Drawing Amanda Read Online Free Page A

Then she faced one that stumped her.
    Megaland: Anyone you’re a dead ringer for?
    Justagirl : what? I don’t play an instrument.
    Megaland: It doesn’t have to be a musician, just someone you resemble.
    So that was what dead ringer meant. That was another reason she hated being here. She couldn’t understand what people were talking about sometimes.
    The cursor blinked. She did not respond to the question.
    Megaland: Is English your native language?
    Justagirl : trick question. We try to speak the language of the place where we live.
    Megaland: Wow. What languages do you speak?
    Justagirl : French, Spanish and a little Mandarin, and English – but not New York English apparently.
    Megaland: LOL. You’ll pick it up, Justagirl. You sound super smart. Where are you from?
    Justagirl : Another trick question. We move around a lot.
    Megaland: Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s a small world after all and all that. You’ll see that you fit in here in Megaland in ways you can’t even imagine. Come back tomorrow and I’ll show you how.

Chapter 6
    Small Places, Big Issues
    T HERE WAS NO EASING into the school year with the core curriculum approach. A series of projects each trimester incorporated multiple subjects, each kicked off with both sections gathering in the auditorium. Inky plopped into his seat and took in the faded blue fabric of the curtain spanning the back of the stage. Rungs slid into the seat next to him just as Mrs. Patel began. Inky stared at Mrs. Patel’s lavender dress and stoplight-red blazer, colors he thought would only be paired as the walls and trim of a room on one of those second-rate home design shows.
    He’d slept fitfully, so little of what Mrs. Patel said filtered through his fuzzy morning brain. If it weren’t for the air-conditioning, he was sure he’d be asleep.
    “. . . favorite project . . . interdisciplinary research . . . core curriculum ,” he heard her say. In the row in front of him, two classmates were looking at soccer stats in a carefully-folded copy of The Guardian . Inky was roused to attention, though, when Mr. Lorenza added that this core project would culminate in a presentation that would constitute a major portion of their trimester grade. He did not want to have to sit in Loony Harooni’s chair again.
    “We’ll be grading based on criteria laid out in the rubric,” Mrs. Patel continued. The boys in front of Inky snickered when she said “laid.” Rungs rolled his eyes.
    “You’ll each have a copy of the rubric to refer to as you work on your project. Do I have some volunteers to help distribute the rubric sheets?”
    Ellen and Priya, two Sacred Circle girls, hopped up from their seats in the second row and distributed the papers.
    Mr. Lorenza closed his attendance book and strutted halfway across the stage. “Why is social anthropology important?” He glanced around the room for impact. Papers rustled; the students were still looking over the rubric sheets. He waited until they settled down.
    Inky turned his rubric page over; the blank white back was like an invitation. He reached into his pocket and felt the cool metal of his pen.
    “Understanding the world means understanding the way we live together, the social order of our societies. It is the basis of the work that many of your parents do, and of the diplomatic work many of you will go on to do yourselves.”
    Inky stared at the blank page waiting for it to reveal what it should become. He squinted. What a funny word rubric was. As Mr. Lorenza continued his lecture, Inky started to draw. Rungs glanced at the paper in Inky’s lap. Inky centered three equal squares in the middle of the page. Inside of them he wrote some of the words he heard Mr. Lorenza say: “Human condition . . . Family ties . . . Ethnicity.”
    “A rubric’s cube,” Inky wrote next to his drawing. Rungs grabbed it from him.
    Mr. Lorenza paused for dramatic effect. He was the faculty advisor for the annual student play, and he tried