Oh my God, it’s Paul,” said one of them.  They all looked at me.  I felt trapped.  “What are you doing here?”said Ken, a guy who’d been in my English class in 10^th grade.  He glanced at my rain-soacked jacket. 

            “Working,” I said.  There was an awkward silence.  I had spent years trying to fit in with peopule like them, and now I only wanted to get away.  “What about you?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Were home for the spring break,”Ken replied.

            The burning on my face suddently grew hotter.  They were already finishing their first year of college, and I was pushing carts in the rain—pushing carts for them.

“Paul, we need more carts in here! Hurry up!!!” my supervisor yelled from inside the store.

            My former classmates looked uncomfortable and embarrassed.  I could see the question in their eyes.  What happened to you? Weren’t you in college too? I felt as if my first semester grade point average was written across my face and they were reading it.

Zero point zero.

            I nodded a quick goodbye and turned away.  My eyes stung as the truth of my mistakes poured down on me like the rain.  I had allowed myself to become what my grade point average said: a failure—a dropout without a plan, a goal, or a real future.   A zero.  Coasting wasn’t going to carry me any further.  Neither would the CD’s, the parties, or the brand name sneakers I’d so valued in high school.  By pursuing them and nothing else, I’d closed doors in my life.  If I kept following the same path, I could spend years struggling in that dreary parking lot or some other menial job while my peers moved forward.  I wanted to do more with my life that push shopping carts. 

            The spark which ignited at the sight of my report card erupted into a burning flame in my chest.  Watching my friends drive off that afternon, one thing was suddently clear to me: it was time to get serious and take control of my life.  College could help me do that, I realized.  It could be a lifeline; I just had to grab it—no more coasting. 

            The following fall, with money saved from working nine months in the parking lot, I paid for classes at a local community college.  This time, I attended every orientation activity—and I took notes.  Learning from past mistakes, I also bought a calendar and jotted down each assignment, so I could see deadlines well in advance and plan accordingly.  Instead of skipping classes for social time, I arranged social events after class with peers who seemed serious about their work.  No longer a follower, I became a study group leader!  This actually helped me become a popular student—the thing I had chased for so long in high school. 

            I am not going to say it was easy.  After long days on the job, I spent longer nights at home doing my coursework.  It took monts of practice for me to learn the skills I’d missed in high school: how to take good notes, how to take tests, how to write an effective essay, and how to get help when I needed it.  But gradually I learned.

            Throughout my second attempt at college, I sat beside many students who reminded me of myself during my first semester.  I recognized those right away— students who seemed distracted or apathetic in class or who were frequently absent.  They usually disappeared after a few weeks.  Some were dealing with full lives that made it difficult to focus on their courses.  Others, especially the ones straight out of high school, were coasting, unsure of why they were there or what we’re doing.  For these students, college is especially tough. 

            To thrive in college, you have to want to be there, and you have to be ready to focus on work.  Some people aren’t ready.  They’re likely to fail, just as I did.  But even failure, as painful as it is, doesn’t have to be an ending.  It can be a learning experience—one that builds strength and gives direction.  It can also serve as a wake-up call that turns a floating student into a serious one.  It can even light a spark that sets the stage for future success.  Take it from me, a former zero, who graduated from community college with a perfect 4.0 grade point average!

  

Story "A Slander"

A Slander

by Anton Chekhov

Pre Reading: Vocabulary Words

1. slander: to utter slander against : DEFAME
2. master : one having authority or control.
3. drawing room: a formal reception room.
4. flitting: to pass or move quickly from place to place.
5. swallowtails: tailcoat.
6. hubbub: a state of commotion or excitement.
7. din: a loud confused mixture of noises.
8. hurriedly: to move or act with haste.
9. sentry : guard.
10. queer : weird, strange, differing from the usual.
11. supper : an evening meal.
12. fumes: smoke, vapor or gas.
13. sturgeon: a large food fish valuable as a source of caviar.
14. grin: to draw back the lips so as to show the teeth, especially in amusement.
15. stealthy : secretly
16. relish: enjoyment or delight in something.
17. piquancy: pleasantly savory.
18. avail: to be use or advantage.
19. propensities: an often intense natural inclination or preference.
20. scoundrel: a disreputable person.
21. cholera: an often fatal epidemic disease.

Pre Reading Questions: A Slander

1.  Describe a kiss.  What can a kiss mean?

2.  Has your life ever been affected by gossip?

3.  How is a gossip spread?

4.  Describe a Puerto Rican Wedding.

5.  Based on the vocabulary words and pre reading questions, what do you think the story is going to be about?

A Slander

by Anton Chekhov

SERGE KAPITONICH AHINEEV, the writing master, was marrying his daughter to the teacher of history and geography. The wedding festivities were going off most successfully. In the drawing room there was singing, playing, and dancing. Waiters hired from the club were flitting distractedly about the rooms, dressed in black swallow-tails and dirty white ties. There was a continual hubbub and din of conversation. Sitting side by side on the sofa, the teacher of mathematics, Tarantulov, the French teacher, Pasdequoi, and the junior assessor of taxes, Mzda, were talking hurriedly and interrupting one another as they described to the guests cases of persons being buried alive, and gave their opinions on spiritualism. None of them believed in spiritualism, but all admitted that there were many things in this world which would always be beyond the mind of man. In the next room the literature master, Dodonsky, was explaining to the visitors the cases in which a sentry has the right to fire on passers-by. The subjects, as you perceive, were alarming, but very agreeable. Persons whose social position precluded them from entering were looking in at the windows from the yard.

Just at midnight the master of the house went into the kitchen to see whether everything was ready for supper. The kitchen from floor to ceiling was filled with fumes composed of goose, duck, and many other odours. On two tables the accessories, the drinks and light refreshments, were set out in artistic disorder. The cook, Marfa, a red-faced woman whose figure was like a barrel with a belt around it, was bustling about the tables.

"Show me the sturgeon, Marfa," said Ahineev, rubbing his hands and licking his lips. "What a perfume! I could eat up the whole kitchen. Come, show me the sturgeon."

Marfa went up to one of the benches and cautiously lifted a piece of greasy newspaper. Under the paper on an immense dish there reposed a huge sturgeon, masked in jelly and decorated with capers, olives, and carrots. Ahineev gazed at the sturgeon and gasped. His face beamed, he turned his eyes up. He bent down and with his lips emitted the sound of an ungreased wheel. After standing a moment he snapped his fingers with delight and once more smacked his lips.
"Ah-ah! the sound of a passionate kiss. . . . Who is it you're kissing out there, little Marfa?" came a voice from the next room, and in the doorway there appeared the cropped head of the assistant usher, Vankin. "Who is it? A-a-h! . . . Delighted to meet you! Sergei Kapitonich! You're a fine grandfather, I must say! Tête-à-tête with the fair sex--tette!"

"I'm not kissing," said Ahineev in confusion. "Who told you so, you fool? I was only . . . I smacked my lips . . . in reference to . . . as an indication of. . . pleasure . . . at the sight of the fish."

"Tell that to the marines!" The intrusive face vanished, wearing a broad grin.

Ahineev flushed.
"Hang it!" he thought, "the beast will go now and talk scandal. He'll disgrace me to all the town, the brute."

Ahineev went timidly into the drawing-room and looked stealthily round for Vankin. Vankin was standing by the piano, and, bending down with a jaunty air, was whispering something to the inspector's sister-in-law, who was laughing.

"Talking about me!" thought Ahineev. "About me, blast him! And she believes it . . . believes it! She laughs! Mercy on us! No, I can't let it pass . . . I can't. I must do something to prevent his being believed. . . . I'll speak to them all, and he'll be shown up for a fool and a gossip."

Ahineev scratched his head, and still overcome with embarrassment, went up to Pasdequoi.

"I've just been in the kitchen to see after the supper," he said to the Frenchman. "I know you are fond of fish, and I've a sturgeon, my dear fellow, beyond everything! A yard and a half long! Ha, ha, ha! And, by the way . . . I was just forgetting. . . . In the kitchen just now, with that sturgeon . . . quite a little story! I went into the kitchen just now and wanted to look at the supper dishes. I looked at the sturgeon and I smacked my lips with relish . . . at the piquancy of it. And at the very moment that fool Vankin came in and said: . . . 'Ha, ha, ha! . . . So you're kissing here!' Kissing Marfa, the cook! What a thing to imagine, silly fool! The woman is a perfect fright, like all the beasts put together, and he talks about kissing! Queer fish!"

"Who's a queer fish?" asked Tarantulov, coming up.

"Why he, over there -- Vankin! I went into the kitchen . . ."

And he told the story of Vankin. ". . . He amused me, queer fish! I'd rather kiss a dog than Marfa, if you ask me," added Ahineev. He looked round and saw behind him Mzda.

"We were talking of Vankin," he said. "Queer fish, he is! He went into the kitchen, saw me beside Marfa, and began inventing all sorts of silly stories. 'Why are you kissing?' he says. He must have had a drop too much. 'And I'd rather kiss a turkeycock than Marfa,' I said, 'And I've a wife of my own, you fool,' said I. He did amuse me!"

"Who amused you?" asked the priest who taught Scripture in the school, going up to Ahineev.

"Vankin. I was standing in the kitchen, you know, looking at the sturgeon. . . ."
And so on. Within half an hour or so all the guests knew the incident of the sturgeon and Vankin.

"Let him tell away now!" thought Ahineev, rubbing his hands. "Let him! He'll begin telling his story and they'll say to him at once, 'Enough of your improbable nonsense, you fool, we know all about it!' "

And Ahineev was so relieved that in his joy he drank four glasses too many. After escorting the young people to their room, he went to bed and slept like an innocent babe, and next day he thought no more of the incident with the sturgeon. But, alas! man proposes, but God disposes. An evil tongue did its evil work, and Ahineev's strategy was of no avail. Just a week later -- to be precise, on Wednesday after the third lesson -- when Ahineev was standing in the middle of the teacher's room, holding forth on the vicious propensities of a boy called Visekin, the head master went up to him and drew him aside:

"Look here, Sergei Kapitonich," said the head master, "you must excuse me. . . . It's not my business; but all the same I must make you realize. . . . It's my duty. You see, there are rumors that you are romancing with that . . . cook. . . . It's nothing to do with me, but . . . flirt with her, kiss her . . . as you please, but don't let it be so public, please. I entreat you! Don't forget that you're a schoolmaster."

Ahineev turned cold and faint. He went home like a man stung by a whole swarm of bees, like a man scalded with boiling water. As he walked home, it seemed to him that the whole town was looking at him as though he were smeared with pitch. At home fresh trouble awaited him.

"Why aren't you gobbling up your food as usual?" his wife asked him at dinner. "What are you so pensive about? Brooding over your amours? Pining for your Marfa? I know all about it, Mohammedan! Kind friends have opened my eyes! O-o-o! . . . you savage!"

And she slapped him in the face. He got up from the table, not feeling the earth under his feet, and without his hat or coat, made his way to Vankin. He found him at home.
"You scoundrel!" he addressed him. "Why have you covered me with mud before all the town? Why did you set this slander going about me?"

"What slander? What are you talking about?"

"Who was it gossiped of my kissing Marfa? Wasn't it you? Tell me that. Wasn't it you, you brigand?"

Vankin blinked and twitched in every fibre of his battered countenance, raised his eyes to the icon and articulated, "God blast me! Strike me blind and lay me out, if I said a single word about you! May I be left without house and home, may I be stricken with worse than cholera!"

Vankin's sincerity did not admit of doubt. It was evidently not he who was the author of the slander.

"But who, then, who?" Ahineev wondered, going over all his acquaintances in his mind and beating himself on the breast. "Who, then?"

Who, then? We, too, ask the reader.

During Reading Questions

1.  Why does Ahineev think Vankin is spreading rumors?

2.  What does Ahineev do to prevent the rumors from being spread?

3.  Who does Ahineev approach to clarify the incident in the kitchen with Marfa?

4.  What do you think about the way Ahineev handle the rumor? Would you have done the same thing? Why or why not?

5.  How do you think Ahineev is going to confront Vankin? Write a descriptive paragraph?

After Reading Questions

1.  Does Ahineev feel relieved after clarifying the incident of the kitchen with Marfa?  Why?

2.  Who informed Ahineev about the rumors being spread?  What advice did this person give him?

3.  What happened when Ahineev arrived home?

4.  Ahineev confronted Vankin.  Do Ahineev react the way you thought he would react?

5.  Who do you think spread the rumors of Ahineev if it wasn't Vankin?

Story "Seventh Grade"

Seventh Grade

by Gary Soto

Pre Reading: Vocabulary Words

1. Elective: optional course or subject in a school or college curriculum.
2. Scowl: lower eyebrows and corners of the mouth; look angry or irritated.
3. Ferocity: fierceness; wild force.
4. Conviction: the state of being convinced; Belief.
5. Sheepishly: In a shy or embarrassed way.
6. Propelled: force that imparts motion.
7. Lingered: to be slow to act.
8. Populace: common people.
9. Shuffled: to produce in a random order.
10. Wobbly: clumsily from side to side.
11. Crackling: snapping noises.
12. Squirmed: to twist
13. Bluff: to frighten or deceive by pretense or a mere show of strength
14. Scraped: to draw roughly or noisily over a surface.
15. Hummed: to make the natural noise of an insect in motion. 

Pre Reading Questions: Author

1.  Where did Gary Soto grew up?

2.  Mention 3 genres Soto wrote.

3.  What do you have in common with Gary Soto?

4.  After reading Gary Soto's biography, his work was based on what?

Pre Reading Questions: Seventh Grade

1.  Do you remember when you were in Seventh Grade?  Write a narrative paragraph about an anecdote from Seventh Grade.

2.  Can you predict what the story is about by its vocabulary words and title Seventh Grade?

3.  How do you feel about people that pretend to be somebody they are not?  Have you ever pretend to be somebody you're not? Why? 

4.  Compare and contrast the way you behaved in Seventh Grade and the way you behave now. 

Seventh Grade

by Gary Soto

On the first day of school, Victor stood in line half an hour before he came to a wobbly card table. He was handed a packet of papers and a computer card on which he listed his one elective, French. He already spoke Spanish and English, but he thought some day he might travel to France, where it was cool; not like Fresno, where summer days reached 110 degrees in the shade. There were rivers in Prance, and huge churches, and fair-skinned people everywhere, the way there were brown people all around Victor
Besides, Teresa, a girl he had liked since they were in catechism classes at Saint Theresa’s, was taking French, too. With any luck they would be in the same class. Teresa is going to be my girl this year, he promised himself as he left the gym full of students in their new fall clothes. She was cute. And good in math, too, Victor thought as he walked down the hall to his homeroom. He ran into his friend, Michael Torres, by the water fountain that never turned off.
They shook hands, raza-style, and jerked their heads at one another in a saludo de vato. “How come you’re making a face?” asked Victor.
“I ain’t making a face, ese. This is my face.” Michael said his face had changed during the summer. He had read a GQ magazine that his older brother had borrowed from the Book Mobile and noticed that the male models all had the same look on their faces. They would stand, one arm around a beautiful woman, and scowl. They would sit at the pool, their rippled stomachs dark with shadow, and scowl. They would sit at dinner tables, cool drinks in their hands, and scowl,
“I think it works,” Michael said. He scowled and let his upper lip quiver. His teeth showed along with the ferocity of his soul. “Belinda Reyes walked by a while ago and looked at me,” he said.
Victor didn’t say anything, though he thought his friend looked pretty strange. They talked about recent movies, baseball, their parents, and the horrors of picking grapes in order to buy their fall clothes. Picking grapes was like living in Siberia, except hot and more boring.
“What classes are you taking?” Michael said, scowling.
“French. How ‘bout you?”
“Spanish. L ain’t so good at it, even if I’m Mexican."
“I’m not either, but I’m better at it than math, that’s for sure.”
A tiny, three-beat bell propelled students to their homerooms. The two friends socked each other in the arm and went their ways, Victor thinking, man, that’s weird. Michael thinks making a face makes him handsome.
On the way to his homeroom, Victor tried a scowl. He felt foolish, until out of the corner of his eye he saw a girl looking at hint Umm, he thought, maybe it does work. He scowled with greater conviction.
In the homeroom, roll was taken, emergency cards were passed out, and they were given a bulletin to take home to their parents. The principal, Mr. Belton, spoke over the crackling loudspeaker, welcoming the students to a new year, new experiences, and new friendships. The students squirmed in their chairs and ignored him, they were anxious to go to first period. Victor sat calmly, thinking of Teresa, who sat two rows away, reading a paperback novel. This would be his lucky year. She was in his homeroom, and would probably be in his English and math classes. And, of course, French.
The bell rang for first period, and the students herded noisily through the door. Only Teresa lingered, talking with the homeroom teacher.
“So you think I should talk to Mrs. Gaines?” she asked the teacher. “She would know about ballet?”
“She would be a good bet,” the teacher said. Then added, “Or the gym teacher, Mrs. Garza."
Victor lingered, keeping his head down and staring at his desk. He wanted to leave when she did so he could bump into her and say something clever.
He watched her on the sly. As she turned to leave, he stood up and hurried to the door, where he managed to catch her eye. She smiled and said, “Hi, Victor."
He smiled back and said, “Yeah, that's me.” His brown face blushed. Why hadn’t he said, “Hi, Teresa,” or "How was your summer?” or something nice.
As Teresa walked down the hall, Victor walked the other way, looking back, admiring how gracefully she walked, one foot in front of the other. So much for being in the same class, he thought. As he trudged to English, he practiced scowling.
In English they reviewed the parts of speech. Mr. Lucas, a portly man, waddled down the aisle, asking, “What is a noun?”
“A person, place, or thing,” said the class in unison.
Yes, now somebody give mean example of a person--you, Victor Rodriguez.”
"Teresa,” Victor said automatically. Some of the girls giggled. They knew he had a crush on Teresa. He felt himself blushing again.
“Correct,” Mr. Lucas said. “Now provide me with a place.”
Mr. Lucas called on a freckled kid who answered, “Teresa’s house with a kitchen full of big brothers.”
After English, Victor had math, his weakest subject. He sat in the back by the window, hoping that he would not be called on. Victor understood most of the problems, but some of the stuff looked like the teacher made it up as she went along. It was confusing, like the inside of a watch.
After math he had a fifteen-minute break, then social studies, and finally lunch. He bought a tuna casserole with buttered rolls, some fruit cocktail, and milk. He sat with Michael, who practiced scowling between bites,
Girls walked by and looked at him, “See what I mean, Vic?” Michael scowled. "They love it.”
Yeah, I guess so.
They ate slowly, Victor scanning the horizon for a glimpse of Teresa. He didn’t see her. She must have brought lunch, he thought, and is eating outside. Victor scraped his plate and left Michael, who was busy scowling at a girl two tables away.
The small, triangle-shaped campus bustled with students talking about their new classes. Everyone was in a sunny mood. Victor hurried to the bag lunch area, where he sat down and opened his math book. He moved his lips as if he were reading, but his mind was somewhere else. He raised his eyes slowly and looked around. No Teresa.
He lowered his eyes, pretending to study, then looked slowly to the left. No Teresa. He turned a page in the book and stared at some math problems that scared him because he knew he would have to do them eventually. He looked at the right. Still no sign of her. He stretched out lazily in an attempt to disguise his snooping.
Then he saw her. She was sitting with a girlfriend under a plum tree. Victor moved to a table near her and daydreamed about taking her to a movie. When the bell sounded, Teresa looked up, and their eyes met. She smiled sweetly and gathered her books. Her next class was French, same as Victor’s.
They were among the last students to arrive in class, so all the good desks in the back had already been taken. Victor was forced to sit near the front, a few desks away from Teresa, while Mr. Bueller wrote French words on the chalkboard. The bell rang, and Mr. Bueller wiped his hands, turned to the class, and said, “Bonjour.”
“Bonjour,” braved a few students.
“Bonjour” Victor whispered. He wondered if Teresa heard him.
Mr. Bueller said that if the students studied hard, at the end of the year they could go to France and be understood by the populace.
One kid raised his hand and asked, “‘What’s ‘populace’?”
"The people, the people of France.”
Mr. Bueller asked if anyone knew French. Victor raised his hand, wanting to impress Teresa. The teacher beamed and said, “Tres bien. Parlez-vous francais?”
Victor didn’t know what to say. The teacher wet his lips and asked something else in French. The room grew silent. Victor felt all eyes staring at him. He tried to bluff his way out by making noises that sounded French.
“La me vave me con le grandma,” he said uncertainly.
Mr. Bueller, wrinkling his face in curiosity, asked him to speak up.

Great rosebushes of red bloomed on Victor’s cheeks. A river of nervous sweat ran down his palms. He felt awful. Teresa sat a few desks away, no doubt thinking he was a fool. Without looking at Mr. Bueller, Victor mumbled, ‘Frenchie oh wewe gee in September.”
Mr. Bueller asked Victor to repeat what he said.
“Frenchie oh wewe gee in September," Victor repeated.
Mr. Bueller understood that the boy didn’t know French and turned away. He walked to the blackboard and pointed to the words on the board with his steel-edged ruler.
"Le bateau,” he sang.
“Le bateau,” the students repeated.
"Le bateau est sur l’eau,” he sang.
“Le bateau est sur l’eau.”
Victor was too weak from failure to join the class. He stared at the board and wished he had taken Spanish, not French. Better yet, he wished he could start his life over. He had never been so embarrassed. He bit his thumb until he tore off a sliver of skin.
The bell sounded for fifth period, and Victor shot out of the room, avoiding the stares of the other kids, but had to return for his math book. He looked sheepishly at the teacher, who was erasing the board, then widened his eyes in terror at Teresa who stood in front of him. “I didn’t know you knew French,”she said. “That was good.”
Mr. Bueller looked at Victor, and Victor looked back. Oh please, don’t say anything, Victor pleaded with his eyes. I’ll wash your car, mow your lawn, walk your dog--anything! I'll be your best student, and I’ll clean your erasers after school.
Mr. Bueller shuffled through the papers on his desk, He smiled and hummed as he sat down to work. He remembered his college years when he dated a girlfri0end in borrowed cars. She thought he was rich because each time he picked her up he had a different car. It was fun until he had spent all his money on her and had to write home to his parents because he was broke.
Victor couldn’t stand to look at Teresa. He was sweaty with shame. “Yeah, well, I picked up a few things from movies and books and stuff like that.” They left the class together. Teresa asked him if he would help her with her French.
"Sure, anytime,” Victor said.
“I won’t be bothering you, will I?”
"Oh no, I like being bothered.”
“Bonjour,”Teresa said, leaving him outside her next class. She smiled and pushed wisps of hair from her face.
"Yeah, right, bonjour,” Victor said. He turned and headed to his class. The rosebuds of shame on his face became bouquets of love. Teresa is a great girl, he thought. And Mr. Bueller is a good guy.
He raced to metal shop. After metal shop there was biology, and after biology a long sprint to the public library, where he checked out three French textbooks.
He was going to like seventh grade. 

During Reading Questions

1.  So far, how many characters do we have in the story?  How can you describe them?

2.  Where do the story takes place? (Be specific)

3.  What do you think is going to happen later on in the story with Victor?

4.  What did Victor and Michael do in order to buy new clothes?  What do  you have to do to buy your own clothes? 

5.  What does Gary Soto have in common with Victor Rodriguez?

After Reading Questions

1.  Mention and describe the 4 main characters in the story.

2.  Mr. Bueller, the French teacher, noticed that Victor is faking his knowledge of French.  What event in Mr. Bueller's life reminds him of Victor?  By keeping Victor's secret safe, what does this tells us about Mr. Bueller as a teacher and person?

3.  Identify the character that stated the following quotes.

-I ain't making a face, ese.  This is my face.

4.  Do you think Victor is going to start being himself with Teresa? Why or why not?

5.  What advice would you give Victor, for him to impress Teresa?