Colder Than Ice - Softcover

Patneaude, David

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0807581364 ISBN 13: 9780807581360

Verlag: Albert Whitman & Company, 2005

Inhaltsangabe

Josh isn't happy to be starting at a new school. Maybe it's a chance to be somebody--not so easy for a kid who's been pretty average and is overweight besides. But he is pumped when a cool kid asks hims to play ice hockey.

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Colder Than Ice

By David Patneaude

Albert Whitman & Company

Copyright © 2003 David Patneaude
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-8075-8136-0

Contents

1 A Fresh Start, 
2 The Natural, 
3 Student Council President, 
4 Christmas Is Coming, 
5 Canaries, 
6 Weight, 
7 Just Another Kid, 
8 Poor Rooney's Pond, 
9 Out of Control, 
10 The FBI Arrives, 
11 Surprise Package, 
12 Hitting the Ice, 
13 Deep Trouble, 
14 Superheroes, 
15 Threats, 
16 Evidence, 
17 Cruising, 

CHAPTER 1

A Fresh Start

Joshua Snowater?" The secretary looked up from her desk. Her voice was gravelly and loud. She peered at the two kids waiting in the office: Josh and the small boy sitting next to him.

"Showalter," Josh said.

She held the piece of paper at arm's length. "Showalter," she said. "So it is." She pulled a tissue from a box and blew her nose. Trumpet sounds bounced off the walls. The small boy jumped. "Allergies," she said. She wadded up the tissue and shot it toward a wastebasket fifteen feet away. It popped in perfectly, and she raised her fists in triumph. "Eat your heart out, Shaq!" she boomed.

The small boy edged closer to Josh.

"Your teacher, Ms. Murphy, just called," the secretary told Josh. "She'll be sending a student to take you to your classroom in a couple minutes."

"Okay." He played back his dad's words from the night before — a chance for a fresh start. He wanted that chance. He wondered if he could be somebody besides one of the pack — okay student, okay athlete, kind of overweight but okay looking. What would it be like to be somebody?

But that prospect didn't make him less nervous. He wasn't eager to get to his classroom. He wasn't looking forward to any of this: new town on Idaho's skinny panhandle, new school, new teacher, new kids. And a kindergarten-to-seventh-grade school? What was up with that?

Back in Seattle, sixth grade was the start of middle school. Here he had almost two more years with little kids, then two years of junior high before he'd get to the high school where his dad had just started teaching. By then he'd have whiskers and size-twelve feet and be listening to opera.

The secretary stared. "Why the long face, buddy boy?"

He shrugged.

"It's only giving up your freedom. It's only sitting at a desk six hours a day while the world dances along without you." She smiled. "It's only school." She went back to her papers.

A kid — a skinny third- or fourth-grade boy with bed-head — skidded into the office and hurried up to the secretary's desk. She took her time looking up, and when she did there was a frown on her round face. "Yes, Mr. Speed Demon?"

The kid waved a piece of paper at her. "I'm supposed to give this to Mrs. Drager."

"I'll do that," the secretary said. "Mrs. Drager is busy."

"My teacher — Mrs. Stanwood — said me, I'm supposed to."

The secretary snatched the paper from the kid's hand. "Our former principal taught me a lasting lesson, young man — my job was to keep folks away from his door so he could do his job. I'm sure Mrs. Drager feels the same way."

The kid's mouth hung open, but he didn't say anything.

"Now go back to your classroom."

The boy shuffled away. Josh felt sorry for him, and sorrier for himself. So far, not so good. So far, this school seemed like a step backward. Mrs. Nordlund, the secretary at his old school, had been a peach. This secretary was more like a prune. But at least it was a short week. The Thanksgiving holiday was coming, and on Thursday he'd have one thing for sure to be thankful for: surviving his first three days. He turned to the kid next to him. "What grade are you in?"

"Fuwst."

"First?"

The kid nodded.

"Your first day, too?"

The kid shook his head. "I have to go to speech ferapy today."

A moment later a gray-haired woman peeked through the door. "Ready, Anthony?"

The little guy bounced up and walked out with his rescuer.

Josh stood and looked at the nameplate on the secretary's desk: Mrs. Benedict. Beyond her, behind a mostly closed door, a woman — the principal, he guessed — was talking on the phone. The name on the door was Mrs. Drager.

Mrs. Benedict eyed him. He sat back down — too quickly. The chair was small — a little kid's chair — and it creaked under his weight. Sensing disaster, he jerked his bottom into the air and waited. The chair stood fast. He eased himself down again, shifting his attention to his ankles, where the legs of his jeans were bunched at the tops of his shoes. They reminded him of the stack of pancakes he'd downed for breakfast.

He'd told his mom no more "huskies," which meant she had to get two sizes bigger — size 18 — to fit him in the waist. "Look at the cuffs," she'd said. "They'll be shredded in a week." But he was old enough to have some say: "This is how all the kids wear jeans; they're perfect," he'd told her. Now he wasn't so sure.

He looked around at the walls — pictures of mountains and lakes and famous people reading books; posters with rules for dealing with bullies; a sign that said MOUNTAIN VIEW SCHOOL, HOME OF THE HIGHCLIMBERS, above a case filled with trophies and ribbons and plaques and newspaper articles.

He got up carefully and walked to the case. Some of the awards were for sports, some were for classroom stuff — spelling bees, math competitions. One newspaper article, yellowed with age, was about a girl who had placed second at the state spelling bee. A new one reported on a boy — Corey Kitchens, age thirteen, student council president at Mountain View — who had won a countywide free-throw contest and was moving on to the state competition. Josh studied the photo of the kid: Free-throw Championship T-shirt, ball tucked under his arm, trophy held high, cocky smile on his face.

Josh pictured himself in the photo: ball, trophy, T-shirt (just a little tight), regular smile on a round face. He could shoot free-throws, maybe better than Corey Kitchens. After all, Josh had practically grown up in gyms. Maybe someday he'd be the free-throw champ. Maybe he'd get chosen for student council. Maybe he'd even have a thin face and clothes that fit.

A clock near the door read 9:20. His mom would be at her new job in Coeur d'Alene, his dad would be at the high school. His sister, Lindsay? Preschool, where she'd probably made a dozen friends by now. It was harder in sixth grade, when everybody already had their friends, old and new. He thought about his old friends — Charles, Ahmed, Little Joe. What were they up to? They said they would miss him, but did they? They had each other; right now he had no one, and no prospects.

Yeah, he could wait for that student to come and get him. Even with only Mrs. Benedict for company.

He heard voices in the hall. A tall woman in a long green coat walked into the office, followed by a kid about Josh's age. His hair was the brownish color of Josh's, but the resemblance ended there. His skin had the fragile, almost-white, almost-shiny look of eggshells, and he was thin and small. He glanced toward Josh, but not really at him, more like over his shoulder. Josh found himself staring at the kid's eyes — the brightest, bluest blue he'd ever seen, as if they had lights behind them.

The woman went up to the counter and waited for Mrs. Benedict to look up. She didn't. "My son is beginning school here...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Albert Whitman & Company
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2005
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0807581364
• ISBN 13: 9780807581360
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 167
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar