The Basic Eight Read Online Free

tell her who.” Natasha’s voice sounded too careless for these remarks to be well placed. I could have told her then that it was me, but I didn’t. I could have told her I was in love, and didn’t just have a crush, but I didn’t. Maybe I would have saved us all the trouble in the next few months, but I didn’t tell her. School starts tomorrow and with it the chattering network of friends telling friends telling friends secrets. On a postcard ; I’m

    so stupid. I got out of the car and Natasha drove off. All I heard as she left was one thing leading to another.
    Tuesday September 7th
    So let it be noted that the school year began with the difference between authority and authoritarianism, and I have a feeling that the rest of it will be just as clear. My homeroom teacher is Mr. Dodd. It has always been Mr. Dodd. I cannot remember a time when my homeroom teacher wasn’t Mr. Dodd, and my homeroom teacher will always be Mr. Dodd, forever and ever, world without end. While the rest of us took unknowing summer sips of coffee (and “steamed milk,” in Natasha’s case), Mr. Dodd was appar- ently at some Assertiveness Training program. He droned on and on about it after stalking into the room and writing “MR. DODD” in all caps on the blackboard, even though homeroom has been the same kids, with the same teacher, year in and year out, world without end. The gist of his speech was that thanks to Assertive- ness Training we couldn’t chew gum anymore. He told us of his vision of a new homeroom, “one with authority but not authorit- arianism.” I would have let it go, but he insisted we all look it up. He waited while we fumbled with our Websters. We knew he was waiting because he kept calling out, “I’m waiting!” Finally Natasha stood up, brushed her hair from her eyes and read out loud: “‘Authoritarianism: a doctrine favoring or marked by abso- lute and unquestioning obedience to authority. Authority: the power to command, determine, or judge.”’ Then she looked at Mr. Dodd and sat down. No one ever stands up in class and re- cites like that, of course, but I suppose if I looked like Natasha I’d stand up too. All the boys, Mr. Dodd included, gaped at Natasha for a minute

    before the latest graduate of Assertiveness Training for Home- room and Geography Teachers said, “Does everyone understand what I mean?” Everybody thought, No (except for a sizable handful of homeroom kids who will never think anything, world without end), but only Natasha said it. I looked back and saw her take out an emery board that had a carved claw at either end. She didn’t look at Mr. Dodd as she began to do her nails. Ever since Natasha and I read Cyrano de Bergerac in Hattie Lewis’s freshman English class she’s done everything with panache . Later this emery board will be very important in our story, so I intro- duce it now.
    Mr. Dodd cleared his throat. Nobody at Assertiveness Training had prepared him for Natasha Hyatt. Nobody ever would be prepared for her. He opened his mouth to say something and the bell rang and we all left. I caught up with Natasha and hugged her.
    “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
    “I don’t know what I’d do without me, either,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “That’ll teach him to fool around with the diction- ary. Tune in tomorrow for the difference between disciple and disciplinarian . Come on, it’s time for Chemistry.”
    “I’m not doing Chem,” I said. “I’ve got Biology.” “With who?”
    “Carr.”
    “Carr? That dreamboat? ‘ Not doing Chem ,’ she says.” Natasha looked around the crowded hallway, narrating. Few kids looked up; everyone was used to Natasha going on about something, and we were all zombies this early in the morning, anyway. “‘ Not doing Chem ,’ when all the time she gets Biology with Carr. That’s more Chem than I’ll ever have. I’ve got that four-eyed man with the toupee. So when will I see you?”

    I started to