The Downside of Being Charlie Read Online Free Page A
Author: Jenny Torres Sanchez
It will be a grade.â
âFine,â Tanya said, and slammed her notebook open, mumbled loud enough for everybody to know how ridiculous this assignment seemed to be, how Langston H. would just turn over in his grave if he knew the injustice that was taking place here, and what a blank, blank, mumble, mumble Mr. Blitz was to ask her to write about who she is and dictate how she write it, and some other craziness in her own secret language that nobody else really paid attention to, until at last she became completely engrossed in writing her poem. She smirked and snickered, and I swear, gave Mr. Blitz evil looks that made me wonder if Tanya practiced witchcraft.
I donât know. Tanya was a freak and all but the last ten minutes of class, when Kris went up there and read aboutâsurprise, surpriseâthe glory and freedom of running and the wind blowing in your hair, and then some other girl named Terry who had tons of friends read something about the essence of her soul being lonely and bare, and so on and so forth, all I could think of was . . . What did Tanya write? Her poem was probably pretty damn funny, ragging on Mr. Blitz somehow, which he must have suspected. Even though her pasty arm went up each time he asked for volunteers, he just ignored her and then called on someone else, and then she would slam her hand down on the desk and roll her eyes so they looked like those freaking cuckoo owl clocks that roll back and forth, round and round. I remember sitting
there in awe of her because she was a complete disasterârepelling, scary, and intriguing all at the same time. And in a weird way, she was more rebellious and antisocial than the best wannabe outcast at our school, except it didnât seem to work for her.
So, she wasnât quite what I expected. And even though I wanted to detest her like everyone else did, I didnât. To me, she was kind of funny and as I sat in class trying to be invisible, I secretly cheered Tanya on and smirked at all the ballsy stuff she said. She didnât care what anyone else thought and part of me wished I had the freedom to not give a shit like that. But I did. I remember slinking down near the back of the class, trying to sink into my own fat rolls while Tanya sat front and center for the whole world to see.
âCharlie? Yo, Charlie?â Ahmed tries to bring me out of my shock. Tanya stomps back to our locker in her brown stretch pants and Lord of the Rings T-shirt, and slams it shut. My mind still canât comprehend the fact that Iâve been assigned a locker with her. I donât necessarily think sheâs the most despicable person on the planet, but everyone else does and now Iâll be dangerously close to being despicable by association. I, Charlie Harrison Grisner, am doomed to share a locker with Tanya Who-Everybody-Hates Bate during whatâs supposed to be the best year of my high school life.
I avoid my locker like itâs an infection all morning. By third period, the general shock has worn off, but anger sets in as I think of my whole senior year going down the tubes. I walk into my photography class, which has a familiar smell that makes me feel slightly better. Most people think photography is a nothing class, which I guess it could be, but Iâve been taking it ever since freshman year and am hoping I can do it for a living since thereâs really nothing else I can think of doing. But not like a wedding photographer or anything like that. Iâm not so keen on the idea of spending the rest of my life capturing Aunt Bea belligerent and drunk, or little Sammy doing the Macarena. Itâs just not me. Instead Iâd like to work for National Geographic or something, where I could travel all over the world and wouldnât be stuck here.
I have photography fourth period, which is nice because itâs right before lunch, and if Iâm really into something, I can stay and workâbut only if this new
âFine,â Tanya said, and slammed her notebook open, mumbled loud enough for everybody to know how ridiculous this assignment seemed to be, how Langston H. would just turn over in his grave if he knew the injustice that was taking place here, and what a blank, blank, mumble, mumble Mr. Blitz was to ask her to write about who she is and dictate how she write it, and some other craziness in her own secret language that nobody else really paid attention to, until at last she became completely engrossed in writing her poem. She smirked and snickered, and I swear, gave Mr. Blitz evil looks that made me wonder if Tanya practiced witchcraft.
I donât know. Tanya was a freak and all but the last ten minutes of class, when Kris went up there and read aboutâsurprise, surpriseâthe glory and freedom of running and the wind blowing in your hair, and then some other girl named Terry who had tons of friends read something about the essence of her soul being lonely and bare, and so on and so forth, all I could think of was . . . What did Tanya write? Her poem was probably pretty damn funny, ragging on Mr. Blitz somehow, which he must have suspected. Even though her pasty arm went up each time he asked for volunteers, he just ignored her and then called on someone else, and then she would slam her hand down on the desk and roll her eyes so they looked like those freaking cuckoo owl clocks that roll back and forth, round and round. I remember sitting
there in awe of her because she was a complete disasterârepelling, scary, and intriguing all at the same time. And in a weird way, she was more rebellious and antisocial than the best wannabe outcast at our school, except it didnât seem to work for her.
So, she wasnât quite what I expected. And even though I wanted to detest her like everyone else did, I didnât. To me, she was kind of funny and as I sat in class trying to be invisible, I secretly cheered Tanya on and smirked at all the ballsy stuff she said. She didnât care what anyone else thought and part of me wished I had the freedom to not give a shit like that. But I did. I remember slinking down near the back of the class, trying to sink into my own fat rolls while Tanya sat front and center for the whole world to see.
âCharlie? Yo, Charlie?â Ahmed tries to bring me out of my shock. Tanya stomps back to our locker in her brown stretch pants and Lord of the Rings T-shirt, and slams it shut. My mind still canât comprehend the fact that Iâve been assigned a locker with her. I donât necessarily think sheâs the most despicable person on the planet, but everyone else does and now Iâll be dangerously close to being despicable by association. I, Charlie Harrison Grisner, am doomed to share a locker with Tanya Who-Everybody-Hates Bate during whatâs supposed to be the best year of my high school life.
I avoid my locker like itâs an infection all morning. By third period, the general shock has worn off, but anger sets in as I think of my whole senior year going down the tubes. I walk into my photography class, which has a familiar smell that makes me feel slightly better. Most people think photography is a nothing class, which I guess it could be, but Iâve been taking it ever since freshman year and am hoping I can do it for a living since thereâs really nothing else I can think of doing. But not like a wedding photographer or anything like that. Iâm not so keen on the idea of spending the rest of my life capturing Aunt Bea belligerent and drunk, or little Sammy doing the Macarena. Itâs just not me. Instead Iâd like to work for National Geographic or something, where I could travel all over the world and wouldnât be stuck here.
I have photography fourth period, which is nice because itâs right before lunch, and if Iâm really into something, I can stay and workâbut only if this new
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