The Misfits Read Online Free

week.
JoDan:
With a small “d.” That was so last week.
Skeezie:
Right, whatever.
Addie:
So about liberty and justice for—
Skeezie:
All right! Here’s our food. See, a little protest’ll work every time. You were right, Addie! It pays to act on your conscience. Hey, I learned something today. These Forums are way cool. Hey, hey, wait a minute.
HellomynameisAdam:
What’s wrong?
Skeezie:
This Dr Pepper is flat, my man. You gotta get me another.
Hellomy nameis Adam:
Look . . .
Skeezie:
Justice! Justice!
Hellomy nameis Adam:
All right, all right. Just cool your jets, will you?
Skeezie:
Peace, brother.
    We do not record the rest of the proceedings, since we never do get back on the topic. If I recall correctly, we spend the rest of our time at the Candy Kitchen that Monday talking about who are the meanest teachers in seventh grade and who are the best. Ms. Wyman scores points in both categories.

4
    TUESDAY MORNING, we get to school, and what do we find scrawled in big ugly marker on Joe’s locker but the word Fagot.
    Joe is outraged.
    â€œDon’t they teach
spelling
in this school?” he goes, then yells across the hall to Kevin Hennessey, who is wearing his usual smirk, “There are two ’g’s in ’faggot,’you numbskull!”
    â€œ
I
didn’t do it!” Kevin shouts back. “Not this time, anyways.”
    â€œYeah, well, tell your illiterate friends that if they’re going to call names, they should at least know how to spell them.”
    â€œOkay, f-a-i-r-y,” Kevin retorts with an evil grin.
    Joe gives him the raspberry.
    â€œLiver pâté,” I mutter under my breath, which iscode for: Ms. Wyman should rip his liver out, toss it in a blender, and serve it on crackers.
    Joe and Kevin have been doing this little dance together since kindergarten when Kevin told the whole class that Joey didn’t have a pee-pee and Joe announced in a loud voice that he had
two
pee-pees and Kevin was just jealous.
    â€œFaggot,” Kevin Hennessey spits as the bell rings.
    â€œNumbskull of Unknown Paternal Origin,” Joe spits back.
    â€œGood one,” I say.
    Kevin jabs Joe with his elbow, then goes, “Out of the way, Lardbar,” to me as he pushes his way into Ms. Wyman’s homeroom. Joe rolls his eyes at me and shrugs before moving down the hall to Mr. Daly’s homeroom. Just another morning at Paintbrush Falls Middle School.
    Now, as my classmates and I settle into our seats (we have at least a couple of minutes before Ms. Wyman leads us in yoga breathing), let me tell you about the first time I laid eyes on Joe. He was four. So was I.
    I and my mom were visiting Addie and her mom,when Addie ups and tells me I should go check out the new kid next door. I noticed she did not offer to go with me.
    â€œJust ring the bell,” she told me.
    So I did. When the inside door opened, there on the other side of the screen was this kid wearing a dress.
    â€œWill you marry me?” the kid in the dress asked.
    I shook my head.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI am going to marry my mother,” I answered. My mother did not yet know this.
    â€œCan I marry your mother, too?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œCan I marry your father?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œCan you play with me?”
    â€œOkay,” I said.
    â€œI’m Joe,” he said.
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œI’m a boy,” he told me, lifting his dress to show me the proof. He was not wearing underpants. (For the record, he had only one pee-pee.)
    â€œI never knew a boy who wore a dress,” I told him.
    â€œThere’s a lot you don’t know,” he said.
    He was right about that.
    It wasn’t the last time Joe wore a dress. He kept taking stuff from his mother’s closet and trying it on until his mother finally gave him his own box filled with clothes she was through with and he could dress up to his heart’s content.
    He doesn’t wear