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. . . ahhh . . . CHOO!) pepper.
    End Transmission
    “Thelma Jean?”
    TJ was never fond of hearing her real name spoken. (With a name like hers, who could blame her?)
    “Thelma Jean Finkelstein?”
    She was even less fond of hearing her entire name. (Wouldn’t you be?)
    “Thelma Jean Finkelstein, may I see you a moment?”
    And when it came from the lips of a teacher like Miss Grumpaton (who had a frown tattooed on her forehead so she could look mean even when she slept), TJ knew she was in trouble.
    The rest of the class had left for lunch, so it was just the two of them in the room. TJ approached the desk. “Yes, Miss Grumpaton?”
    “Why did I not receive your book report this morning?”
    “Oh, I, um, er . . . I’m still working on it.”
    “Young lady, there are no late assignments in my class. You either hand the assignment in on time or you get a zero.”
    TJ could feel the weight of the 20-page book report still in her backpack. (At least she hoped it was the book report and not a parrot.)
    “Hey, JT?”
    She turned to see Elizabeth, one of Hesper’s best friends since forever, standing at the door. “Are you coming to eat lunch with us or what?”
    TJ glanced around the room to see who she was talking to. But since there was no one there but her, she turned back and asked, “Me? You want me to eat at your table?”
    “Well, of course, silly.” Elizabeth flashed her every-tooth-in-place-thanks-to-a-$100,000-orthodontist-bill smile.
    Needless to say, TJ was suspicious. (You’d have to have the IQ of a turtle not to be.) But before she could ask any more questions, Miss Grumpaton cleared her throat.
    “Well?” the teacher asked.
    TJ looked back at her and repeated, “I’m sorry; my report’s just not ready.”
    “But you do have some of it, correct?”
    “Well, yes, sure . . . sort of.”
    Now, to be honest, that really wasn’t a lie. After all, she did have the pen she was going to write the report with, and she did have the paper she was going to write the report on, so technically she did have part of the report she was going to write with her.
    “Since you’re new,” Miss Grumpaton said, “and since you made a complete ninny out of that Hesper Breakahart last week . . .” She lowered her voice and shook her head. “Honestly, I can’t stand that girl. Probably because she reminds me so much of myself one or two years ago.”
    TJ nodded, thinking, Now who’s not telling the truth?
    Miss Grumpaton continued. “So, for this one time, I will allow you to hand in what you have completed and I will give you partial credit.”
    The report in TJ’s backpack suddenly weighed even more.
    “Well?” Miss Grumpaton said. “It’s either that or get an F.”
    “Come on, BJ.” Elizabeth motioned. “Give it to her and let’s go.”
    TJ hesitated. She knew handing in the report was cheating . . . but she also knew she wanted to pass the class.
    “JB, come on.”
    And sitting at Hesper and Elizabeth’s table meant sitting with (insert dreamy sigh here) Chad Steel.
    “I’m waiting, young lady,” Miss Grumpaton said.
    Finally, going against everything she knew was right (and now demonstrating the IQ of a turtle in need of a brain transplant ), TJ slipped off her backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out the 20-page, single-spaced, typed book report.
    “Wow!” Elizabeth said, stepping closer to look.
    “You wrote this?” Miss Grumpaton asked.
    TJ motioned toward her name at the top of the paper and gave another not-quite-the-truth answer.
    “That’s my name right there.”
    “My, oh, my,” Miss Grumpaton said, flipping through the pages. “This is quite a report.”
    TJ swallowed nervously. Well, she tried to swallow nervously. But it’s hard to swallow any type of way when your mouth is as dry as hot desert sand cooked in the toaster and blown dry by a hair dryer . . . set on high.
    TRANSLATION: It was dry.
    Miss Grumpaton looked at TJ and smiled (which got really confusing with her