5 D.E.A.R

5 D.E.A.R. When we got back to Mr. Cooper's class, it was D.E.A.R. time. That stands for DROP EVERYTHING AND READ. We have to sit quietly and read a book for fifteen whole minutes. Ugh. Reading books is boring. I don't even know why you're reading this one.

I looked around. Ryan was reading. Michael was reading. Alexia was reading. Even Neil was reading, and he hates reading as much as I do. Everybody was reading. But you know who wasn't reading? The biggest reader of them all—Little Miss Perfect! Andrea was sitting there with her mean face on. "What's the matter?" I whispered to her. "Was your clog-dancing lesson canceled today?"* "No," Andrea whispered back. "I have a problem with Mrs. Stoker." "More reading, less talking!" said Mr. Cooper. "This is D.E.A.R. time, kids." "What do you have against Mrs. Stoker?" I whispered to Andrea. "She's going to make a terrible principal," whispered Andrea.

"But she's funny," I whispered back. "Stop talking, you two," warned Mr. Cooper. "Mrs. Stoker is so immature," Andrea whispered. "Grown-ups are supposed to act... grown up." "You need to get a sense of humor transplant," I whispered to Andrea. "Oooh," whispered Ryan. "A.J. and Andrea are whispering secret messages to each other. They must be in love!" "When are you gonna get married?" whispered Michael. "I said STOP it!" shouted Mr. Cooper. "You're going to get us in trouble, Arlo," whispered Andrea. "Your face is in trouble!" I whispered back at her. "All right," shouted Mr. Cooper. "That's the last straw!"

Huh? What do straws have to do with anything? Why are grown-ups always running out of straws? If you ask me, they should buy a new box of straws before the old one is empty. "A.J. AND ANDREA!" shouted Mr. Cooper. "BOTH OF YOU. GO TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE!" "What did I do?" I asked. "But... but... but..." I giggled because Andrea said "but," which sounds just like "butt" even though it only has one T. Andrea and I walked a million hundred miles to the principal's office. She was so mad she wouldn't speak to me the whole time. Andrea never gets in trouble. She probably figured this was going to be on her permanent record and prevent her from getting into Harvard someday.

When we got to the principal's office, nobody was there. The door was open, so we walked in. The office was almost empty. There was no desk or anything—just a bare brick wall with a

stool in front of it and a microphone on a stand. That was weird. Mrs. Patty, the school secretary, came in. She had two folding chairs. "Have a seat," she told us. "Mrs. Stoker will be here in a minute. Would you kids like some milk?" "Uh, okay," Andrea and I replied. Mrs. Patty went out and came back with two cartons of milk for each of us. "Here, have a second carton," she said as she handed us the milk. "I don't want another carton of milk," I told her. "You have to take another carton," she replied. "Why?" "We have a two-drink minimum," said Mrs. Patty. That was weird. Andrea and I sat down. The lights